larkers: (pic#12386247)
MEADOWLARK MODS ([personal profile] larkers) wrote in [community profile] meadowlarklogs2019-01-19 09:58 pm

EVENT LOG 003

WHO: Everyone
WHERE: New Amsterdam
WHEN: September 10-11
WHAT: New Amsterdam's Morningstar recruits come under attack.
NOTES OR WARNINGS: Violence, injury, death.


> EVENT LOG #003

"High noon" still has a resonating historical significance not lost on the people of New Amsterdam. Old cowboy movies, complete with John Wayne standing in a dusty, old street are imprinted upon people's memories, helping them recall a simpler past where grudges could be settled with guns. By 2511, these movies have been remade countless times over with different set pieces, but nostalgia continues to be an ever-present factor. It's not nostalgia that drives the UNA soldiers and Morningstar agents into position during this hour, but the time itself serves as a reminder. A call to a different time and a different past.

Outside, the sun burns bright, but people sleep soundly, shades drawn securely over their windows to create a false darkness. This is why the UNA strikes at noon: their targets will be vulnerable, comforted by the presence of daylight only a drawn shade away,

Across town, Morningstar's agents are preparing for their own strike. One of them makes a joke about the non hour. He's told to shut it. They have fifteen minutes. Is everyone ready? Their uniforms are black, tightly fitting. Each of them pulls their mask over their faces. Up ahead, there's a wall to scale.

Fifteen minutes and the plan goes into motion. Each agent knows the costs of this mission. Their last one ended up with numerous dead – lost – with no reward. UNA soldiers are far more threatening than the armed guards Morningstar faced on that day, but the reward is more sure. Worth the risk. They're secure in what they need to do.

Then it's time. Across the city, the UNA soldiers descend in perfect unison. Separate but thinking with one mind, one goal. Eliminate a festering problem, one that only stands to grow in a world haunted by chaos and trauma. It's their job to set things right. To restore order to a world that is currently without.

> THE SAFEHOUSE

About forty five minutes in to the widespread assault, El sends out a message to everyone in the safehouse. This time, zeir communication is immediate, without the steady scrolling of text. Prepared in advance:

Hey, so. Emergency everyone. Come to the safehouse ASAP. Morningstar agents are in trouble, including a number who have helped you behind the scenes. Gaby will tell you more once you get there.

Once everyone shows up, crowded inside the part of the safehouse with the cots, Gaby gives everyone the rundown. The risk. The place where the rest of the agents are – this last bit of information being shared with an uneasy edge, arms crossed and body language giving off her discomfort. There are other people at risk, people who can't fight, who try to undermine the corporations with their regular lives, doing their best to keep the people they care about safe from their rebellious activity.

After she hands out the gear, she insists that it must be returned. But Gaby isn't stupid. Her desperation is inherent in her decisions, in the information that follows: exposing most of the inactive safehouses, giving away the addresses of the people likely in danger. Every Morningstar contact in New Amsterdam is likely at risk. So far, agents in other megacities aren't being targeted – yet. But this operation could be a model for future UNA efforts to eliminate the Morningstar threat.

The safehouses are spread across the city. Typically present in disheveled and forgotten pieces of real estate, there will be squatters and homeless alike taking up space as they move inside with the agents. This may prove a risk, and they may need to be bribed to go elsewhere, offered food and supplies. Other safehouses will be beneath bars, convenience stores, and through the storage room in less expensive apartment buildings – businesses and buildings owned by long-time Morningstar agents, kept ready in the case of an emergency like this one.

None of the safehouses will be prepared for living with the exception of cots and communal restrooms ready for use. This is a problem, but not a priority. She'll ask that everyone get out there and save the lives of the agents. Bring them and their families in safely – the rest can be figured out after that.

> RESTORING ORDER

Given the limitations over real estate and space even in a city as large as New Amsterdam, every citizen lives in an apartment building. The great majority of them were meant to be built quickly, similar layouts and designs behind them. A quick bit of research will get anyone the floor plans for these places – they're publicly available, ready for potential tenants. Most of these places are no dreamhouse, however: small and contained, they show the lifestyle of the typical Morningstar agent.

Any of the agents with a child – and there will only ever be one per agent, with the restrictions on childbirth – will have a roomier place, with better furnishing and more space for a child to run and grow up. These places will afford the family within better privacy, and many of them have drones and advanced robotics to help maintain the household, even caring for their child and keeping the door locked as the UNA soldiers move inside.

Where it's viable, the majority of UNA soldiers will move through the front door of these buildings. Never numbered over five, these soldiers will take the endless staircase up, erasing what little chances there are to run into anyone along the way. The knocks are just a cover to soothe the close-packed neighbors. Not all are fooled, and that's where the calls to the NAPD come in – though the UNA is prepared for this, too. Ready to assert their jurisdiction. Rather: their bosses are prepared. These soldiers have their orders and beyond that, only follow their orders with their formidable physicality and swift training.

But they are physically assertive: most of them are tall, seemingly without gender within thick black, metal armor. Despite their size and their robotic carapace, they are human underneath. Their extensive armor doesn't slow them down, instead seeming to propel them forward in a fight, letting them predict their enemies' moves as the mask they wear provides diagnostics and likely attacks on the fly. They carry extensive weapons and supplies, all to wear down any opponents. When they fight together, their actions are perfectly complementary.

They won't start a fight, but as soldiers, they are prepared. Though they enter through the front door, they intend to leave through a window, into a large flying vehicle outside, ready to hold the targets and bring them to a temporary dropsite. They don't expect any assailants, anyone to provide trouble – but they wouldn't be very well-trained, well designed if they couldn't expect or deal with the unexpected. They won't shoot unless someone forces the matter. Their training means their stature should be enough to put down most threats.

> A WELL-LAID TRAP

Confident and well-trained, the Morningstar agents have the plan ahead of them all mapped out. They know the shifts, the patrol patterns, especially at hours like this one. Fewer, right now, but they aren't nonexistent. Several strike teams spread out, ready to move to dismantle the UNA soldiers on site as needed. These are combat-trained agents, but five versus three UNA soldiers, or two, or even one still leads to odds where they don't win. Morningstar knows these soldiers intimately, has studied and discerned their few weaknesses. But these UNA soldiers are formidable opponents.

UNA Soldiers en route to Morningstar's goal will be handled with an eerie lack of follow-up. No reports of reinforcements incoming. The swift-moving Morningstar agents are too focused on their goal, which is close now, to worry about the implications. Besides, their information told them most agents would be away on training exercises. Reinforcements being delayed is no surprise.

Each agent has their own reason for being here, for believing that Morningstar needs to be more proactive, more forceful in fighting back. They aren't career soldiers, but people who thought that they could wield a gun and change a world that hides its problems under false promises and shimmering gloss. Many are impatient, frustrated: they were given a lead on weapons in June. They weren't mislead then, at least not intentionally, but what they got instead was a bus full of disoriented people. This cache is real, verified, and vulnerable, housed here temporarily before being moved for some unknown operation.

Once the Morningstar agents are all inside, the concealed UNA soldiers left at the base line up in formation. Perfectly tailored for the fight ahead, they move onto the site. Any agents on lookout duty will see the UNA moving in, ready to lay waste to anyone in there. This is a trap, they message frantically. The very real weapons inside are meant to mock with false hope.

The UNA aren't worried about Morningstar making off with their toys. After all, this is just as planned.

> INTERLUDE

Numerous officers pass by the holding cells in the NAPD's twelfth precinct, talking softly about what can they even do, muttering to themselves. Others pop a squat nearby and call it a well-earned day off. Let those soldiers take care of whatever mess they're cleaning up. That's not their job.

It's around this time that a third, unidentified group, takes advantage of the chaos. Well-dressed despite what is a late hours right now, they head into the precinct to take care of a dangling loose end. They show credentials that link them to New Beijing's governing body and personal security, they claim the men temporarily known as Tak and Alexei. As they're brought out of their cells, they're injected with the same compulsory drug as always, leaving them veritable walking zombies at first, leaving them unable to speak or act as they're given orders that tell them to do otherwise.

The records of these men will disappear with this action, the two of them swept away into the back of an expensive four-door sedan. The whole incident erased. Two somehow anonymous men didn't kill semi-innocent bystanders during the festival. As long as the records can be trusted, that was a fantasy. A whimsy.

Morningstar cameras will see this sedan stop near the current safehouse, near the typical entrance, and order Hei and Jake out. "Stay here. Sit down. Don't do or say anything until someone comes to retrieve you. It'll be a bit – they're tied up right now."

The man in the passenger seat in the front rolls down his window, leaning forward on his arm. His face is concealed, utilizing technology that's not the same but not dissimilar to what Morningstar has at their disposal. "Try not to do anything else too stupid, will you? The cops are gonna have a bug up their asses about you idiots."

And then the sedan rolls away, lifting up and passing through the city. Morningstar cameras will spot a specific – or perhaps the more apt word is "suspicious" – lack of license plate.

> MEDI-UNITS

Each of the safehouses were designed for the worst case scenario. There is a medi-unit in all of the safehouses, a large and complex machine that can heal most ills, but given the expensive nature of their design and the risk of using them, they're not used lightly.

The medi-units are reserved for the direst of needs. come into play. Dependent on a person's time of death to bring them back to the living, they need the exact time so that someone can clock it in and prepare the restoration process correctly. There are many risks in lacking that information – someone may come back damaged, unhealed, hurt in some way. They may not live for long. Assuming that a body is brought in with a time of death, they'll be directed to a safehouse with a free unit.

The person is kept in a medically induced coma while the machine repairs their body. What dreams someone experiences will be at the end point – which can be between 48 and 60 hours – as they slowly surface, starting to return to the world of the living. As they surface, their mind will be encumbered by images of bright blue lights glowing, swirling, communicating – but language seems thoroughly out of reach.

Once the medi-unit opens, the person inside will be thirsty. Desperate for water. But there will be no other signs of the wear and tear on their bodies.

> FINAL OOC NOTES

Please refer to the OOC EVENT POST for this event for all OOC info, including suggestions for directions on how to engage with the event and the questions thread for any questions regarding this event. The outcome for this event will depend upon character plans and actions developed in both this OOC post, and any additional plots brought to the moderators. Please feel free to submit any game-changing plans to us under the questions thread – but we will be reading all comments on the post!

The Operation will continue until September 11, IC time. An aftermath wrap up post will be made on January 26 which will detail the resolution and fallout of the event.

As a reminder, there is one power level up available for this event. This will be granted for a thread of at least 5 action/log comments containing your character utilizing their power in some way. They will need to reach the 5 comments required by FEBRUARY 23 to be eligible. Submission will be handled on the wrap up post.

Our Activity Check will be posted tomorrow, January 20, at 9 PM UTC. It will run for seven days and close on January 27. We will not post a warning list.

merced: (pic#12822760)

[personal profile] merced 2019-01-26 05:30 pm (UTC)(link)
[ How, exactly, it ended up being to the injured party to take out the soldier is a bit of a mystery, but Aranea just goes with it. UNA crumbles, his knees dropping out as the back of his helmet bursts. Gore sprays out in a fine mist, dappling the brick wall behind. As the soldier falls, the thick armor doesn't allow him to collapse completely: at his knees, his upper body careens forward just so, propped halfway up by the stiff joints and firm lines of his battle gear.

Aranea relieves the body of its weapon. It immediately locks her out, not recognising her biometric pattern, and then shorts out with an audible zap of electricity. If they weren't currently in the middle of a battlezone, she could see about mining it for parts...

But there's also a kid bleeding out. Priorities.

She keeps the weapon. Even if it won't fire, it can still be an effective prop. ]


Hey. You - [ Kneeling beside, she tries to get a better look at his wound. ] Can you move?
revlon: (100)

[personal profile] revlon 2019-01-26 05:34 pm (UTC)(link)
[ It's a conversation for another time. Not a fight, a conversation, because she knows there's more to his story; the curtain's been glimpsed, and it's in her nature to twitch it aside for the man behind it. (Not at his best, far from it. Meaning what?) But not tonight. Because there's more to tonight's story, too — her part in it, the fact it didn't end. The how of it all.

Confronting mortality is nothing new to Peggy Carter. Part and parcel of the job she swore her life to. She's survived a dozen near-death experiences in the field, except there's a difference, isn't there, between waiting for a random shell to possibly land in your foxhole or the Gestapo to possibly sniff you out or having a gun pointed at your head and the trigger actually being pulled. In this instance, being shot point-blank in the chest with an armour-piercing round.

Yes, there's a bloody difference, and it's left her in a bit of a tailspin. ]


Well, [ she says at last, pinching the bridge of her nose and cracking one eye open to squint at him. ] Since you said 'please.'

[ She follows him without further protest or comment, keeping a hand by the wall now that her balance is on its last legs. (Her legs are on their last legs.) This safehouse isn't as full as the others she'd visited today so the main living area is empty save for a family of three tucked into a corner and fast asleep. They pick the spot farthest from them for some privacy and Peggy finally, slowly, eases herself into a seat, one hand braced across her left side and grimacing the whole way down.

But she does relax some when she settles, the weight off her feet and the steadiness of something to lean back against. There's a stretch of silence as she waits for the pain to abate and then she murmurs, voice soft and kinder than a few moments ago: ]


At your best or not, [ she begins, eyes closed for the moment, ] it's good to see you're all right.
kgbs: (R9CZHSJ)

[personal profile] kgbs 2019-01-26 05:35 pm (UTC)(link)
The safehouse. [ that seems to be the best option, does it not? going to either of their apartments would provide a modicum of safety but the safehouse has supplies and safety that neither of them can provide. ]

Go. We'll get there quickly and then you can come back. [ look at that, he'd tried to compromise. it was more than he usually tried to do when it came to working with others. ]
evite: (aos202_1349)

[personal profile] evite 2019-01-26 05:47 pm (UTC)(link)
I know. [ she feels bad for mentioning it. now's not the time or the place for grand gestures or trying to make it better, though, so she's stuck with what little she can do for now. ] If it makes you feel better, finding out that you get sent to space in the future is pretty weird too.

[ thanks for the spoilers, fitz. ]
evite: (aos201_0992)

[personal profile] evite 2019-01-26 05:56 pm (UTC)(link)
without you? no way!

[ but it's a futile protest, because rey doesn't give her much choice. but what rey does is no less impressive than the feeling of flight she'd given daisy before — even though she runs, she can't help but peek back over her shoulder, marveling at the sight of the other girl's strength in action.

she's distracted from her view by a boom of something going off in the distance, followed up by a bright stream of light. a flash bomb, maybe, or an exploding lantern of some kind. not good news, in any case. she really should run. ]


i'm going to come back and kill you myself if you don't start running!
retravel: (136)

[personal profile] retravel 2019-01-26 05:59 pm (UTC)(link)
[ She acquiesces, and he can only nod, preferring to walk in silence. It takes him longer than he'd like to centre himself (well, force himself to anchor left of centre, as ever). Today taught him that the dark is more than there, its embedded in his bones, filling in his hairline fractures and holding him together. To rid himself of it is to collapse, the same as if he were to forsake his former self entirely. The realisation makes it harder to compartmentalise in the short run, but it could serve him better long-term.

For now, he pulls up a chair, knees pushing against her own, medical kit in hand (makes a mental note of her apparent pain in the side as well). After this day, he knows the contents by heart, slipping on sterile gloves. His movements pause when he realises what she means. Oh. Yes, well, that's very — unexpected. He likes her, respects her, trusts her for who she is and will be — but he expects nothing of the like in return. Fitz is a SHIELD agent in name and staunch belief, certainly, yet his position is made precarious by his recent history and current methods. Not at his best, no, much lower than that. That others still see him as someone worth their concern is perplexing.

Pleasing, too, in some two-toned way 'cause they shouldn't (but he wants that, all the same). ]


Yeah. [ Exhaled, shoulders sinking as he also shifts modes. ] Er, I mean, I feel the same way. [ Ah, a classic Fitz fumble. He preps a snatch of gauze and reaches out, gentle fingers tipping her jaw to one side for a better view of her temple (and purchase, for himself). Without urgency, his bedside manner improves immensely, free hand reaching out to clean her temple, touch steady and smooth.

When he speaks again, it's quieter. ]


You scared me. [ clarifying, ] Earlier, when you went down.

[ A worried crease at his brow this time, different from the frustrated pinch moments earlier. ]
Edited 2019-01-26 18:02 (UTC)
fessus: (Quake II)

[personal profile] fessus 2019-01-26 06:20 pm (UTC)(link)
[ Noctis is exhausted.

Not in the traditional sense of feeling tired, but emotionally, mentally, he's drained. His actual energy stores are running on fumes and it doesn't click into place exactly why until Ignis asks that all too simple question while they're making their way through the streets.
]

Ah... no, I guess not. I had something yesterday but not anything today yet. You?
revlon: (507)

[personal profile] revlon 2019-01-26 06:26 pm (UTC)(link)
[ The SHIELD he knows, the SHIELD who might condemn him for his methods, isn't her agency. She has said it from the beginning, with him and with Dr Strange, that she is not the woman they know and the organisation she founds doesn't exist for her — perhaps it never will. But she dealt in greyer matters during the war and she understands, even now, that the ends sometimes justify the means. Do whatever it takes to see the job through and to come home. (Sometimes not even that.)

It's difficult to navigate. Even Peggy Carter, with her unwavering idealism, slips up. But it's as she told him not too long ago: if there's a misstep, they look back so they don't do it again. Balance, Mr Fitz. If he's losing his, she's there to be a counter-weight at best, a net at worst. They all have to get through this hellhole together or else what's the point?

She's quiet under his ministrations, used to the routine just as he is, and barely flinches at the antiseptic. (Head lacerations always bleed more than most. It really isn't bad under the dried blood.) His admission, on the other hand, earns more of a response: her eyes flicker open to look at him, studying his subdued expression, her own unreadable.

Scared him, did she? So he does know the near cost of the call he made for all of them, escalating the engagement between their team and the UNA. Peggy knows she doesn't have to say it; by saying as much, he's confirmed it for her. ]


You make it sound intentional, [ she half-teases, expression cracking into something wry; it's brief, as the gravity of the statement settles. You really scared me there, please do not do that again. Daniel Sousa, not Leopold Fitz. Yes, she's used to this routine.

She exhales slowly, watching him, gauging how much she should admit. How honest she should be. Then: ]


There wasn't any time to think. But if there had been — [ In the aftermath, there's been nothing but time to think it. Her brows knit in lieu of a head shake. ] I'd say I know how lucky I am but that feels like a gross understatement.
Edited 2019-01-26 18:57 (UTC)
fessus: (Kingdom Hearts)

[personal profile] fessus 2019-01-26 06:27 pm (UTC)(link)
[ Only a brief glance is spared for his own new, milder injuries, shaking himself out of the pain and any potential worry for himself in favor of dropping to his knees. His arm, cast though it is, wraps around him to offer some support against his spine. ]

Fuck... like hell you are. You need a doctor or-- We have to get you back to one of the safehouses, either way.

[ Which is going to be a definite uphill struggle right about now. ]

Do you think you can stand if you're leaning against me?
fessus: (Call of Duty: Modern Warfare 2)

[personal profile] fessus 2019-01-26 07:03 pm (UTC)(link)
No it's not but we should check in anyway. How're you doing?
fessus: (Bomberman Hero)

[personal profile] fessus 2019-01-26 07:09 pm (UTC)(link)
[ Definitely. ]

Are you asking for Ardyn? Feel free to tell him to stop messaging me.
retravel: (135)

[personal profile] retravel 2019-01-26 07:20 pm (UTC)(link)
[ Handling her head wound is the warm-up, ensuring they're on the same page once more (and that he won't get knocked for his roving hands, thanks) as he works his way down. In the short two weeks that they've been at each other's sides (leaving the ball, learning of the past and future, liaising in the SHIELD kitchen, checking in over the network, and now fighting side-by-side), Peggy has been a counterweight to his everything. Steady, when he stumbles. Soft, when he sharpens. And perhaps he's managed to be that balancing force for her in some instances, too.

Yes, the thought of losing her scared him. For reasons beyond the burden of history. ]


I'll take lucky, for want of a better word.

[ By which he means don't overthink it — not the circumstances but the fear that comes with it (he knows the feeling, like cold encroaching at the bottom of the ocean). Regardless, he keeps at it, leaving her temple behind to tend the searing graze on her face (fingers shifting, a brush of his thumb over the apple of her cheek) and then, leaning back to re-assess the whole of her, metered flickers of his gaze, robotic in their precise intervals. Finally, he gathers fresh gauze to clean the laceration on her right bicep, one hand curving underneath her arm to better lift it for inspection. Beyond the obvious worry, he keeps his expression in check, pausing to take in her admission before returning to work.

He takes her mild answer to mean she was rattled. That's her way. ]


Yeah? [ lightly probing, as if he's far more fascinated by playing doctor than the mysterious nature of her survival. He zeroes in on the open sliver of skin and retrieves the suture kit. ] How do you mean? Near miss?

[ With a syringe of local anesthetic in hand, he presses down, attempting to pierce the skin near her injury. ]
covertness: (⟫ necessity)

[personal profile] covertness 2019-01-26 07:28 pm (UTC)(link)
Wow, really?

[ bobbi hadn't heard that one yet. anyway, it's not so bad —she doesn't expect a grand gesture or any attempt to make it better. it simply is what it is, that's all.

they should put it aside for now. ]


Let's head in.
revlon: (108)

[personal profile] revlon 2019-01-26 07:42 pm (UTC)(link)
[ Her lashes flicker at the unsaid thing between the words — only it's too late, she's already overthinking it. Has, for the past few hours, in the moments of quiet that she's worked to chase away with a supply run or a crying child when the guns and soldiers were out of reach. But Peggy doesn't tell him that, just lets her eyes fall closed again when the gauze swipes too close to them (in truth, the light hurts), leaning into his touch then away when it stings a little too much.

Reflex. That's the rule of the day, isn't it? Muscle memory in the field, in patching up other people's hurts, and then — in this. Her new ability. The topic they've arrived at both implicitly and unconsciously. She can't control it, can't explain it, only knows that it chose that precise moment in Patil's apartment to flare to life and, ultimately, save one.

Hers. ]


That wasn't a near miss, [ she says lowly. The cut on her arm burns more under the antiseptic and she wrinkles her nose in displeasure, eyes snapping open again to level a look at him that starts off as reproachful before relaxing into a weary understanding. ] I just meant, whatever happened was —

[ Just like in Patil's apartment, the pain is the first step in triggering her newfound ability, inherently defensive in nature. Cleaning the laceration was the warning and now Fitz approaches the site with the needle and it barely pricks her before her body reacts, her entire upper arm flashing silver-white and metallic under her torn sleeve. Her chest glows. The needle snaps.

Her breath catches, the world stops. Where the cut was, only a faint scratch remains. The seconds suspend, then, faintly: ]


... instinctual.
Edited 2019-01-26 19:47 (UTC)
reneger: (pic#11802623)

[personal profile] reneger 2019-01-26 07:43 pm (UTC)(link)
( he hates this so goddamn much. last time he was pushed away in favor of letting someone else take the harder route, he--christ, still doesn't know what happened to them. where artemis and bizzaro are, if they even made it at all. but there's no choice here. he has to go. they can't both run in guns blazing to distract them, and jason's just barely gotten the kid to calm down enough.

go, and he's running. wincing at the sound of bullets because he can't tell what hit who from here, but loki is capable. he's never seen him fight, but he has spent the last couple months watching him. enough to know. a pocket knife gets yanked out of his jacket, extending the long, thin piece to shove it down into the door frame. gives up on that after a few seconds if it not fucking working and shoves his elbow in through the glass window, throws the glass pieces off the seats before jason climbs in with the kid still in hand, opens up the piece below the steering wheel utilizing the knife and pulls all the fucking wires out.

hover cars are different than the ones he's used to, but the base tech is still close to the same. )


two minutes

( it takes a little less--a minute and a half for him to figure out which wires connect to the power and which ones to the starter. a small roll of tape gets removed from another jacket pocket and jason gently moves the kid over to the passenger seat, takes off his jacket to wrap it around him before he's slouching down, cuts the wires, strips the ends of them with the cutter on his pocket knife and gets the car started.

foot on the gas and he's moving the car around back, careful to keep the speed in line with whatever the goddamn laws are in this area. wraps an arm around the child and pulls him back over onto his lap and opens the passenger door just as he pulls up around back. )


hurry
retravel: (147)

[personal profile] retravel 2019-01-26 08:09 pm (UTC)(link)
[ The needle snaps, and he makes a noise of frustration. Fitz thinks, for a second, that it was his fault — his sodding brain — or a shoddy syringe. Only, no, wait, the metallic shine of her skin. Bloody hell. Tossing the anesthetic aside, he slides two fingers across the surface without hesitation. His other hand still grips her arm. ]

Instinctual.

[ said near simultaneously with her. Huh. He knocks his knuckles against her skin, now more fascinated than concerned (sorry, Carter). Adaptive, reactive, nearly Darwinist. Reminds him of Raina, on some level, and rumours of the bulletproof man of Harlem. A human shield. No, a shield made human.]

Oh, that's brilliant. [ rapidfire, mouth jumping ahead of the rest, brain whirring with the possibilities. Her power changes the game, yet another formidable asset for their cause. ] Your ability — no wonder you survived the shot. Can you feel me? [ applying pressure at her arm, his laser-focus lands on her features, demanding honesty with open eyes. ] Does it hurt?

[ belatedly slowing his roll to ascertain her comfort level and pain threshold. ]
revlon: (118)

[personal profile] revlon 2019-01-26 08:28 pm (UTC)(link)
[ Brilliant, he says, and she feels the farthest from it. This is the first time she's seen what she can do (and, by proxy, what's been done to her); throughout the day, the hail of bullets she took or the punches she dealt, she thought she was simply — unbreakable. Not in the strictest sense, she still broke or fractured something, but there were moments she deflected gunfire or cracked UNA armour with her fists. Like Steve, maybe. A supersoldier the way the Allies wanted.

But when Fitz looks to her, he'll see her gaze transfixed on her own arm and her features slack with open shock. This is more than what the Allies had in mind, more than what Steve could do. She doesn't hear him at first through the pounding in her head (her heartbeat, the concussion) and she blinks once, hard, before refocusing on him. ]


Does it — [ Hurt, her brain supplies. She sucks in a breath, it catches on the knot in her throat, and she swallows past it. ] No. No, I... [ Focus, Carter. Her training reels her back in, bit by bit, but her nerves are fraying and it shows, even as her voice steadies. ] I can feel pressure — I think. But no pain; no more or less than before.

[ And once he eases his grip on her arm, it returns to normal, metal giving way to bruised and grimy flesh like ice into water. One and the same. Transmutation. ]
blyat: (★ i gave you all my blood)

[personal profile] blyat 2019-01-26 09:48 pm (UTC)(link)
[Explosive action on all sides, Cain only has brief moments to pick up on it before his attention is once more divided ahead of him. A bullet sent skidding upward, embedded in the ceiling - the soldiers making calculations, algorithms adjusting to the sudden presence of power, trading out basic weapons for heavier artillery - formation split two, three different directions. That's advantageous. Cain doesn't have time to consider the cooling body on the floor at his feet. Adrenaline is loud in his ears, an endless thunder, sweat beginning to prickle beneath the mask along his hairline and nape of a neck.

He can't see Peggy through the chaos of the living room. He only becomes aware of Markus' tactic when the bowled-over soldier comes careening into the one with a gun pointed at his own chest, creating enough distraction to dart out of an unfavorably cornered position by the wall.

Close to Fitz, he sees all of it happen. Not close enough to lunge the distance and save him, horrified he's about to watch Fitz's neck snap -- then there's a spray of blood, splattering the floor and painting the fridge a deep color, almost black in the lack of light. Something thuds to the ground, followed by the buckle of the unattached body. Cain watches it all in split seconds of quick, thoughtless comprehension.

The two soldiers are beginning to stand. The final third has wheeled around. Closest, his bootheels skid through slippery blood to reach Fitz and haul him away where more shots explode across metal and plaster and concrete. No ordinary guns. They can't survive this onslaught. He drags him behind cover, gun in the opposite hand, wild eyes searching out Peggy and Markus. How close are they? Can they run through, or utilize the portals?]


need to get the FUCK out of here
Edited 2019-01-26 21:49 (UTC)
revlon: (086)

[personal profile] revlon 2019-01-26 11:11 pm (UTC)(link)
[ Markus gets her in the clear and she takes a half step back to survey the ruins of the apartment, impossibly small but somehow cavernous with the stretch of space between them and Cain and Fitz, with the exit both within reach and miles away. The soldiers are an impenetrable wall and adapting to their fraying tactics at an inhuman speed and her mind is buzzing with adrenaline, with trying to recalculate, trying to forget — for now — the desperate execution of the soldier that made a blood slick of the kitchen. She hopes Fitz is conscious enough to do this next thing otherwise she's putting her neck on the line for an exit that doesn't exist. ]

Markus, keep going. Hallway.
Cain, Fitz: portal across as soon as you're clear.
Drawing fire.


[ Bloody hell, bloody hell. Not for long, just a few seconds at most to give Fitz enough time to see where they're going — a hop, skip, and a jump across the room, out the door, with her pulling out last. Not the original plan. But the only one they have. She scoops up her fallen gun and fires both on the trio of soldiers remaining. The bullets ping off their armour but she isn't shooting to kill or incapacitate, just to distract.

What happens next is too fast for her to anticipate or prepare for.

Peggy drops one soldier with either a real bullet or a stun shot, falling into the path of another who halts in his approach on the two men pinned down. The third makes a sharp about-face in her direction and rushes at her at lightning speed; a bullet cracks the visor of his mask in the heartbeat before they collide with brute force — a fist curls in the strap of her bulletproof vest and she's hoisted into the air and slammed into the coffee table, a sickening thud of bone on metal. The impact drives an involuntary cry from her lungs, pain in her head and across her side, but she pushes herself up on her elbows with her heart pounding in her throat, knowing she needs to get up. Needs to move. But the soldier stands over her, hefting a heavy, black rifle and she freezes, looks up at him, and — ]


run

[ — she's shot in the chest point-blank, at close range.

The armour-piercing round tears through the vest, her body jerks on the ground. And doesn't get back up. ]
selfimage: — ɢᴀʀʙᴇᴛᴛ — (She's got medals.)

[personal profile] selfimage 2019-01-26 11:22 pm (UTC)(link)
[ while Loki couldn't consider himself the best at battle, he's certainly still an Asgardian. he knows how to fight, and he's not feeling like there's much mercy to give during this tirade. the UNA hadn't meant to shoot, hadn't meant to chase him, but Loki was aggressive enough to just push them off course. he didn't need to destroy them (this time, anyway), he just needed to distract them.

Jason goes one way, and Loki leads the soldiers in the other, back up the stairs in a mad dash to stay just a few yards in front of them. they shoot and miss, nicking his clothing and causing him to curse. when he turns, he gets one with the stun gun, but the other two don't seem concerned. in midst of the distraction, he hardly wanted all of them to come out shooting, not when there was a child close by. he goes for the next best option: the large pane windows at the end of one of the hallways. he darts toward the dead end, draws his gun forward, sets it to stun and blows out the window. with a little yip of an anxious rush (he's gonna fall, he's definitely gonna fall), he takes the leap through the shattering glass, grabs on to the sill, fucks up his hand before twisting downward.

he jump takes some ricocheting to lose velocity during the fall, from a few windowsills and a fire escape, and then to the top of the back door before he reaches the ground. there's a streak of blood left along the building, but he jumps down to his feet, shaking off the glass and throwing himself in the back of the car.

he knows he doesn't have to tell Jason twice.
]
retravel: (087)

[personal profile] retravel 2019-01-27 12:35 am (UTC)(link)
[ he starts at the middle of the wound and builds outward, symmetrical stitches on either side, design unaffected by jason's pain or commentary. dimly, he makes a note of the injuries in the surrounding area (reminiscent of dick's own scars; perhaps there's a family business element to their brand of vigilantism).

but, ah, leopold. jason isn't the only one whose name carries weight — a familiarity earned and understood before it finds a home in someone's mouth. fitz is one-half of fitzsimmons, representative of life with jemma and family at SHIELD. leopold, on the other hand, is HYDRA, rotted by the way she said it. 'course it's a stupid bit for the lads, one that malone and loki both seem to enjoy (to say nothing of their other shared interests and traits). annoying. harmless. his fingers still pause for a moment, gloved hands preventing emotional exposure. ]


[ dry. ] I get that a lot.

[ back to work, then. a flicker of his gaze downward to meet the topsy-turvy face, younger up close (without his towering height advantage). from here, the wear and tear of fitz's own encounters becomes more obvious (fierce bruising on his cheek and at the sligh opening of his shirt, torn open at the shoulder, but the dried blood flecked up his neck, matted in his short curls, and trailing a thicker coat down the front of his shirt is more striking, born a spectacularly gory UNA kill). his features only betray concentration, biting the inside of his cheek, mouth tugged to one side, as he finishes by slipknotting the sutures. ]

[ hummed approval, there. ] A savvy approach. [ and a sentimental one: after the kids, not the agents. like daisy, his mind supplies, indicative of a better person than himself. fitz moves to jason's front, beginning the process anew, cutting away fabric around the wound. then, mildly. ] But will you be going it alone?
Edited 2019-01-27 00:36 (UTC)
reneger: (got what you deserved.)

[personal profile] reneger 2019-01-27 02:05 am (UTC)(link)
( blood all the way down the wall and it doesn't take a genius to notice it. jason winces, but it's better a bit of blood than a broken bone, probably. loki will heal fast enough, jason's watched it happen before. and once his body lands inside the car, he's slamming down onto the pedal, taking off at full speed down whatever the fuck passes for a road out here. one hand on the steering wheel, the other keeping the child pressed close.

he drives a little recklessly, but never rams into anything. never falters, never hesitates to take a hard turn but always makes it--that's what's important, isn't it? and after they're a good few blocks away jason's hand moves up to cup the child's head against his shoulder, holds him tight as he slams his foot on the break at the same time he turns into another street, slides into what very little traffic is going at this time of day and

follows the goddamn speed limit, hopes trying to blend in this far away from what happened won't get too much attention. )


You good, Lo?

( without turning his head back but he does tilt his chin up just a bit. ) Where'd they hit you? Scale of one to ten, how bad is it?
fessus: (Soul Calibur)

[personal profile] fessus 2019-01-27 02:32 am (UTC)(link)
[ It's hard for him to even keep his eyes on her but harder still for him to look away -- they have time in which they need to act, and that time is going to be up soon. How long before reinforcements arrive? Moving her can't be worse than allowing her to be an immobile target here, right? ]

Or what? [ The frustration is there in his voice now, spurred on by worry. ]

Look, I need to know if you can move your arms. If you can at least hold onto my neck or shoulder, anything that can stabilize you a little better.
fessus: (Demons Souls)

[personal profile] fessus 2019-01-27 02:55 am (UTC)(link)
Hah? You ran into him too? Geeze... Hope you saw him after I did, otherwise it just means he's been getting hurt way more than I thought. [ The temptation to trash Prompto's favorite short anime right after that is strong, so strong, but his friend honestly isn't giving him a lot of time to do that. No sooner is he holding out his arm than he's seriously considering jerking it right back, mouth opening when he withdraws that gun. ]

... you're so messed up... [ This is exasperated affection right here. ]

Oi... oi, quit, you can't seriously think that's gonna' work! You're gonna' break it all over again! Here, what if... Look, you can try that again if we make the gap a little bigger, maybe. Do you have a knife?

--we're not using the gun. Period.
fessus: (Diddy Kong Racing)

[personal profile] fessus 2019-01-27 03:03 am (UTC)(link)
[ Each escalating response has failed and all that leaves him is a more physical one, shirked to the side with a rough shove and still finding himself unwilling to give up. Noctis hurries right back forward the moment Jason starts yelling, arm hooking around his collar from behind with just enough sideways momentum to drag them both back down. The impact with the ground is sharp but easily ignored in favor of anticipating any instinctive strike-backs from the man he knows doesn't want to be calmed down. ]

Shut the hell up! You want more people to die? Do you wanna' be next? That is the last thing he'd want!

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