Purity rally
Terror in Long Island.
An apparent terrorist attack against a Purity rally in Long Island injured hundreds and killed dozens this afternoon, officials said. Witnesses have identified the notorious Erik Lensherr, commonly known as Magneto, as the leader of the attack, placing responsibility on the Brotherhood of Mutants.
The attack began at 3:30 this afternoon on #th street in Long Island, while dozens of spectators and protestors attended a peaceful rally for the organization Purity, a pro-MRA activist group. Speeches by Purity leadership were interrupted by explosions and an orchestrated attack on organization membership and spectators. Witnesses have described a police car hurled through the air towards the rally platform, and a scene of mass hysteria and chaos as police and bystanders were mowed down by mutant terrorists.
The number of casualties in the conflict are still being determined, but witnesses have verified that at least two members of the NYPD have been killed in the attack. Already, reports of backlash against the mutant community are coming in from around the city, as anti-mutant sentiment rises in reaction to the attack. City officials are pleading for calm, and urge all mutants to stay indoors until order can be restored....
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Log from Rossi at X-Men MUCK
The morning dawned crisp and clear, and the afternoon bids fair to follow it. The mid-autumn chill barely impresses New York natives accustomed to more outrageous cold in winter; thus they are in evidence today, in parks and in idle recreation, and -- in one long stretch of street, blocked off by a cynical police presence -- in audience, witting or otherwise. At one end: a stand, erected with speakers and a microphone for demagoguery. At the other, a small crowd of protestors, chanting snappy slogans. A rally takes place today, and bystanders attracted by the noise applaud with puzzled camaraderie to the blare of speakers and rousing words. "Purity for the people!" cries one side. "Mutant rights!" cries the other.
Christ, say the bored police. Will you people finish up, already?
Leather-jacketed men with jeans, the occasional skinhead, and concealed pistols make their way quietly through the crowd. Some grin happily, leading the shouts and cries as the speaker, a middle-aged, balding man cries "Never allow yourselves to be sullied, threatened, subjugated! Cry out for your rights as -human beings-! PURITY!" And still, the goons circulate, searching for anything that looks like trouble.
Near the Purity platform, with her head tilted back to reveal an enthralled expression fixed on the speaker, stands a petite blond woman, tiny and in awe. Occasionally, she almost seems stirred to shout with the crowd, but the shys away. Her eyes drop briefly from the speaker to skim over the crowd, alight with enthusiasm.
Some distance above the crowd itself, Erik Lensherr keeps a critical eye on the proceedings, just as he has for some time, now - the dull gleam of the helmet pulled down snug over his head not nearly enough to draw the attention of those seven stories below. "Subtle." This, of course, attributed to the jacketed and armed Purity enthusiasts moving about in small packs, it's the stage that holds his attentiontion for now - one boot lifted to rest on the lifted barrier at the roof's border as he holds his binoculars up into place.
In the main, it is commonplace people that populate the crowd. Soccer moms. Bespectacled fathers. Taxpayers. And, on a more diminutive front, children, running through adult legs in that timeless and chaotic game that might be called "tag" in some parts of the world (though in the living room it is more commonly known as, "John Lewis Richardson, you get your little bottom off that sofa before I teach you the meaning of trouble!") Alive to the possibilities, several resourceful street vendors have stationed their hot-dog and pretzel stands on the sidewalk, catering to the needs of all comers. Entrepeneurs only know bigotry against the poor.
Blend into the crowd. Right. Shouldn't be too hard. Amara has come dressed for the occassion, as a leather wearing gun toating girl would probably be a bad thing. Instead she's wearing blue jeans, and a sleeveless pink turtle neck. Although told to dispurse through the crowd, she remains at Syphon's side, trying to pull off the innocent, concerned young couple act. Her weapons are well hidden from view, as this is the sort of game she plays best.
Its just like coming back home. Kalin has spent a lot of time in the sewers below New York and he has once again returned to them. It was a simple matter to trace the sewer systems unseen to the sight of the rally. Kalin has coiled himself in to the ladder leading up to the street level, a pseudopod pressed tightly against the man hole cover between the two groups. There he waits, listening for the signal.
One to stay out of politics, and any other such large gatherings with the possibilty of getting violent, Felicia Locke finds herself breaking her own rules to show up at this little show. Something about the idea pulled at her, intreagued her. Perhaps it was the idea of viewing two sides holding a civil debate over a major issue, or it could be the fact that she figures her help might be needed at some point. Either way, she finds an out of the way spot in the crowd and settles in.
Derek comes carefully toward the crowd, sticking to the edges of a street. He pauses and turns back to Padraig. "Quite a crowd," he murmurs softly. He is wearing unusual clothes for him: a knit woolen cap, jeans and boots under his leather trenchcoat. There is also a shotgun under his trenchcoat, well concealed against his body.
If there's one thing Cassandra's learned during her time on the force, it's that large crowds usually invite trouble. This holds especially true when such controversial topics are the cause. As one of the newer members in MA, she feels it's in her best interests to make herself present. Sill wearing her usual clothing, the red head tries her best to get lost in the crowd. Her badge remains well hidden, as she figures it's for the best at the moment.
With her public pronouncement of her own mutant status so recent, and the rally in her own general neighborhood, Dana could hardly resist the temptation to come by, thouh she is dressed significantly down for the occasion; one can't disregard the possibility of having hot dogs thrown at one under these circumstances. Her jeans are worn and comfortable, and she wears a button-down shirt with them. Her eyes are a pale yellow as she surveys the crowd.
Still and silent as stone, Ellen stands in the crowd, utterly implacable: reasonably sleek in black slacks and blue sweater, hands folded primly behind her back, hair fine and dark, down and loose to fan about her shoulders. Her blank expression might as well be graven in stone. Cool blue-grey stare is fastened upon the speaker. Once in a great while, her head will tilt. Slightly.
Padraig moves fairly innocuously just behind Derek, somewhat baggy jeans and a pale green Tee covering the muscled form. Hands are thrust into pockets, to better hide the gleam of steel-studded leather within his palm, and hi hair is allowed to fall loose, masking most of his face against the possibility of prying eyes that hold his description. "Big enough to hide in," he mutters back, "and plenty of flesh to use as cover."
An ambulance is parked nearby, already expectant of some trouble. Yet, most of its contents aren't exactly meant to aid people. The back is tightly closed and the driver's seat is currently empty. In the back, Toad is reclined on the gurney, watching from a small TV as the rally heats up. Yay hidden cameras. He's mostly out of the paramedics outfit he wore to get this far and mostly in his standard cargo gear. Oh, he can't wait.
Less visible, though still obvious, other members of the Mutant Affairs squad roam through the crowd in plain-clothed anonymity, wearing authority and arrogance as their badges. A security sweep of humdrum proportions; their gazes skip across faces, occasionally sharpening before checking photographs -- and then easing again to move on. Names. Faces. Voices. Heights. Profiles of the wanted, sapiens or superior: the NYPD plays no favorites, for the moment. "And where the hell's Rossi?" demands Detective Twinker peevishly, passing by a colleague's ear.
(Stuffed in an alleyway and wrapped up like a goddamn Christmas present, you asshole, Rossi would doubtless say. If he, well, weren't.)
A mother holds her child's hand, shouting fervent agreement wherever appropriate and, occasionally, where inappropriate. Her gray eyes are wide, her dark hair askew. The child looks bored, sulking in the noise, and pulls against her mother's grip. "Let's go," she complains, voice high in a whine. "I'm hungry. I want to go home. It's too loud." Her eyes track through the crowd. "Wanna pretzel." Her mother pulls a stick of gum from her purse with harried exasperation and the girl chews on this, sullen, ignoring the ensuing speech from her mother about the importance of -human- rights. The girl cares more about her -stomach's- rights.
Brendan didn't figure it'd be very smart to show himself in such a large, public gathering such as this, so he takes the relatively safe route and keeps himself out of sight. He attempts to position himself to where he is able to hear what is going on yet no one would be able to spot him. Wearing clothing that hides the dim glow around his body that seems to be permanent, he keeps out of the way, just watching to see what in the heck is going on.
Leaning nonchalantly against a nearby railing, the hefty form of Garath Harrison surveys the crowd with a practised eye. "I almost wish somethin' would kick off, so as I can actually -do- something," he notes to his companion. The small, hand-held radio clutched in one hand rises to report, "Still nothin', boss. Don't think anythin's goin' to happen. If it does, the boys are ready." His other hand maintains its hold on his favoured baseball bat, bloodstained as it is, through his trenchcoat.
"Yup," Derek agrees with Padraig. "Given the choice, you won't see me doing a /thing/. Just watching." He lifts his hand to lower his sunglasses a moment to Padraig and wink, then replaces them. 'Watching' with the eyes of a telekinetic can be an intensive euphamism. "This should give a pretty decent angle to see the stage."
"--in the land of freedom," proclaims the speaker, a small, eloquent man on the stage whose bass is rich and heady, honey and milk. "In the land of liberty, and justice, and /equality/ for all. But equality for whom? For you? For me? Normal human beings whose right to happiness and safety is challenged day by day, by people -- by violent, depraved, vicious mutants -- who think might /makes/ right? Who defy God Himself by claiming themselves above /His/ works, and /His/ children? I say no!"
Standing off in the crowd, somewhere to the left of the main group, Syphon watches around, waiting for the signal. He looks just like any other demonstrator, even going so far as to have taken a picket sign he was offered by one of those Purity goobers. He looks at Umbra, who is next to him and puts his arm around her. "FREAKS GO HOME!" He is cheered by some of the ignorant masses, who don't even know he is talking to them.
"I'll cover you, in case people start shooting at us," Padraig reaffirms. He scans around for potential targets other than the speakers, piercing eyes picking out a few louts within the crowd, only some of which are the right targets.
From her place on the fringes of the crowd, Dana watches and listens to not only the speaker, but the crowd's reactions to him. Which of the arguments are effective? Which are falling flat. Individual words resonate; she jots notes in a handheld notebook for later examination. It is always best to have a solid understanding of the opposition.
The speaker lifts his hands: broad hands, open-palmed to match the sorrowful cast of face. "We do not preach hate," he reminds (voice of reason, voice of peace) casting the bread of wisdom on troubled waters. "We do not say all mutants are evil. We do not say to take arms against our friends and our neighbors, who are born as they were. Against those who suffer, like us, day by day to make life a little better for each other. No. We embrace them. We will be their friends. It is those others that we must take arms against. Criminals. Deviants. Murders like Magneto and his ilk. /Terrorists/. Purity is for /peace/."
Up on the roof, where there was the muffled whip of a cape in the wind, there remains only a leather bag pushed into the shadow of an air conditioning unit. Erik has vanished. Temporarily, mind. From behind the stage, there's a brief clamor - shouting voices, feet scrambling, a shot fired - and a police car, lights blazing, arcs up over the back of the stage and crashes into the crowd on the opposite side, where it grates a good twenty feet before slamming to a gory halt. /Then/ the gas tank explodes.
The speaker lifts his hands: broad hands, open-palmed to match the sorrowful cast of face. "We do not preach hate," he reminds (voice of reason, voice of peace) casting the bread of wisdom on troubled waters. "We do not say all mutants are evil. We do not say to take arms against our friends and our neighbors, who are born as they were. Against those who suffer, like us, day by day to make life a little better for each other. No. We embrace them. We will be their friends. It is those others that we must take arms against. Criminals. Deviants. Murders like Magneto and his ilk. /Terrorists/. Purity is for /peace/."
Joining in the cheers, Amara finds herself sick. Sick of this whole mess. At least she can act well enough for it not to show. Umbra's eyes are constantly on the move, watching for any potential enemies. Even those within their own ranks. Yet as the explosion takes place, she dismisses her thoughts and forces herself into action. Duel pistols are retrieved from beneath her pant legs as she starts popping off shots at the protestors. Most of them are well aimed, merely hitting arms or legs. Except that one bald guy who smells bad who was doing all the coughing earlier. He gets a bullet to the head.
And then the explosion. Garath's hand whips up to his mouth, barking rapid orders for men to check around the back. Throughout the crowd, men reach into pockets to grab pistols, though msot remain concealed as they seek targets, and begin moving quickly as the masses begin to panic. Screaming, red faces show the first signs of impending mortality, and some knots of men begin to form together, facing outwards as they seek something, someone, any mutie to kill.
Mystique needs only that explosion. Timed to perfect, the petite blond woman shifts and fades into startling blue in the same instant that she's on the stage, effortless and easy. /Peace/. Terrorists. She does not bother to argue. A high kick catches the speaker in the side of the head with a mighty blow, and she does not pause to let him get up. Fluid motions carry her down to kneel, hands brace on either side of his head, and a single, sharp twist snaps his neck in full view of the audience.
Shouts. Explosions. Violence. It all began so fast, yet it was to be expected. Cassandra draws her weapon and starts scanning the crowd, trying to tell the prey from the victims. Which isn't easy in all of the confusion. One member of the FoH is spotted and she shouts to him, ordering him to drop his weapon.
Averillix is among those in the crowd, listening. Wide silver eyes are fixed onto the speaker, whereas all the while the small voice recorded in her hands is rambled into quickly in her native tongue. What she's saying is quickly choked out, eyes growing wide as events quickly... well, to be cliche, explode before her.
So much for peace. The police curse, taken aback for a few precious, wasted moments -- too sudden and raw, the attack discombobulates men expecting only quiet and boredom -- and then training takes over. Crowd control first, and the call for backup; radios rasp, sending out the cry, while uniformed bodies press through the streaming bodies, heading for the source of chaos. Brave, determined men and women in blue.
Padraig follows the sounds of cars, of gunshots all around, picking out firers and weapons, and begins to scan more rapidly. "Two moving around.. There!" A hands thrusts forward, spotting a direction for the telekinetic. No burst of power yet from the Irishman. Conservation is the aim of the day.
Brendan is simply standing and watching, muttering to himself as he listens to the anti-mutant propaganda...when suddenly the explosion takes him by surprise..."Holy s---..." he mutters, blinking behind his sunglasses. This is definitely not good. He begins to back away from the crowd, attempting to keep his eyes open in case anyone happened to spot him. He has absolutely no idea that Averillix is there as well...if he knew it, he'd most likely be looking for her to get her the hell out of there.
Syphon swings the picket sign he is holding, and brings it around in a full swing at the face of the closest protester. He drops the sign after effectively smashing the nose and some teeth. His next move is to draw the twin guns from his hidden shoulder holsters and start picking his targets.
A brave, determined woman in blue stands from her crouch and spins round, already angling a series of kicks and punches to a goon rushing her way. A silent smirk appears and spreads.
And there's the signal. Kalin slithers up through the man hole cover, appearing at first as a large blob before his humanoid feature take form. His left arm seems to melt as the hand on the end lengthen. The fingers seem to disappear into his mass leaving a smooth, thinning point. The hand of the other arm expands and forms into a heavy club. Now properly armed Kalin swings the club into the nearest purity member he can see. Smashing his fist hard into the mans ribcage.
As bedlam begins and injuries are made, a few well-wishing protestors rush to the back of the ambulance. "Hey! Hey in there! We need you!" As soon as they get close enough to knock, the back doors slap open and send the two people reeling backwards. Toad hops out, purposely landing on their torsoes, then literally dives into the fray. He's got a wide grin on his face and a knife in one hand which he promised to 'merely knick' a few people with.
Derek is just about to respond to Padraig. Then the explosion and the violence that follows. "Well," he says, mostly to himself since the sound is lost in the crowd, "here we go." And he narrows his eyes. One of the members of the entourage up by the speakers finds a constrictive band closing around his throat and lifting him off the ground. He flails, but there is nothing to grab, no physical force to fight, just a lack of air, even as he floats two, twenty, fifty feet up into the air. Then drops. Then he follows Padraig's pointing cathes his attention. The two that seem to be wielding weapons suddenly find that their weapons are being dragged upwards, hard, by an unseen agency.
Men are moving, and rapidly. Four are drawn by the sounds of gunfire behind them, and immediately pull weapons to search for their targets. No shots are even considered to be fired until they spot Syphon and Umbra, which one does with a shout. The one spotted by Cassandra, however, turns to snarl, "You think -I'm- responsible for this? Bet it's the muties. Hunt them, not me, stupid pig." His weapon, however, does drop from his fingers.
What the hell? Dropping to the ground at the sound of the explosion, Felicia is only too thankful for the bystander who pulls her from the path of being trampled. She dodges as many people as she can, finding the courage to remain and watch as the scene continues. If anything, it will make for an interesting essay. A few of the gun toaters head her way, so she backs off a little, and stumbles over the body of a fallen man. The sight of his body nearly makes her sick, but she finds her calm, and continues to move. This is when she finds a woman, still breathing but injured. Returning the favor done to her mere moments before, she pulls the woman to safety, so she does not get trampled, and begins to heal her. Hopefully the woman won't realize what has happened to her.
One goon -- a tall man, thin, with an aggressive air -- is slow to respond, with double fists of hotdogs to consider. Nick curses and drops one, shoving the last bite of the other into his mouth. He chews with an air of annoyance as he pulls his gun, grip smeared with ketchup. He moves toward the stage, too late; through the crowd, his brother, Zach, wavers, his attention distracted by one who seemed to be of their own dropping a sign and drawing on them. Scattered throughout, children cry, games of tag forgotten.
And as the car skitters across the ground, flinging up angry sparks, as the entire mob dissolves into terror, Dana recoils from the scene, letting her notebook fall forgotten to the pavement as she is pressed back by the panic of fleeing people. Desperately, she fights to retain her footing and her composure through the throng of fear. "Mommy!" A shrill voice goes up from beside her, and Dana's head whips around: a girl of no more than five has gotten separated from her parents. Dana lets out a quiet curse and pulls the child in closer to her, shielding her with her body.
The police do not discriminate; spying a gun in a visibly unofficial hand, one uniform orders the Friend to surrender, while his fellows sprint towards the pedestal -- and discover Mystique, playing at merry mayhem. Guns leap to hands, and take aim. "Stand down!" shouts a flushed sergeant down the line of his sights. "All of you! Stand /down/!"
Cassandra does not let up, even at the shouts of the man. It's hard to tell one goon from another. "Doesn't matter. Drop your weapon. The less violence, the better." She closes on the man, doing her best to avoid any of the violence around her. Which isn't easy.
Stationary to fluidity in an instant: those nearest Ellen are innocent. Read: safe. But away from them quickly enough, for bare fingers serve as deadly as a viper's strike to the back of the Friends' necks. Jackets and guns, so /very/ obvious -- it's barely a blink's worth of effort to close off all his airways and leave him to collapse, choking and suffocating, to the ground, gun hardly reached for. Ellen has already moved on by the time he hits.
From the direction of the police car, Magneto rises over the stage - hands open away from his sides, palms up, polished black boots held stiffly together to resist the tug of the red-lined cape furling out behind the black of his uniform...but it's the helmet, really, that makes it impossible to mistake his identity. "Until humans deign to submit to their inate inferiority, I have no need for /peace/." At once, the guns aimed at Mystique are yanked and twisted violently from the grips of their owners. One actually spins to fire through the chest of another.
A soft laugh filters the area as Syphon nails a protester with the very sign he had handed to them. She continues to make her way through the crowd, wounding several people in ways that could be treated easily. In this way, she does not appear a mutant, and hopefully she'll be more confused with the opposite side of the game. As she spots the FoH'er that spots her, and Syphon, she jams one of her pistols in her waist band and retrieves one of her stillettos. She runs towards the man, hoping the movement will catch him off guard, and aims the weapon up at his throat, hoping to lodge it through his jaw and into his brain.
There's an instant where not only does Averillix's eye coloration cut out, but so does her vision. It quickly returns, but her eyes are a slightly pink tone, now. It's taking, almost literally, almost everything the woman has to keep her cool. Those older, looking like they're panicking far, far more than she is - those who seem more human - are clung to, assisted in navigating through the chaos. This thing equals a big fat not good...
Mystique stands straight, rather than down. Her smirk flickers and broadens as she raises her hands, silent submission to the orders of the police. One breath, another, and then the guns are gone and Mystique is diving forward in a fury and a flurry of fists. A knife appears from somewhere, and one brave man in blue aquires a scarlet necktie and is dropped to the ground.
Shot through by Magneto's doing, the uniformed officer collapses where he stands, mouth open on blank-eyed surprise: fresh-faced, young, and dead. His companions stare for a moment's equal shock, then dive for cover; radios rasp again, harsh on the herald of some smarter intelligence. /Magneto's here/. Another, more reckless (and wiser, with a nightstick's swinging fury) dives after Mystique.
Syphon scans the crowd, guns both out to different angles and spots a gun at the hotdog stand. He lowers to a half crouch and turns, firing a pair of shots. One is aimed at the goon, and the other at the vendor. That's what he gets for serving one of /them/. He smirks as the bullet pierces the stand and shortly after, the chest of the vendor.
Dana isn't going to try to run with the fleeing, panicky mob; she gets herself on the other side of a parked car with her seized child in tow, and is pressed against the metal on the other side of flying bullets and mass violence. She stares through the windows. Her eyes (pale, pale blue), lock on Magneto as he rises over the crowd, and again she gives a quiet curse, hunkering down against the press of people.
Brendan has to dodge between the scattering people in the crowd as he attempts to get as far away from the whole thing as he can. He'd never seen anything like this before in his life, and frankly, it was freaky as all hell. Occasionally, he stops to help a couple injured people get out of the way of the stampeding crowd, but for the most part he's more concerned with the whole 'self preservation' thing. A man carrying a gun steps in front of him and levels it at him, and rather than using his powers in front of everyone, he simply slugs the guy as hard as he can, pushing him down as he continues on through the crowd. "Get the hell outta the way!"
Padraig begins his charge as Derek flings weapons upwards. Two leather-clad fists jump from out of pockets, and the Irishman comes to a full sprint, only throwing his arms out once he is in range. Fists are augmented by the explosion of fists into their cascade of blue sparks, though only at the last moment. A spine is his target, and easily found. One falls screaming to the floor, as Padraig digs sneakers into the floor, a springing leap towards the other man forming the basis of his attack.
Actions and consequences. Catching sight of the gun in Syphon's hand, a white-faced rookie fumbles his own gun out and fires too quickly for the warning to keep pace. "Put your-- /shit/!"
As soon as Toad lands, he's got one hand on an FoH good and one leg kinked around the neck of a rallier. The rallier gets a nice knick on the cheek and kicked aside--He'll suffer long as soon as that poison sets in. The FoHer isn't so lucky, though. Once the rallier is rolled away, Toad brings that same leg around to crack half the FoHer's ribs in a single blow and send him back into a pile of fleeing bystanders.
Poor kid. He barely has time to bring his gun to bear on the woman attacking him before a stiletto slams through his jaw. His hand jerks, his gun misfiring back toward the man she was with by luck, rather than design. His eyes roll back as his body slumps toward the ground. His brother is luckier: the stand shatters, and he'll never be able to buy another hot dog there, but in its shadow, the bullet sent his way misses. He turns, a man sited through crowd by virtue of bright fists. He fires, with a shouted, "Freaks!" Creative, he is not.
Nightstick's swinging fury is no match for reflexes, trained and honed over decades. Mystique steps forward into the momentum of the cop's movement, spinning to grasp the nightstick and twist herself out of the way. Her foot sweeps low, seeking to break his balance, take him down.
Wound sealed and mostly healed, Felicia leaves the innocent woman in a safe place as she goes back out into the frey. So many people fighting, even more appearing confused and frightened. She then scans not those in the crowd, but those on the ground, trying with all her might to pull the wounded to safety. And so begins her task, as she grabs another woman and tries helping her.
It's a digital video camera that rises from Garath's waist to train itself on the action. He stands halfway up a railing, sweeping the high-quality recording across in an easy motion. "Why the fuck Tom want this I don't know," he mutters to himself and the radio clutched against it. "Keep an eye out. If I get murdered, then - oh sh- is that Magneto? Brotherhood confirmed. Shit, shit, shit. Pull -out-, you idiots. PULL THE FUCK OUT!"
It's two men down, the second with a heart regressed to a state the coroner might identify as prenatal; a slim redheaded woman bawling hysterically about the apocalypse directly in her path, Ellen does /not/ kill, but her larynx will likely never work again without quite expensive corrective surgery. There is no wildness to Valkyrie's intensity: her expression is perfectly controlled, even as her movements. A rallier's arm is seized, and a sheath of extraneous skin grows over his mouth, nose and eyes -- and she moves on, smooth as death, leaving him to try and scream through his own new and tender flesh.
Derek grins at the success of his pairing with Padraig. It makes him look more than a little sociopathic as he watches a man collapse to the ground, screaming in pain. As Padraig leaps for the second, Derek gives him an assist by yanking one of the target's feet out from under him; there is no way he will not drop easily under any impact at all.
The nightstick-swinging cop is a brave one, but a match for Mystique? Eh. He goes down, and goes down hard, breath exploding out of him in a gust of air that speaks eloquent volumes for his diet of -- onions, it seems. And sauerkraut. And is that garlic? Nearby, one of his compatriots attempts to disarm a Friends goon, only to be taken down by some errant bullet.
Somewhere, some foolhardy man in blue takes aim at Magneto with a shotgun and fires a beanbag bullet, while gas cannisters break out (too little, too late!) and spin into action, spraying tear gas across the street's floors.
The bloodied skeleton of the police car still crackling with flame, Erik remains a good five feet above the crowd - arrogantly ignoring the occasional 'thunk' of a bullet against the sphere of invisible magnetism that surrounds and protects him. The billowing pillar of black smoke from the initial explosion avoided, it's with narrowed eyes that he follows the line of those staying to fight. A glance back to the stage, and inspiration seems to strike, as a hollow, muffled groan echoes through the rebar underfoot - cement cracking and splitting against the forces working against it.
Kalin steps over the body of a fallen Purity member and swings his club, connecting with the temple of a man attempting a draw a gun. The weighted is a brought down again on the man's face for good measure. Another anti-mutant rallier is able to get his gun out and takes aim at Kalin. Two sorts as fired off, creating two craters in kalin's chest that quickly close up. The is a scream as the bullet, continuing after Kalin, lodge themselves in women standing behind Kalin.
Syphon bellows as the bullet tears through the flesh of his shoulder and is spun by the shot to face the young cop. Self preservation causes him to fire a single round at the head of the young rookie with his good arm, and he begins moving to stay close to Amara. His arm is bleeding profusely, but he figures he'll be ok.
Averillix squeaks softly, feeling a hand grope onto hers; recognizing it that of a child, she gives several loud swears in her native tongue, keeping a clutch to the girl's hand. After this proves futile though, she veers off to the side, hefting the wailing child up onto her hip. Each footstep across any ground with a trace of flora on it is quickly outlined in glowing green, and the woman's concentration becomes even more strained, and her irises a deeper red.
The stilletto is quickly removed from the victim as he falls to the ground. There's an almost twisted look to Amara's face with that, as it is something she's longed to do for quite some time. "You will think twice," she practically whispers, before realizing what has just happened. Her progress is stopped as she eyes Syphon. Eyes narrowed, she begins shooting at anyone and everyone who is unfortunate enough to be close to her (unless she knows them, of course). Umbra makes her way to Syphon's side. "How bad is it?" she calls through the noise?
"You should have stayed home today," Mystique suggests to the cop. She follows him down, kneeling at his side. One hand grips fast and hard at his shoulder, holding him there, and a swift, methodical blow to his throat crushes his windpipe. As quickly as that, she's gone again, leaving him behind to seek out those who /deserve/ this death. Yellow eyes scan the crowd with observant precision as she perches, still, atop the platform for half a moment.
Too much movement. Too much activity. And at one side of the speaker's dais, a mote of intelligence. Or ... something. While concrete buckles and groans underfoot, one clever uniform finds a baseball rolling under the stand, stands, and hurls it with a strong arm at Magneto. Not the traditional strike-out, but the NYPD will take what it can get.
Smoke sputters and fills the street, burning, itching, forcing tears from eyes as the crowd races and dissipates, clearing the pavement.
Firing her own weapon as little as possible, Cassandra approaches any she notices with a weapon. A FoH member is forced to the ground, by losing a less than elegant battle, and cuffed, before she turns in time to dive out of the way of a bullet coming from elsewhere.
Brendan just happened to be heading past Avex as she moves in the opposite direction, and he pauses for a moment, doing a double take. "Avex??" he blinks. "Avex, what the hell are you doing here? This is freaking insane, we have to leave. -Now!-" He moves to her side, ready to help her if she happens to need it. Luckily everyone is too busy fleeing for their lives to really notice him.
Let her go. Blue there is aplenty. Naked blue? Not so much. Dropped to a knee, eyes blinded by the rise of gas and horror's tears, a young uniform lifts her gun and aims recklessly at Mystique. Sobs. Fires. And, a moment later, falls.
Syphon shakes his head at Amara. "I'm fine. GO!" The smoke from the street begins billowing toward him and his eyes cover with a sick yellow film. The gun from his damaged arm is shoved into a holster while the other leads him through the crowd. He continues to pick off random people who look like they could be FoH. Apparently he is having no trouble breathing in the cloud of teargas and smoke.
"Damn. What's the blue one called?" mutters Garath. "On the stage. Seriously, people, get the fuck out of there before you all get murdered. This was -planned-." His running commentary continues as many of the pistol-wielding goons begin to turn, seeking escape and the deepest, darkest holes they can find. Only six jackets remain. The one facing Cassandra scans around, and shrugs as his pistol falls to the floor. "Arrest me then, stupid pig, and I'll laugh while you get murdered by Magneto. Not much time for carrying a gun, and that's all you got."
Kalin turns to the man who shot him, advancing on the him. The spear-arm goes seems to lose its stability and goes flexible. Raising it above his head he brings the lash down hard onto the man's face. This blow is quickly followed up the club rising up to land a blow solidly on his neck.
Dana drops to the ground again, pulling the child in against her and bending her back to brace her forehead against her knees. Shaking slightly, she tries desperately to cling to composure; this can't last forever, right? The crowds shoving away begin to thin, and Dana decides it is time to chance a real escape; scrambling to her feet, she lugs the child up onto her hip and down a side street, away from the pooling smoke and flying bullets and to the dubious safety of an empty doorsill a few blocks away.
Padraig stands to look around again. "Shit. Oi, Shaft! Got me any more?" He quickly moves his way back towards his comrade, flicking eyes around for police or anyone else that might get in their way.
Averillix turns as she hears her name called, eyes flickering between shades of crimson before she turns to Brendan. Her eyes quickly narrow. "I came to -listen-, like everyone else." Several deep breaths, hard pants pass through her, and as the child at her hip starts to wail louder, Avex presses her forehead to hers. "It's okay... It's okay..." Brendan is eyed again, and she sighs. "What do you think I'm /trying/ to do, anyway?"
Another victim out of the way, Felicia takes a moment to pause and catch her breath. How long she will be able to go on, she can't tell, but she's unwilling to stop now. Using a distraction caused by someone, a name she heard but doesn't recognize, she helps another man out of the crowd. This one is able to walk, mostly, and is completely frightened. Looks like he'll be requiring more time than the others.
Naked blue is turned in the opposite direction, picking out Syphon's injured form, as a bullet races toward her. Reflexes note the speeding projectile just before it hits, but even hers aren't up to the task of /dodging/. The bullet rips through flesh, and a strangled cry escapes despite Mystique's best efforts as she falters and collapses.
"I do not fear Magneto." Bold words coming from Cassandra, but she believes in them. "I have not done a thing to him, nor would I be foolish enough to raise a gun to him." Yes, that's an insult. So the man is cuffed, since he's willing to go peacefully.
Thump. His concentration broken, Erik's teeth bare out into a grimace against the sudden impact of the baseball into his turned back. Well. It /was/ turned - cold blue eyes now blazing after the source of this new indignity once a glimpse of the baseball on the split concrete below is caught. Another time. The flaming police car is sent careening violently back towards those that remain - flung and forgotten, to screech horribly into a light pole. The bulb explodes with a fizzle and a pop, and almost as quickly, the abulance Toad originally hid in is lifted and whirled after those attempting to flee.
There's a moment of hesitation, but Amara does as Syphon says. "Do not take another hit," she orders, right before running from the smoke. She's about to fire at another, but pauses as she spots Padraig in line of the shot. The pause is brief, but just enough for her to take a bullet from behind. Luckily, it only strikes her leg. Unfortunetly, it strikes her leg. She spins in time to take down the one responsible, and then attempt to turn and run. Her progress is slow, but she stays on her feet, passing by Padraig. The blood is now staining her new jeans, which upsets her more than anything.
And another rallier gets a little knick on his flesh before Toad shoves him away. Then the Hoodlum's head tilts sideways as smoke spreads across the area. His grin spreads wider as he pulls his goggles from around his neck and over his eyes, then dives into the smokescreen to seek out any ralliers caught in the madness.
Derek coughs as the air starts to fill with gas. "C'mon," he calls to Padraig. "This is a good time to get back from the gas." Then he sees Mystique falling. "Oh, shit," he says, pointing. "Gotta cover her." He starts to push through the crowd, using one arm and his power to part the crowds and some of the airborne toxins as he moves to try and get close enough to at least see Mystique.
Brendan reaches down to try and grab Avex's hand. "Grab the girl and let's go, then! Doesn't look like we have time to hang around and waste time chatting..." He looks back and forth, making sure all of the attackers are distracted before he attempts to flee again. The tear gas seems to present another problem, and he frowns. This sucks. He's not sure where exactly to go, he just knows it has to be somewhere away from here. This is probably the most insane thing he's ever seen...and that's pretty bad.
Not metal, then. /Other/ missiles. A nightstick arcs high, spinning in a vicious whine towards Magneto -- misses, if only by a hair -- while the police regroups and does damage control (hah!) aiding the wounded to cover. Bodies groan or lie with ominous stillness across the increasingly deserted street; the cries and screams of chaos fade away, pouring down side alleys and away! away! as quickly as panicked legs can take them.
Averillix is incapable of holding a child with just one arm. She just doesn't have the build for it. Thanks, freaked up mutation. Instead, she follows close behind the man, breaths becoming choked as the gas passes over the crowd. She stops momentarily, stooping next to a plant and yanking at one of the broad leaves, fumbling for some time as her fingertips, eyes, and the edges of the leaf in hand start to glow.
"Shit!" Padraig curses, at the sound of a gunshot from behind. He follows Amara with eyes and body as she moves fast, noting her continued ability to move with a quick nod. "We got two injured now at least, Derek. We need to pull her out, and fast." He squints in an attempt to see the senior, trying to pick out blue on the stage. He does, however, continue in his scanning for other Brotherhood injured.
Mystique is only down for a moment. Long enough for shock and pain to subside into simply pain, and long enough for her to regather strength and balance. When she stands again, her left leg is strongly favored, but she's moving, down and off the stage, toward a target scurrying away from the crowd. Marked earlier by an eager young blonde woman, Mystique has no intention of leaving any noted Purity members alive. Even if certain bullet wounds make the going slower and more painful.
And already, sirens are wailing nearer - the red and blue flash of light increasingly prevalant even as Magneto twists away from a flung baton, and curls his right hand into a fist. The wrecked ambulance crumples and compacts until it suffers the same fate of its companion in blue. The gas tank erupts - the shockwave from the explosion enough to knock down those it doesn't set on fire. Time to fade into the gathering darkness while it's still possible to do so.
Another explosion, this one closer than the last. Perhaps because she's now closer to the whole thing than before. Felicia does her best to try and leave the man, but he'll not let go of her, constantly whining and complaining about various things. Breaking another rule, Felicia begins to heal his wounds, more so he'd shut up than anything. And so he does, but moreso at the fact that she's a mutant. Oh, boy.
Syphon drops another pair of goons and then sees Umbra take a it. Before he can turn to kill the offender, she has already taken care of it. "I don't want to hear about taking hits, little girl." He runs up and stays extra close now, glancing back at Blitz as he passes. "Blitz!" Tommy fires one bullet to the side of Padraig's shoulder and takes out the attacker that was coming from behind him and goes back to covering Amara as they make a way out.
Ellen cannot breathe through smoke and tear-gas. Sweatered arm curled over her nose and mouth, coughing into her sleeve, she turns to hurry her way clear, eyes narrowed for the necessity. Still hale and hole: bullets flying everywhere, and though one did graze her, she's already healed her side, absent-mindedly (the tear in thick fabric leaves some more skin bare, but this is of little consequence). And it's the scan of blue-grey eyes, hunting for Brotherhood wounded she can get to without crossing directly through smoke and tear-gas, that draws attention to a familiar figure. Eyes widen. "Brendan," is hissed through her teeth into the fabric. Long legs break into a run, towards him -- and then. No. Explosion. Retreat's been sounded. Fierce and elegant as ever, Valkyrie /spits/ her frustration onto the ground, but turns swiftly to rejoin her brethren.
"I've seen enough," notes Garath, with forced machismo taking over from the fear and the yelp as an ambulance careens away, and another explosion flings off. It's very much a tail between his legs as the Friends lieutenant makes a quick exit from his position, sweat dripping off in his fear. The man next to him, frozen, is forgotten.
"PERHAPS NEXT TIME you will think twice before attending a rally run by an anti-mutant propaganda group named /PURITY/." Magneto bellows through the haze, forced up, and up - away from the gas tearing at his sinuses, thickening the saliva in his mouth.
With Syphon appearing at her side, and calling out for Padraig, Umbra turns to watch what happens. "Be careful out there," she calls to him, her eyes showing the briefest sign of concern. She then takes cue from the explosion and does her best to high-tail her butt out of their, dropping several more people in the process, careful to only hurt and not kill. "I should send my dry cleaning bill to the city," she quips as she continues on her way, favoring her right leg more as she goes.
And, forlorn (and a little too late) another baseball lobs up after Magneto. Take that, you -- damn gravity.
Kalin has flowed around a FoH member, making sure the man's nose and mouth are covered. The man's strugglings are beginning to subside when he hears his cue to leave. No longer worrying about holding a form Kalin slithers over the street, clinging close to the ground. Deciding to leave the same way he came he oozes through a sewer grate, hopefully reuniting with his compatriots when things have died down.
Brendan pauses for a moment as he realizes that Avex can't really handle the girl by herself, so he reaches down and picks the girl up in his arms. He coughs, his eyes watering from the tear gas, and he runs forward, having no idea that he had been spotted by Ellen. After a few moments, he manages to make it into an area that's relatively clear...and he sets the girl down again, pausing and dropping to a knee to catch his breath.
Frustration seethes through Mystique's form, simmering off her in waves. The Purity member in her sights disappears at a dead run, and Mystique, hampered by wound and clouding vision (despite morphed mask), spins sharply to seek sight of Erik. She moves off swiftly, forced into retreat with an uneven gait.
When Mystique gets up again, Derek turns back to Padraig. "We're in retreat," he calls. Mystique might, however, find that one or two of the people in her path spontaneously fall down. "C'mon, lightning man, let's book," he says, coughing as he turns to wedge open a path for their retreat.
Padraig falls easily into step again with Derek, the disgusting and humoured look in his eyes the only sign of his usual battle-rage. "Sounds good, Shaft." And he's almost nonchalant as he makes his way along. "Good day, if you ask me."
Like a green gopher, Toad pokes his head out of the smoke at the sound of the ambulance's explosion. And then there are sirens. Toad's looks for signs of Hoodlums who may be in a bind. And coughs; damn gas in the throat. His next leap brings him close to Mystique and when she abandons her pursuit, he follows with his eyes searching behind his goggles. Any 'Hoodlum needs help, he's prettymuch obligated to give it.
"Kuh... Here." The leaf that Averillix was fiddling with - finished, now that both hands are free - is handed to the little girl, and Avex puts both of her hands to her mouth. The little girl follows suit, with the leaf, and much of her hackings and crying start to subside. Enlarged leaf with widened stomata, equalling a makeshift mask. She starts to cough and gag more, unable to pick up the little girl again; a swoon overtakes her, and it's a miracle the Frenchwoman is still standing. "Take her and go," calls Avex.
Never one to leave a man behind, Syphon slows down and waits for Blitz and Derek to make it past him, giving cover while he can. He's probably the only one here who can still breath anyway. "Blitz, D, over here!" He pops a few more rounds into a crowd of fleeing Friends and starts backing out of the fray.
Brendan shakes his head, "No. If I leave, you're coming with me..." He picks the girl up with one arm, then reaches out with his hand to try and take Avex's. "I think the worst of it is over, we'll be safe now...." He turns and watches the dim forms of the BH members fleeing the scene, and he frowns. If he still would have been with them, -he- would have taken part in this as well. It's not a pleasant thought, and he pushes it out of his mind as he gets the girl and Avex out of danger.
Grimey and somewhat blackened by smoke and ash, Erik doesn't stop until he's back on the roof. There, he collapses back against a closed door, his wheezing and coughing doing little to soften the wild, adrenaline-livened edge to his glare. He'll be fine in a moment, really.
The Irish Rogue can thus exit, catching only the edge of the dispersing tear gas as he goes. His eyes stream as he finds his way from the immediate area, moving at a jog that keeps him at speed with the majority. Occasionally he turns to pick out any followers, and spotting none, he turns to enter a dead run towards his designated pick-up point.
Mystique stares sideways at Toad as he appears nearby, and she looks for a moment as if she might ask a question of him. A short fit of coughing makes her think better, however, and her picks up her speed as best she's able, riding high on adrenaline's edge. Away and clear. At the edge of the crowd (and the gas), she shifts again, a tall, wiry black woman, and her stride slows to something more comfortable, and she allows herself the luxury of a limp.
Syphon runs over to Amara, giving her a shoulder to lean as they make their way to the extraction point. "I don't want to hear anything about your dry cleaning. This was my favorite jacket." He pushes through the crowd, trying to avoid any police that may be in the way.
Guns are holstered, stollettos replaces wherever it is she hides them. As Amara nears the edge of the crowd, and the smoke, she appears nothing but an innocent bystander. "You will get a new jacket," she says, seemingly not amused. "And cheaper than I shall replace these jeans." Umbra merely scoffs once they pass the last of the police, and continues on her way to the extraction point.
Toad looks up at Mystique, then as they get further out of the fray, he side-flips over her head and heads into an alley, putting distance between them moments before she puts on her disguise. No drawing attention to her on his account. He's got his own transportation hidden in a back alley a few blocks away--one of those trucks for restocking vending machines that everyone sees but never really pays attention to.
Derek can open up a path with very little effort, running eaasily and still concealing his shotgun. "Good day," he agrees with Padraig as they head for the hills.
And so do the tattered remnants of the Friends of Humanity's forces leave the area, only four men, two of which were involved in the battle. The final tally of death unknown as yet, screeching sirens make their presence felt by ambulance, police and fire vehicles, and the heavily armed and armoured forms of 'rapid' response units. Only one prisoner is taken away, forced bodily into a car and driven away at a rapid rate for interrogation - one Jared Foreman, of the Friends of Humanity. The cleanup begins, as paramedics and ambulance crew rapidly work their way across the space, checking whimpering and screaming forms, though many bodies are left silent, undignified in their end to this world. It's a few minutes more before the media arrive, to be calmly (oh so calmly, with gritted teeth and itching fingers) met by comrades of some of the fallen finest.
[Log ends]
Log of the Brotherhood attack on the Purity rally.
An apparent terrorist attack against a Purity rally in Long Island injured hundreds and killed dozens this afternoon, officials said. Witnesses have identified the notorious Erik Lensherr, commonly known as Magneto, as the leader of the attack, placing responsibility on the Brotherhood of Mutants.
The attack began at 3:30 this afternoon on #th street in Long Island, while dozens of spectators and protestors attended a peaceful rally for the organization Purity, a pro-MRA activist group. Speeches by Purity leadership were interrupted by explosions and an orchestrated attack on organization membership and spectators. Witnesses have described a police car hurled through the air towards the rally platform, and a scene of mass hysteria and chaos as police and bystanders were mowed down by mutant terrorists.
The number of casualties in the conflict are still being determined, but witnesses have verified that at least two members of the NYPD have been killed in the attack. Already, reports of backlash against the mutant community are coming in from around the city, as anti-mutant sentiment rises in reaction to the attack. City officials are pleading for calm, and urge all mutants to stay indoors until order can be restored....
---
Log from Rossi at X-Men MUCK
The morning dawned crisp and clear, and the afternoon bids fair to follow it. The mid-autumn chill barely impresses New York natives accustomed to more outrageous cold in winter; thus they are in evidence today, in parks and in idle recreation, and -- in one long stretch of street, blocked off by a cynical police presence -- in audience, witting or otherwise. At one end: a stand, erected with speakers and a microphone for demagoguery. At the other, a small crowd of protestors, chanting snappy slogans. A rally takes place today, and bystanders attracted by the noise applaud with puzzled camaraderie to the blare of speakers and rousing words. "Purity for the people!" cries one side. "Mutant rights!" cries the other.
Christ, say the bored police. Will you people finish up, already?
Leather-jacketed men with jeans, the occasional skinhead, and concealed pistols make their way quietly through the crowd. Some grin happily, leading the shouts and cries as the speaker, a middle-aged, balding man cries "Never allow yourselves to be sullied, threatened, subjugated! Cry out for your rights as -human beings-! PURITY!" And still, the goons circulate, searching for anything that looks like trouble.
Near the Purity platform, with her head tilted back to reveal an enthralled expression fixed on the speaker, stands a petite blond woman, tiny and in awe. Occasionally, she almost seems stirred to shout with the crowd, but the shys away. Her eyes drop briefly from the speaker to skim over the crowd, alight with enthusiasm.
Some distance above the crowd itself, Erik Lensherr keeps a critical eye on the proceedings, just as he has for some time, now - the dull gleam of the helmet pulled down snug over his head not nearly enough to draw the attention of those seven stories below. "Subtle." This, of course, attributed to the jacketed and armed Purity enthusiasts moving about in small packs, it's the stage that holds his attentiontion for now - one boot lifted to rest on the lifted barrier at the roof's border as he holds his binoculars up into place.
In the main, it is commonplace people that populate the crowd. Soccer moms. Bespectacled fathers. Taxpayers. And, on a more diminutive front, children, running through adult legs in that timeless and chaotic game that might be called "tag" in some parts of the world (though in the living room it is more commonly known as, "John Lewis Richardson, you get your little bottom off that sofa before I teach you the meaning of trouble!") Alive to the possibilities, several resourceful street vendors have stationed their hot-dog and pretzel stands on the sidewalk, catering to the needs of all comers. Entrepeneurs only know bigotry against the poor.
Blend into the crowd. Right. Shouldn't be too hard. Amara has come dressed for the occassion, as a leather wearing gun toating girl would probably be a bad thing. Instead she's wearing blue jeans, and a sleeveless pink turtle neck. Although told to dispurse through the crowd, she remains at Syphon's side, trying to pull off the innocent, concerned young couple act. Her weapons are well hidden from view, as this is the sort of game she plays best.
Its just like coming back home. Kalin has spent a lot of time in the sewers below New York and he has once again returned to them. It was a simple matter to trace the sewer systems unseen to the sight of the rally. Kalin has coiled himself in to the ladder leading up to the street level, a pseudopod pressed tightly against the man hole cover between the two groups. There he waits, listening for the signal.
One to stay out of politics, and any other such large gatherings with the possibilty of getting violent, Felicia Locke finds herself breaking her own rules to show up at this little show. Something about the idea pulled at her, intreagued her. Perhaps it was the idea of viewing two sides holding a civil debate over a major issue, or it could be the fact that she figures her help might be needed at some point. Either way, she finds an out of the way spot in the crowd and settles in.
Derek comes carefully toward the crowd, sticking to the edges of a street. He pauses and turns back to Padraig. "Quite a crowd," he murmurs softly. He is wearing unusual clothes for him: a knit woolen cap, jeans and boots under his leather trenchcoat. There is also a shotgun under his trenchcoat, well concealed against his body.
If there's one thing Cassandra's learned during her time on the force, it's that large crowds usually invite trouble. This holds especially true when such controversial topics are the cause. As one of the newer members in MA, she feels it's in her best interests to make herself present. Sill wearing her usual clothing, the red head tries her best to get lost in the crowd. Her badge remains well hidden, as she figures it's for the best at the moment.
With her public pronouncement of her own mutant status so recent, and the rally in her own general neighborhood, Dana could hardly resist the temptation to come by, thouh she is dressed significantly down for the occasion; one can't disregard the possibility of having hot dogs thrown at one under these circumstances. Her jeans are worn and comfortable, and she wears a button-down shirt with them. Her eyes are a pale yellow as she surveys the crowd.
Still and silent as stone, Ellen stands in the crowd, utterly implacable: reasonably sleek in black slacks and blue sweater, hands folded primly behind her back, hair fine and dark, down and loose to fan about her shoulders. Her blank expression might as well be graven in stone. Cool blue-grey stare is fastened upon the speaker. Once in a great while, her head will tilt. Slightly.
Padraig moves fairly innocuously just behind Derek, somewhat baggy jeans and a pale green Tee covering the muscled form. Hands are thrust into pockets, to better hide the gleam of steel-studded leather within his palm, and hi hair is allowed to fall loose, masking most of his face against the possibility of prying eyes that hold his description. "Big enough to hide in," he mutters back, "and plenty of flesh to use as cover."
An ambulance is parked nearby, already expectant of some trouble. Yet, most of its contents aren't exactly meant to aid people. The back is tightly closed and the driver's seat is currently empty. In the back, Toad is reclined on the gurney, watching from a small TV as the rally heats up. Yay hidden cameras. He's mostly out of the paramedics outfit he wore to get this far and mostly in his standard cargo gear. Oh, he can't wait.
Less visible, though still obvious, other members of the Mutant Affairs squad roam through the crowd in plain-clothed anonymity, wearing authority and arrogance as their badges. A security sweep of humdrum proportions; their gazes skip across faces, occasionally sharpening before checking photographs -- and then easing again to move on. Names. Faces. Voices. Heights. Profiles of the wanted, sapiens or superior: the NYPD plays no favorites, for the moment. "And where the hell's Rossi?" demands Detective Twinker peevishly, passing by a colleague's ear.
(Stuffed in an alleyway and wrapped up like a goddamn Christmas present, you asshole, Rossi would doubtless say. If he, well, weren't.)
A mother holds her child's hand, shouting fervent agreement wherever appropriate and, occasionally, where inappropriate. Her gray eyes are wide, her dark hair askew. The child looks bored, sulking in the noise, and pulls against her mother's grip. "Let's go," she complains, voice high in a whine. "I'm hungry. I want to go home. It's too loud." Her eyes track through the crowd. "Wanna pretzel." Her mother pulls a stick of gum from her purse with harried exasperation and the girl chews on this, sullen, ignoring the ensuing speech from her mother about the importance of -human- rights. The girl cares more about her -stomach's- rights.
Brendan didn't figure it'd be very smart to show himself in such a large, public gathering such as this, so he takes the relatively safe route and keeps himself out of sight. He attempts to position himself to where he is able to hear what is going on yet no one would be able to spot him. Wearing clothing that hides the dim glow around his body that seems to be permanent, he keeps out of the way, just watching to see what in the heck is going on.
Leaning nonchalantly against a nearby railing, the hefty form of Garath Harrison surveys the crowd with a practised eye. "I almost wish somethin' would kick off, so as I can actually -do- something," he notes to his companion. The small, hand-held radio clutched in one hand rises to report, "Still nothin', boss. Don't think anythin's goin' to happen. If it does, the boys are ready." His other hand maintains its hold on his favoured baseball bat, bloodstained as it is, through his trenchcoat.
"Yup," Derek agrees with Padraig. "Given the choice, you won't see me doing a /thing/. Just watching." He lifts his hand to lower his sunglasses a moment to Padraig and wink, then replaces them. 'Watching' with the eyes of a telekinetic can be an intensive euphamism. "This should give a pretty decent angle to see the stage."
"--in the land of freedom," proclaims the speaker, a small, eloquent man on the stage whose bass is rich and heady, honey and milk. "In the land of liberty, and justice, and /equality/ for all. But equality for whom? For you? For me? Normal human beings whose right to happiness and safety is challenged day by day, by people -- by violent, depraved, vicious mutants -- who think might /makes/ right? Who defy God Himself by claiming themselves above /His/ works, and /His/ children? I say no!"
Standing off in the crowd, somewhere to the left of the main group, Syphon watches around, waiting for the signal. He looks just like any other demonstrator, even going so far as to have taken a picket sign he was offered by one of those Purity goobers. He looks at Umbra, who is next to him and puts his arm around her. "FREAKS GO HOME!" He is cheered by some of the ignorant masses, who don't even know he is talking to them.
"I'll cover you, in case people start shooting at us," Padraig reaffirms. He scans around for potential targets other than the speakers, piercing eyes picking out a few louts within the crowd, only some of which are the right targets.
From her place on the fringes of the crowd, Dana watches and listens to not only the speaker, but the crowd's reactions to him. Which of the arguments are effective? Which are falling flat. Individual words resonate; she jots notes in a handheld notebook for later examination. It is always best to have a solid understanding of the opposition.
The speaker lifts his hands: broad hands, open-palmed to match the sorrowful cast of face. "We do not preach hate," he reminds (voice of reason, voice of peace) casting the bread of wisdom on troubled waters. "We do not say all mutants are evil. We do not say to take arms against our friends and our neighbors, who are born as they were. Against those who suffer, like us, day by day to make life a little better for each other. No. We embrace them. We will be their friends. It is those others that we must take arms against. Criminals. Deviants. Murders like Magneto and his ilk. /Terrorists/. Purity is for /peace/."
Up on the roof, where there was the muffled whip of a cape in the wind, there remains only a leather bag pushed into the shadow of an air conditioning unit. Erik has vanished. Temporarily, mind. From behind the stage, there's a brief clamor - shouting voices, feet scrambling, a shot fired - and a police car, lights blazing, arcs up over the back of the stage and crashes into the crowd on the opposite side, where it grates a good twenty feet before slamming to a gory halt. /Then/ the gas tank explodes.
The speaker lifts his hands: broad hands, open-palmed to match the sorrowful cast of face. "We do not preach hate," he reminds (voice of reason, voice of peace) casting the bread of wisdom on troubled waters. "We do not say all mutants are evil. We do not say to take arms against our friends and our neighbors, who are born as they were. Against those who suffer, like us, day by day to make life a little better for each other. No. We embrace them. We will be their friends. It is those others that we must take arms against. Criminals. Deviants. Murders like Magneto and his ilk. /Terrorists/. Purity is for /peace/."
Joining in the cheers, Amara finds herself sick. Sick of this whole mess. At least she can act well enough for it not to show. Umbra's eyes are constantly on the move, watching for any potential enemies. Even those within their own ranks. Yet as the explosion takes place, she dismisses her thoughts and forces herself into action. Duel pistols are retrieved from beneath her pant legs as she starts popping off shots at the protestors. Most of them are well aimed, merely hitting arms or legs. Except that one bald guy who smells bad who was doing all the coughing earlier. He gets a bullet to the head.
And then the explosion. Garath's hand whips up to his mouth, barking rapid orders for men to check around the back. Throughout the crowd, men reach into pockets to grab pistols, though msot remain concealed as they seek targets, and begin moving quickly as the masses begin to panic. Screaming, red faces show the first signs of impending mortality, and some knots of men begin to form together, facing outwards as they seek something, someone, any mutie to kill.
Mystique needs only that explosion. Timed to perfect, the petite blond woman shifts and fades into startling blue in the same instant that she's on the stage, effortless and easy. /Peace/. Terrorists. She does not bother to argue. A high kick catches the speaker in the side of the head with a mighty blow, and she does not pause to let him get up. Fluid motions carry her down to kneel, hands brace on either side of his head, and a single, sharp twist snaps his neck in full view of the audience.
Shouts. Explosions. Violence. It all began so fast, yet it was to be expected. Cassandra draws her weapon and starts scanning the crowd, trying to tell the prey from the victims. Which isn't easy in all of the confusion. One member of the FoH is spotted and she shouts to him, ordering him to drop his weapon.
Averillix is among those in the crowd, listening. Wide silver eyes are fixed onto the speaker, whereas all the while the small voice recorded in her hands is rambled into quickly in her native tongue. What she's saying is quickly choked out, eyes growing wide as events quickly... well, to be cliche, explode before her.
So much for peace. The police curse, taken aback for a few precious, wasted moments -- too sudden and raw, the attack discombobulates men expecting only quiet and boredom -- and then training takes over. Crowd control first, and the call for backup; radios rasp, sending out the cry, while uniformed bodies press through the streaming bodies, heading for the source of chaos. Brave, determined men and women in blue.
Padraig follows the sounds of cars, of gunshots all around, picking out firers and weapons, and begins to scan more rapidly. "Two moving around.. There!" A hands thrusts forward, spotting a direction for the telekinetic. No burst of power yet from the Irishman. Conservation is the aim of the day.
Brendan is simply standing and watching, muttering to himself as he listens to the anti-mutant propaganda...when suddenly the explosion takes him by surprise..."Holy s---..." he mutters, blinking behind his sunglasses. This is definitely not good. He begins to back away from the crowd, attempting to keep his eyes open in case anyone happened to spot him. He has absolutely no idea that Averillix is there as well...if he knew it, he'd most likely be looking for her to get her the hell out of there.
Syphon swings the picket sign he is holding, and brings it around in a full swing at the face of the closest protester. He drops the sign after effectively smashing the nose and some teeth. His next move is to draw the twin guns from his hidden shoulder holsters and start picking his targets.
A brave, determined woman in blue stands from her crouch and spins round, already angling a series of kicks and punches to a goon rushing her way. A silent smirk appears and spreads.
And there's the signal. Kalin slithers up through the man hole cover, appearing at first as a large blob before his humanoid feature take form. His left arm seems to melt as the hand on the end lengthen. The fingers seem to disappear into his mass leaving a smooth, thinning point. The hand of the other arm expands and forms into a heavy club. Now properly armed Kalin swings the club into the nearest purity member he can see. Smashing his fist hard into the mans ribcage.
As bedlam begins and injuries are made, a few well-wishing protestors rush to the back of the ambulance. "Hey! Hey in there! We need you!" As soon as they get close enough to knock, the back doors slap open and send the two people reeling backwards. Toad hops out, purposely landing on their torsoes, then literally dives into the fray. He's got a wide grin on his face and a knife in one hand which he promised to 'merely knick' a few people with.
Derek is just about to respond to Padraig. Then the explosion and the violence that follows. "Well," he says, mostly to himself since the sound is lost in the crowd, "here we go." And he narrows his eyes. One of the members of the entourage up by the speakers finds a constrictive band closing around his throat and lifting him off the ground. He flails, but there is nothing to grab, no physical force to fight, just a lack of air, even as he floats two, twenty, fifty feet up into the air. Then drops. Then he follows Padraig's pointing cathes his attention. The two that seem to be wielding weapons suddenly find that their weapons are being dragged upwards, hard, by an unseen agency.
Men are moving, and rapidly. Four are drawn by the sounds of gunfire behind them, and immediately pull weapons to search for their targets. No shots are even considered to be fired until they spot Syphon and Umbra, which one does with a shout. The one spotted by Cassandra, however, turns to snarl, "You think -I'm- responsible for this? Bet it's the muties. Hunt them, not me, stupid pig." His weapon, however, does drop from his fingers.
What the hell? Dropping to the ground at the sound of the explosion, Felicia is only too thankful for the bystander who pulls her from the path of being trampled. She dodges as many people as she can, finding the courage to remain and watch as the scene continues. If anything, it will make for an interesting essay. A few of the gun toaters head her way, so she backs off a little, and stumbles over the body of a fallen man. The sight of his body nearly makes her sick, but she finds her calm, and continues to move. This is when she finds a woman, still breathing but injured. Returning the favor done to her mere moments before, she pulls the woman to safety, so she does not get trampled, and begins to heal her. Hopefully the woman won't realize what has happened to her.
One goon -- a tall man, thin, with an aggressive air -- is slow to respond, with double fists of hotdogs to consider. Nick curses and drops one, shoving the last bite of the other into his mouth. He chews with an air of annoyance as he pulls his gun, grip smeared with ketchup. He moves toward the stage, too late; through the crowd, his brother, Zach, wavers, his attention distracted by one who seemed to be of their own dropping a sign and drawing on them. Scattered throughout, children cry, games of tag forgotten.
And as the car skitters across the ground, flinging up angry sparks, as the entire mob dissolves into terror, Dana recoils from the scene, letting her notebook fall forgotten to the pavement as she is pressed back by the panic of fleeing people. Desperately, she fights to retain her footing and her composure through the throng of fear. "Mommy!" A shrill voice goes up from beside her, and Dana's head whips around: a girl of no more than five has gotten separated from her parents. Dana lets out a quiet curse and pulls the child in closer to her, shielding her with her body.
The police do not discriminate; spying a gun in a visibly unofficial hand, one uniform orders the Friend to surrender, while his fellows sprint towards the pedestal -- and discover Mystique, playing at merry mayhem. Guns leap to hands, and take aim. "Stand down!" shouts a flushed sergeant down the line of his sights. "All of you! Stand /down/!"
Cassandra does not let up, even at the shouts of the man. It's hard to tell one goon from another. "Doesn't matter. Drop your weapon. The less violence, the better." She closes on the man, doing her best to avoid any of the violence around her. Which isn't easy.
Stationary to fluidity in an instant: those nearest Ellen are innocent. Read: safe. But away from them quickly enough, for bare fingers serve as deadly as a viper's strike to the back of the Friends' necks. Jackets and guns, so /very/ obvious -- it's barely a blink's worth of effort to close off all his airways and leave him to collapse, choking and suffocating, to the ground, gun hardly reached for. Ellen has already moved on by the time he hits.
From the direction of the police car, Magneto rises over the stage - hands open away from his sides, palms up, polished black boots held stiffly together to resist the tug of the red-lined cape furling out behind the black of his uniform...but it's the helmet, really, that makes it impossible to mistake his identity. "Until humans deign to submit to their inate inferiority, I have no need for /peace/." At once, the guns aimed at Mystique are yanked and twisted violently from the grips of their owners. One actually spins to fire through the chest of another.
A soft laugh filters the area as Syphon nails a protester with the very sign he had handed to them. She continues to make her way through the crowd, wounding several people in ways that could be treated easily. In this way, she does not appear a mutant, and hopefully she'll be more confused with the opposite side of the game. As she spots the FoH'er that spots her, and Syphon, she jams one of her pistols in her waist band and retrieves one of her stillettos. She runs towards the man, hoping the movement will catch him off guard, and aims the weapon up at his throat, hoping to lodge it through his jaw and into his brain.
There's an instant where not only does Averillix's eye coloration cut out, but so does her vision. It quickly returns, but her eyes are a slightly pink tone, now. It's taking, almost literally, almost everything the woman has to keep her cool. Those older, looking like they're panicking far, far more than she is - those who seem more human - are clung to, assisted in navigating through the chaos. This thing equals a big fat not good...
Mystique stands straight, rather than down. Her smirk flickers and broadens as she raises her hands, silent submission to the orders of the police. One breath, another, and then the guns are gone and Mystique is diving forward in a fury and a flurry of fists. A knife appears from somewhere, and one brave man in blue aquires a scarlet necktie and is dropped to the ground.
Shot through by Magneto's doing, the uniformed officer collapses where he stands, mouth open on blank-eyed surprise: fresh-faced, young, and dead. His companions stare for a moment's equal shock, then dive for cover; radios rasp again, harsh on the herald of some smarter intelligence. /Magneto's here/. Another, more reckless (and wiser, with a nightstick's swinging fury) dives after Mystique.
Syphon scans the crowd, guns both out to different angles and spots a gun at the hotdog stand. He lowers to a half crouch and turns, firing a pair of shots. One is aimed at the goon, and the other at the vendor. That's what he gets for serving one of /them/. He smirks as the bullet pierces the stand and shortly after, the chest of the vendor.
Dana isn't going to try to run with the fleeing, panicky mob; she gets herself on the other side of a parked car with her seized child in tow, and is pressed against the metal on the other side of flying bullets and mass violence. She stares through the windows. Her eyes (pale, pale blue), lock on Magneto as he rises over the crowd, and again she gives a quiet curse, hunkering down against the press of people.
Brendan has to dodge between the scattering people in the crowd as he attempts to get as far away from the whole thing as he can. He'd never seen anything like this before in his life, and frankly, it was freaky as all hell. Occasionally, he stops to help a couple injured people get out of the way of the stampeding crowd, but for the most part he's more concerned with the whole 'self preservation' thing. A man carrying a gun steps in front of him and levels it at him, and rather than using his powers in front of everyone, he simply slugs the guy as hard as he can, pushing him down as he continues on through the crowd. "Get the hell outta the way!"
Padraig begins his charge as Derek flings weapons upwards. Two leather-clad fists jump from out of pockets, and the Irishman comes to a full sprint, only throwing his arms out once he is in range. Fists are augmented by the explosion of fists into their cascade of blue sparks, though only at the last moment. A spine is his target, and easily found. One falls screaming to the floor, as Padraig digs sneakers into the floor, a springing leap towards the other man forming the basis of his attack.
Actions and consequences. Catching sight of the gun in Syphon's hand, a white-faced rookie fumbles his own gun out and fires too quickly for the warning to keep pace. "Put your-- /shit/!"
As soon as Toad lands, he's got one hand on an FoH good and one leg kinked around the neck of a rallier. The rallier gets a nice knick on the cheek and kicked aside--He'll suffer long as soon as that poison sets in. The FoHer isn't so lucky, though. Once the rallier is rolled away, Toad brings that same leg around to crack half the FoHer's ribs in a single blow and send him back into a pile of fleeing bystanders.
Poor kid. He barely has time to bring his gun to bear on the woman attacking him before a stiletto slams through his jaw. His hand jerks, his gun misfiring back toward the man she was with by luck, rather than design. His eyes roll back as his body slumps toward the ground. His brother is luckier: the stand shatters, and he'll never be able to buy another hot dog there, but in its shadow, the bullet sent his way misses. He turns, a man sited through crowd by virtue of bright fists. He fires, with a shouted, "Freaks!" Creative, he is not.
Nightstick's swinging fury is no match for reflexes, trained and honed over decades. Mystique steps forward into the momentum of the cop's movement, spinning to grasp the nightstick and twist herself out of the way. Her foot sweeps low, seeking to break his balance, take him down.
Wound sealed and mostly healed, Felicia leaves the innocent woman in a safe place as she goes back out into the frey. So many people fighting, even more appearing confused and frightened. She then scans not those in the crowd, but those on the ground, trying with all her might to pull the wounded to safety. And so begins her task, as she grabs another woman and tries helping her.
It's a digital video camera that rises from Garath's waist to train itself on the action. He stands halfway up a railing, sweeping the high-quality recording across in an easy motion. "Why the fuck Tom want this I don't know," he mutters to himself and the radio clutched against it. "Keep an eye out. If I get murdered, then - oh sh- is that Magneto? Brotherhood confirmed. Shit, shit, shit. Pull -out-, you idiots. PULL THE FUCK OUT!"
It's two men down, the second with a heart regressed to a state the coroner might identify as prenatal; a slim redheaded woman bawling hysterically about the apocalypse directly in her path, Ellen does /not/ kill, but her larynx will likely never work again without quite expensive corrective surgery. There is no wildness to Valkyrie's intensity: her expression is perfectly controlled, even as her movements. A rallier's arm is seized, and a sheath of extraneous skin grows over his mouth, nose and eyes -- and she moves on, smooth as death, leaving him to try and scream through his own new and tender flesh.
Derek grins at the success of his pairing with Padraig. It makes him look more than a little sociopathic as he watches a man collapse to the ground, screaming in pain. As Padraig leaps for the second, Derek gives him an assist by yanking one of the target's feet out from under him; there is no way he will not drop easily under any impact at all.
The nightstick-swinging cop is a brave one, but a match for Mystique? Eh. He goes down, and goes down hard, breath exploding out of him in a gust of air that speaks eloquent volumes for his diet of -- onions, it seems. And sauerkraut. And is that garlic? Nearby, one of his compatriots attempts to disarm a Friends goon, only to be taken down by some errant bullet.
Somewhere, some foolhardy man in blue takes aim at Magneto with a shotgun and fires a beanbag bullet, while gas cannisters break out (too little, too late!) and spin into action, spraying tear gas across the street's floors.
The bloodied skeleton of the police car still crackling with flame, Erik remains a good five feet above the crowd - arrogantly ignoring the occasional 'thunk' of a bullet against the sphere of invisible magnetism that surrounds and protects him. The billowing pillar of black smoke from the initial explosion avoided, it's with narrowed eyes that he follows the line of those staying to fight. A glance back to the stage, and inspiration seems to strike, as a hollow, muffled groan echoes through the rebar underfoot - cement cracking and splitting against the forces working against it.
Kalin steps over the body of a fallen Purity member and swings his club, connecting with the temple of a man attempting a draw a gun. The weighted is a brought down again on the man's face for good measure. Another anti-mutant rallier is able to get his gun out and takes aim at Kalin. Two sorts as fired off, creating two craters in kalin's chest that quickly close up. The is a scream as the bullet, continuing after Kalin, lodge themselves in women standing behind Kalin.
Syphon bellows as the bullet tears through the flesh of his shoulder and is spun by the shot to face the young cop. Self preservation causes him to fire a single round at the head of the young rookie with his good arm, and he begins moving to stay close to Amara. His arm is bleeding profusely, but he figures he'll be ok.
Averillix squeaks softly, feeling a hand grope onto hers; recognizing it that of a child, she gives several loud swears in her native tongue, keeping a clutch to the girl's hand. After this proves futile though, she veers off to the side, hefting the wailing child up onto her hip. Each footstep across any ground with a trace of flora on it is quickly outlined in glowing green, and the woman's concentration becomes even more strained, and her irises a deeper red.
The stilletto is quickly removed from the victim as he falls to the ground. There's an almost twisted look to Amara's face with that, as it is something she's longed to do for quite some time. "You will think twice," she practically whispers, before realizing what has just happened. Her progress is stopped as she eyes Syphon. Eyes narrowed, she begins shooting at anyone and everyone who is unfortunate enough to be close to her (unless she knows them, of course). Umbra makes her way to Syphon's side. "How bad is it?" she calls through the noise?
"You should have stayed home today," Mystique suggests to the cop. She follows him down, kneeling at his side. One hand grips fast and hard at his shoulder, holding him there, and a swift, methodical blow to his throat crushes his windpipe. As quickly as that, she's gone again, leaving him behind to seek out those who /deserve/ this death. Yellow eyes scan the crowd with observant precision as she perches, still, atop the platform for half a moment.
Too much movement. Too much activity. And at one side of the speaker's dais, a mote of intelligence. Or ... something. While concrete buckles and groans underfoot, one clever uniform finds a baseball rolling under the stand, stands, and hurls it with a strong arm at Magneto. Not the traditional strike-out, but the NYPD will take what it can get.
Smoke sputters and fills the street, burning, itching, forcing tears from eyes as the crowd races and dissipates, clearing the pavement.
Firing her own weapon as little as possible, Cassandra approaches any she notices with a weapon. A FoH member is forced to the ground, by losing a less than elegant battle, and cuffed, before she turns in time to dive out of the way of a bullet coming from elsewhere.
Brendan just happened to be heading past Avex as she moves in the opposite direction, and he pauses for a moment, doing a double take. "Avex??" he blinks. "Avex, what the hell are you doing here? This is freaking insane, we have to leave. -Now!-" He moves to her side, ready to help her if she happens to need it. Luckily everyone is too busy fleeing for their lives to really notice him.
Let her go. Blue there is aplenty. Naked blue? Not so much. Dropped to a knee, eyes blinded by the rise of gas and horror's tears, a young uniform lifts her gun and aims recklessly at Mystique. Sobs. Fires. And, a moment later, falls.
Syphon shakes his head at Amara. "I'm fine. GO!" The smoke from the street begins billowing toward him and his eyes cover with a sick yellow film. The gun from his damaged arm is shoved into a holster while the other leads him through the crowd. He continues to pick off random people who look like they could be FoH. Apparently he is having no trouble breathing in the cloud of teargas and smoke.
"Damn. What's the blue one called?" mutters Garath. "On the stage. Seriously, people, get the fuck out of there before you all get murdered. This was -planned-." His running commentary continues as many of the pistol-wielding goons begin to turn, seeking escape and the deepest, darkest holes they can find. Only six jackets remain. The one facing Cassandra scans around, and shrugs as his pistol falls to the floor. "Arrest me then, stupid pig, and I'll laugh while you get murdered by Magneto. Not much time for carrying a gun, and that's all you got."
Kalin turns to the man who shot him, advancing on the him. The spear-arm goes seems to lose its stability and goes flexible. Raising it above his head he brings the lash down hard onto the man's face. This blow is quickly followed up the club rising up to land a blow solidly on his neck.
Dana drops to the ground again, pulling the child in against her and bending her back to brace her forehead against her knees. Shaking slightly, she tries desperately to cling to composure; this can't last forever, right? The crowds shoving away begin to thin, and Dana decides it is time to chance a real escape; scrambling to her feet, she lugs the child up onto her hip and down a side street, away from the pooling smoke and flying bullets and to the dubious safety of an empty doorsill a few blocks away.
Padraig stands to look around again. "Shit. Oi, Shaft! Got me any more?" He quickly moves his way back towards his comrade, flicking eyes around for police or anyone else that might get in their way.
Averillix turns as she hears her name called, eyes flickering between shades of crimson before she turns to Brendan. Her eyes quickly narrow. "I came to -listen-, like everyone else." Several deep breaths, hard pants pass through her, and as the child at her hip starts to wail louder, Avex presses her forehead to hers. "It's okay... It's okay..." Brendan is eyed again, and she sighs. "What do you think I'm /trying/ to do, anyway?"
Another victim out of the way, Felicia takes a moment to pause and catch her breath. How long she will be able to go on, she can't tell, but she's unwilling to stop now. Using a distraction caused by someone, a name she heard but doesn't recognize, she helps another man out of the crowd. This one is able to walk, mostly, and is completely frightened. Looks like he'll be requiring more time than the others.
Naked blue is turned in the opposite direction, picking out Syphon's injured form, as a bullet races toward her. Reflexes note the speeding projectile just before it hits, but even hers aren't up to the task of /dodging/. The bullet rips through flesh, and a strangled cry escapes despite Mystique's best efforts as she falters and collapses.
"I do not fear Magneto." Bold words coming from Cassandra, but she believes in them. "I have not done a thing to him, nor would I be foolish enough to raise a gun to him." Yes, that's an insult. So the man is cuffed, since he's willing to go peacefully.
Thump. His concentration broken, Erik's teeth bare out into a grimace against the sudden impact of the baseball into his turned back. Well. It /was/ turned - cold blue eyes now blazing after the source of this new indignity once a glimpse of the baseball on the split concrete below is caught. Another time. The flaming police car is sent careening violently back towards those that remain - flung and forgotten, to screech horribly into a light pole. The bulb explodes with a fizzle and a pop, and almost as quickly, the abulance Toad originally hid in is lifted and whirled after those attempting to flee.
There's a moment of hesitation, but Amara does as Syphon says. "Do not take another hit," she orders, right before running from the smoke. She's about to fire at another, but pauses as she spots Padraig in line of the shot. The pause is brief, but just enough for her to take a bullet from behind. Luckily, it only strikes her leg. Unfortunetly, it strikes her leg. She spins in time to take down the one responsible, and then attempt to turn and run. Her progress is slow, but she stays on her feet, passing by Padraig. The blood is now staining her new jeans, which upsets her more than anything.
And another rallier gets a little knick on his flesh before Toad shoves him away. Then the Hoodlum's head tilts sideways as smoke spreads across the area. His grin spreads wider as he pulls his goggles from around his neck and over his eyes, then dives into the smokescreen to seek out any ralliers caught in the madness.
Derek coughs as the air starts to fill with gas. "C'mon," he calls to Padraig. "This is a good time to get back from the gas." Then he sees Mystique falling. "Oh, shit," he says, pointing. "Gotta cover her." He starts to push through the crowd, using one arm and his power to part the crowds and some of the airborne toxins as he moves to try and get close enough to at least see Mystique.
Brendan reaches down to try and grab Avex's hand. "Grab the girl and let's go, then! Doesn't look like we have time to hang around and waste time chatting..." He looks back and forth, making sure all of the attackers are distracted before he attempts to flee again. The tear gas seems to present another problem, and he frowns. This sucks. He's not sure where exactly to go, he just knows it has to be somewhere away from here. This is probably the most insane thing he's ever seen...and that's pretty bad.
Not metal, then. /Other/ missiles. A nightstick arcs high, spinning in a vicious whine towards Magneto -- misses, if only by a hair -- while the police regroups and does damage control (hah!) aiding the wounded to cover. Bodies groan or lie with ominous stillness across the increasingly deserted street; the cries and screams of chaos fade away, pouring down side alleys and away! away! as quickly as panicked legs can take them.
Averillix is incapable of holding a child with just one arm. She just doesn't have the build for it. Thanks, freaked up mutation. Instead, she follows close behind the man, breaths becoming choked as the gas passes over the crowd. She stops momentarily, stooping next to a plant and yanking at one of the broad leaves, fumbling for some time as her fingertips, eyes, and the edges of the leaf in hand start to glow.
"Shit!" Padraig curses, at the sound of a gunshot from behind. He follows Amara with eyes and body as she moves fast, noting her continued ability to move with a quick nod. "We got two injured now at least, Derek. We need to pull her out, and fast." He squints in an attempt to see the senior, trying to pick out blue on the stage. He does, however, continue in his scanning for other Brotherhood injured.
Mystique is only down for a moment. Long enough for shock and pain to subside into simply pain, and long enough for her to regather strength and balance. When she stands again, her left leg is strongly favored, but she's moving, down and off the stage, toward a target scurrying away from the crowd. Marked earlier by an eager young blonde woman, Mystique has no intention of leaving any noted Purity members alive. Even if certain bullet wounds make the going slower and more painful.
And already, sirens are wailing nearer - the red and blue flash of light increasingly prevalant even as Magneto twists away from a flung baton, and curls his right hand into a fist. The wrecked ambulance crumples and compacts until it suffers the same fate of its companion in blue. The gas tank erupts - the shockwave from the explosion enough to knock down those it doesn't set on fire. Time to fade into the gathering darkness while it's still possible to do so.
Another explosion, this one closer than the last. Perhaps because she's now closer to the whole thing than before. Felicia does her best to try and leave the man, but he'll not let go of her, constantly whining and complaining about various things. Breaking another rule, Felicia begins to heal his wounds, more so he'd shut up than anything. And so he does, but moreso at the fact that she's a mutant. Oh, boy.
Syphon drops another pair of goons and then sees Umbra take a it. Before he can turn to kill the offender, she has already taken care of it. "I don't want to hear about taking hits, little girl." He runs up and stays extra close now, glancing back at Blitz as he passes. "Blitz!" Tommy fires one bullet to the side of Padraig's shoulder and takes out the attacker that was coming from behind him and goes back to covering Amara as they make a way out.
Ellen cannot breathe through smoke and tear-gas. Sweatered arm curled over her nose and mouth, coughing into her sleeve, she turns to hurry her way clear, eyes narrowed for the necessity. Still hale and hole: bullets flying everywhere, and though one did graze her, she's already healed her side, absent-mindedly (the tear in thick fabric leaves some more skin bare, but this is of little consequence). And it's the scan of blue-grey eyes, hunting for Brotherhood wounded she can get to without crossing directly through smoke and tear-gas, that draws attention to a familiar figure. Eyes widen. "Brendan," is hissed through her teeth into the fabric. Long legs break into a run, towards him -- and then. No. Explosion. Retreat's been sounded. Fierce and elegant as ever, Valkyrie /spits/ her frustration onto the ground, but turns swiftly to rejoin her brethren.
"I've seen enough," notes Garath, with forced machismo taking over from the fear and the yelp as an ambulance careens away, and another explosion flings off. It's very much a tail between his legs as the Friends lieutenant makes a quick exit from his position, sweat dripping off in his fear. The man next to him, frozen, is forgotten.
"PERHAPS NEXT TIME you will think twice before attending a rally run by an anti-mutant propaganda group named /PURITY/." Magneto bellows through the haze, forced up, and up - away from the gas tearing at his sinuses, thickening the saliva in his mouth.
With Syphon appearing at her side, and calling out for Padraig, Umbra turns to watch what happens. "Be careful out there," she calls to him, her eyes showing the briefest sign of concern. She then takes cue from the explosion and does her best to high-tail her butt out of their, dropping several more people in the process, careful to only hurt and not kill. "I should send my dry cleaning bill to the city," she quips as she continues on her way, favoring her right leg more as she goes.
And, forlorn (and a little too late) another baseball lobs up after Magneto. Take that, you -- damn gravity.
Kalin has flowed around a FoH member, making sure the man's nose and mouth are covered. The man's strugglings are beginning to subside when he hears his cue to leave. No longer worrying about holding a form Kalin slithers over the street, clinging close to the ground. Deciding to leave the same way he came he oozes through a sewer grate, hopefully reuniting with his compatriots when things have died down.
Brendan pauses for a moment as he realizes that Avex can't really handle the girl by herself, so he reaches down and picks the girl up in his arms. He coughs, his eyes watering from the tear gas, and he runs forward, having no idea that he had been spotted by Ellen. After a few moments, he manages to make it into an area that's relatively clear...and he sets the girl down again, pausing and dropping to a knee to catch his breath.
Frustration seethes through Mystique's form, simmering off her in waves. The Purity member in her sights disappears at a dead run, and Mystique, hampered by wound and clouding vision (despite morphed mask), spins sharply to seek sight of Erik. She moves off swiftly, forced into retreat with an uneven gait.
When Mystique gets up again, Derek turns back to Padraig. "We're in retreat," he calls. Mystique might, however, find that one or two of the people in her path spontaneously fall down. "C'mon, lightning man, let's book," he says, coughing as he turns to wedge open a path for their retreat.
Padraig falls easily into step again with Derek, the disgusting and humoured look in his eyes the only sign of his usual battle-rage. "Sounds good, Shaft." And he's almost nonchalant as he makes his way along. "Good day, if you ask me."
Like a green gopher, Toad pokes his head out of the smoke at the sound of the ambulance's explosion. And then there are sirens. Toad's looks for signs of Hoodlums who may be in a bind. And coughs; damn gas in the throat. His next leap brings him close to Mystique and when she abandons her pursuit, he follows with his eyes searching behind his goggles. Any 'Hoodlum needs help, he's prettymuch obligated to give it.
"Kuh... Here." The leaf that Averillix was fiddling with - finished, now that both hands are free - is handed to the little girl, and Avex puts both of her hands to her mouth. The little girl follows suit, with the leaf, and much of her hackings and crying start to subside. Enlarged leaf with widened stomata, equalling a makeshift mask. She starts to cough and gag more, unable to pick up the little girl again; a swoon overtakes her, and it's a miracle the Frenchwoman is still standing. "Take her and go," calls Avex.
Never one to leave a man behind, Syphon slows down and waits for Blitz and Derek to make it past him, giving cover while he can. He's probably the only one here who can still breath anyway. "Blitz, D, over here!" He pops a few more rounds into a crowd of fleeing Friends and starts backing out of the fray.
Brendan shakes his head, "No. If I leave, you're coming with me..." He picks the girl up with one arm, then reaches out with his hand to try and take Avex's. "I think the worst of it is over, we'll be safe now...." He turns and watches the dim forms of the BH members fleeing the scene, and he frowns. If he still would have been with them, -he- would have taken part in this as well. It's not a pleasant thought, and he pushes it out of his mind as he gets the girl and Avex out of danger.
Grimey and somewhat blackened by smoke and ash, Erik doesn't stop until he's back on the roof. There, he collapses back against a closed door, his wheezing and coughing doing little to soften the wild, adrenaline-livened edge to his glare. He'll be fine in a moment, really.
The Irish Rogue can thus exit, catching only the edge of the dispersing tear gas as he goes. His eyes stream as he finds his way from the immediate area, moving at a jog that keeps him at speed with the majority. Occasionally he turns to pick out any followers, and spotting none, he turns to enter a dead run towards his designated pick-up point.
Mystique stares sideways at Toad as he appears nearby, and she looks for a moment as if she might ask a question of him. A short fit of coughing makes her think better, however, and her picks up her speed as best she's able, riding high on adrenaline's edge. Away and clear. At the edge of the crowd (and the gas), she shifts again, a tall, wiry black woman, and her stride slows to something more comfortable, and she allows herself the luxury of a limp.
Syphon runs over to Amara, giving her a shoulder to lean as they make their way to the extraction point. "I don't want to hear anything about your dry cleaning. This was my favorite jacket." He pushes through the crowd, trying to avoid any police that may be in the way.
Guns are holstered, stollettos replaces wherever it is she hides them. As Amara nears the edge of the crowd, and the smoke, she appears nothing but an innocent bystander. "You will get a new jacket," she says, seemingly not amused. "And cheaper than I shall replace these jeans." Umbra merely scoffs once they pass the last of the police, and continues on her way to the extraction point.
Toad looks up at Mystique, then as they get further out of the fray, he side-flips over her head and heads into an alley, putting distance between them moments before she puts on her disguise. No drawing attention to her on his account. He's got his own transportation hidden in a back alley a few blocks away--one of those trucks for restocking vending machines that everyone sees but never really pays attention to.
Derek can open up a path with very little effort, running eaasily and still concealing his shotgun. "Good day," he agrees with Padraig as they head for the hills.
And so do the tattered remnants of the Friends of Humanity's forces leave the area, only four men, two of which were involved in the battle. The final tally of death unknown as yet, screeching sirens make their presence felt by ambulance, police and fire vehicles, and the heavily armed and armoured forms of 'rapid' response units. Only one prisoner is taken away, forced bodily into a car and driven away at a rapid rate for interrogation - one Jared Foreman, of the Friends of Humanity. The cleanup begins, as paramedics and ambulance crew rapidly work their way across the space, checking whimpering and screaming forms, though many bodies are left silent, undignified in their end to this world. It's a few minutes more before the media arrive, to be calmly (oh so calmly, with gritted teeth and itching fingers) met by comrades of some of the fallen finest.
[Log ends]
Log of the Brotherhood attack on the Purity rally.