ArchivedLogs:Christmas Yet To Come
| Christmas Yet To Come | |
|---|---|
| Dramatis Personae
Anette, Ash, Ducky, Dusk, Faelan, Horus, Ion, Isra, Jim, Kay, Micah |
Christmas Day, 2019 Part of Future Past TP. Set the morning after the cavalry arrives. |
| Location
Detainment Camp | |
Tall, thick walls surround a destitute camp, with guard stations every twenty yards. On each side of the walls there are fences of barbed wire, keeping people from approaching. The ground inside is fairly barren, dirt and minimal grass, mixed with spindly steppe climate scrub vegetation. There are small block like houses lined up in a regulated fashion, filled with nothing but bunks, built out of pressure treated lumber and lined with thin mattresses and basic bedding. There is one large cafeteria building where food is manufactured and assembled, but there are no tables for eating. Two outhouses stand on opposite sides of the camp, providing minimal access to hygienic facilities, simply to keep disease from running rampant. Cordoned off by yet more barbed wire is a little slice of the modern world: two tall concrete buildings with heavy metal doors stand watch. One is the guards barracks, with hot showers, laundry facilities, entertainment and a distinguishably better cafeteria. The third floor is an office space with officer's apartments on top, providing those who run the camp a place to go over paperwork, strategize plans. The other building, the more sturdily constructed building provides a space for further detainment of more dangerous or troublesome prisoners, those that are not seen for extended periods of time and return to the general population worse than when the left -- if they return at all. These buildings stand on either side of the only entrance to the camp, providing supports for the series of gates that slow anyone coming in or out for inspection. There's something pervasive about holidays. In a society so deeply engrained with the mandate to celebrate, especially during the winter months, it's difficult to escape, even in a detainment camp. People who have recently arrived know what the date is. The rumors that the usual Friday delivery of new detainees will be delayed a day goes to reinforce the notion. However, the day begins very much the same as any other day, Sentinel guards roam the barracks area and lines form at the outhouse, filled with people who wake up with the urge to purge. The food prep is already underway, though no delicious smells fill the air. It's only cold as hell. People who have the song 'White Christmas' stuck in their heads are likely cursing its existence. Ash makes his way out of the outhouse and moves his way through the dingey snow, the material mucked with mud and dirt from being trod upon by many feet since the last fall. He is thoroughly cold and is trying to keep moving in order to keep from freezing. He is heading for the cafeteria to gather food. It would have been slightly warmer to stay piled in the barracks, using each other to stay warm, but without food, everyone steadily grows colder and colder until they die. Therefore, food is necessary. And so, he leave meager comfort and warmth to pursue life. Anette had made it to the cafeteria hours ago, but unlike most others, she doesn’t have food in front of her. Instead, she’s sitting up against a wall, eyes on the floor, just staring. She’s only been here a few days but in that short time, nobody’s seen her eat more than a few bites. The once mouthy and rage-filled mutant is now quiet and hasn’t spoken since her arrival. Calm isn’t quite the word for it. She seems…broken. Despite her shivers, the cold seems to have minimal effect on her. She hasn’t even grabbed a blanket for herself, just wrapping her wings about herself. Ash enters the mess hall and lets more cold air rush in. He pauses to take a look around before heading directly to the line for food. He stands in silence for a while, grabbing an empty bowl and turning it over and over in his hands. He shuffles forward and looks over at the food, staring at the gruel and protein supplements, no salt and pepper in sight. And there, at the end of the line, a single Sentinel waiting to force every person who comes to eat to take a single white pill. His jaw sets. Most are allowed to take the pill in hand and insert it themselves, proving they have swallowed it. When Ash receives food, the Sentinel straightens and turns toward him, more active. The mutant scowls and settles backward a half step. Eventually, he finds a plucky little smile. "What? No pass for Christmas? Come on, it's a holiday. Maybe you could sugar coat it for once?" Apparently, Anette’s lack of eating has not gone unnoticed as a fellow mutant approaches, holding a bowl of...whatever it is they’re calling food. “Come love, I know it’s not the best but you should eat somethin’,” he says, holding the bowl towards her. She looks up briefly, her yellow eyes flickering over his face briefly before dropping back to the floor. “Come now, just a bite? Clearly missing somebody on the outside and you’re not doing them no good by starving yourself to death.” This has an effect on Anette but clearly not the intended one. She quickly stands up, knocking the old man’s bowl to the floor without a word as she rushes to the exit. She bumps into several people, including Ash as she reaches the door. Once out in the cold, she leans up against the wall, just outside the door. Ignoring those coming and going, she slides down the wall, sitting in the muddy snow, and wraps her face in her arms, giving in to her tears. The Sentinel has no reaction to Ash's sass. They do not have a sense of humor nor feelings to hurt. It pays no heed to the mutant's words and instead reaches out one of its vice like hands reaches out to take him by the arm. The other arm lifts with a small pill held between tiny fingers, aiming to thrust it down his throat. Ash attempts to get away, knowing this dance well. He moves to dodged but is knocked back into the Sentinel's grip by Anette's hasty escape. He groans as the thing nearly breaks his arm wresting him back. He raises a hand to block the arm, but opts to allow the pill to be inserted into his mouth, protecting what is left of his teeth. He glares as he swallows, a hand being placed at this throat to ensure that the pill goes down. When released, he kneels to pick up what is left of the food in his bowl and turns to leave and eventually eat. Eventually, the cold sinks into Anette’s bones and she stands, wiping the tears from her eyes. Looking around briefly, she decides to slip back inside the cafeteria. Her eyes kept downwards, she tries to make her way back in mostly unnoticed but ends up bumping into Ash. Again. She jumps back in surprise, accidentally making eye contact. She freezes for a moment, not quite sure how to handle this before clearing her throat. “Uh...excuse me...sorry…” she says, lowering her eyes down again as she wraps her wings tighter around her. “You’re the...first person I recognize in here…” she adds quietly after a few awkward seconds. Missing from camp life for a few days - likely not for the first time - Kay is in the process of unceremonious dischargement from the dark interiors of the larger building for the more problematic mutants. It mostly involves shuffling out a door that shuts behind him. Pausing initially to blink-jerk recoil from the natural daylight, he squint-glances around while slowly pulling the ripped collar of his shirt, spatter-dripped with darker staining, up to re-cover a scraped bare shoulder. Then just… falls in amongst a loose couple of fellow campmates, arms loosely curled around his abdomen, to shuffle-limp-shiver his way towards the cafeteria. Coming in through the door, his eyes grow more awake, locking with a feral /frenetic/ intensity across the room on the Sentinel that is just finishing it's manhandled dosing of Ash's familiar figure, not fading with the faint twitch in his jaw to realize Anette - surely a familiar Brotherhood member from days gone by - has been added to the ranks. Though concealed by a ridgeline and some distance downwind of the camp, Isra keeps low and huddles around herself, an awkward gray coil of blanket, limbs and tail. She inhales deep, ears straining toward the camp. "Breakfast," she says very softly, signing while she speaks, "any Sentinels not otherwise posted will be watching the cafeteria. This ridge runs nearest the fence on the northwestern side, but we /will/ be seen crossing the open ground." Her eyes scan the gathered company--Horus's ragtag army--and though her face betrays no emotion, her tail twitches continuously. The plain the ragtag army has assembled themselves on is currently teeming, a couple large trucks tucked behind the ridge and a rather large squad of mutants managing to mill rather /quietly/ where they have gathered. Horus has ditched his pack on the ground, flapping up into the air to circle high over the camp once and then land again. The bird-man is restless, fidgety as he returns to his pack. To very /solemnly/ remove from it a harness, a set of coiled-up tentacle-like appendages that he needs to recruit the help of a nearby woman to help strap him into. Prosthetics in place, he can now pick /up/ -- not his tablet, no. Priorities, first. /First/, a very fine bowler hat that he perches atop his head. Second, a starred army patch that he sticks onto one of his prosthetic limbs. /General/ Horus, thus outfitted, /now/ picks up his tablet to address his troops. His stylus swipes quickly at the screen of the tablet. 'I see in your eyes the same fear that would take me,' the robotic tablet-voice begins, monotone and turned down to a very low volume not really made for rousing speeches, 'a day may come when the courage of men fails --' "-- Eyyyy, pajarito, we seen that movie, huh?" Ion's gruff bass sounds amused more than full of trepidation. If Horus is trying to rouse the troops to /laughter/, well. The rangy electrokinetic is leaning against the side of a truck, dirty hair pulled back into a ponytail, chewing on the edge of one ragged fingernail. He looks -- skinny, thickly scarred, eyes sunken -- but lividly brightly /alive/. "Maybe some, uh, march-orders." Horus's head dips, a little bit disappointed, perhaps. 'Oh yes right yes. If you can carry-fly-jump-teleport-SPEED-run, fast, move, go, you, grab, people, and take them, in the ducks-tucks-trucks trucks. I told people already to stay here and guard. The trucks. If you can fight you fight the right-Roddick-robots there are many robots. We don't need to kill them all we just need to get everyone in. And go.' Micah is, at least, a little quieter in his movements since B's additions to his legs, though he is still looking /quite/ robotic: all assorted metals and carbon fibre and plastic below the tattered denim ripped off at thigh level on both legs. He matches Ion rather well for copious scars and dirty, tailed-back hair--though auburn with streaks of silver on his end, and mostly hidden under an old black winter cap pulled down to his ears. “Y'start doin' Henry the Fifth an' we'll all be /in/ the camp 'fore you're done,” he teases along, managing a thin slice of smile despite his firm-set jaw. “Accordin' t'B I should be able t'go /over/ these barricades with the latest upgrades.” His hands range over assorted spots on his body, patting down each of the weapons hidden on his person one more time. “Got a few first aid packs in the trucks, but the good stuff's back at the rendezvous point. So speed's definitely the name of the game.” Jim is likely here as well, though lurking back from the actual raiding party to defend the vehicles and insure someone is set to rock and roll behind the wheel when the party makes it back (in the event that the /ideal/ teleportation escape plan is obstructed by Death and Robots). Brute strength and ability to tank has less use in a lightning raid. And a man that can afford to get riddled with bullets and still operate a vehicle has its merits. Whatever foliage that /can/ be encouraged to help shelter their little entourage of misfits from sight long since has been. Now he's kind of just leaning back against the side of a truck with a tatty cabby hat pulled down over his gray-ratty hair and scar-ratty face and... bemusedly observing Horus's rally...ing. Dusk is just climbing down out of the back of one of the trucks; the red still glistening on the corner of his mouth suggests he's been fueling up. His eyes sweep the group, lingering here and there a moment longer --on Ion, on Micah, on Jim, on so many faces not seen in far too long. He doesn't stop for much talk, though he does spare a brief brush of wing to Ion's arm in passing. "It'll be confusion. I mean, the others inside won't know what's going on either. Isra and I can do what we can to spread the word but --" He shrugs a wing. "We doing this, then?" At his back his wings flex, eyes briefly fixing on the sky. Horus draws himself up to his full -- four or so feet of height. Chest puffing out with a ruffling of feathers. 'Yes,' his tablet announces, 'Now is the time.' His head is bopping again, a brief snatch of music already queued up to play from his tablet -- "The future," it sings, "belongs to the brave." One tentacle-arm waves, gesturing the others to follow as Horus takes off, up-up-up into the air, over the ridge and straight down into camp. A /surge/ of others follow. Flying, teleporting, running, jumping; much of his "army" has been picked for speed as much as anything. 'Hello,' announces Horus Tablet, to the former Brotherhooders, 'would you like to go now we're going now.' The response from various guard posts to this surge is initially sluggish; someone watching the perimeter sees something, but isn’t sure what to make of it (‘is that… a stampede? being lead by a /bird/?’). Soon after Horus and others have made it past the walls, though, a general alarm is sounding; sirens going off at the first few guard posts, and rapidly spreading to others. Sentinels stationed in the cafeteria suddenly snap to rigidity -- their LCD-powered expressions go from a placid neutral gray to a flashing red. And then, in a rapid stream of monochromatic voices that are echoed throughout the camp’s facilities, the Sentinels begin their /own/ chant: “Attention, all mutants. Lay flat on your stomach and place your hands on your head. Failure to comply will result in the use of force.” The sirens catch Anette’s attention, her head shoots straight up for the first time in days. “What is going on?” she mumbles, confused by the chaos, her eyes darting about frantically. She wraps her wings tighter about her for comfort as the sentinels give their order. Slowly, she places her hands on her head and slowly kneels, then lays flat on the floor of the cafeteria, though she keeps her head up slightly to find out what’s happening. Dusk needs little more encouragement than this, launching into the air swiftly after Horus with strong beats of large dark wings. Coming over the wall with the initial surge, he doesn't lose any time in the actual attack, taking the few seconds of surprise while they still /have/ them; by the time he's thudded down to a landing in the center of camp it is with one robotic guard from near the wall grasped in his hands. /Flung/ bodily into one by the cafeteria. "Miss us?" he asks Ash, upon dropping to the ground. And, seeing Anette: "Shit, got you too? Spread the word. Getting out. Merry Christmas." He doesn't linger. Definitely doesn't lie flat on his stomach and put hands on head. Just brushes a wingtip against Kay and ducks closer to the cafeteria to relay the information to another group of detainees there. Dusk's appearance in the group stops Micah in his last check, tightening a few straps on his torso to assist with getting passengers /out/. Even with all the added power in his legs, there is still the carrying to worry about, after all. His breath catches a moment, too many words stuck in his throat finally for any to come at all. A hand lifts in a wave, head dipping in a nod. And that's all the time there is for fond reunions. The corduroy pouch under his shirt gets tugged up by its string, kissed, and tucked back away. “As good a time as any t'take these for a /real/ test drive,” he announces before sprinting off. He crouches at the base of a wall, then simply high-jumps over it, the combination of increased joint-power and a hint of B's hover-tech in the feet launching him to the other side handily. A combination of smaller mass to carry and Micah's natural tendency to gravitate toward children has him quickly locating a pair: an older girl with no visible mutation and a smaller boy looking very much like a fawn--spots, hooves, and all. Perhaps relatives from the way the older holds the younger's hand. There isn't much time for lengthy explanations. “Superhero team's here. Gettin' outta this place. Grab hold an' we're gonna /fly/ over that wall.” Gathering the little ones to, he curls their hands around the straps on his body and makes off at top speed with the goal of leaping back toward the trucks. Hopefully with as few toaster encounters as possible. The Sentinel that Dusk has managed to seize hold of and fling slams into the second Sentinel with a dull, hard crash; the latter is still repeating the mantra: ‘Lay flat on your--’ -- right before it hits, cutting it off and crumpling to the floor. However, a moment later, and a third Sentinel is stomping forward toward Dusk, a few yards back -- carefully weaving its steps between the mutants who /have/ dropped to the floor -- arms lifting, small slots emerging from its wrists -- to begin firing a set of small, serum-infused darts. As it does, it continues to repeat the mantra, only /much/ louder: “ATTENTION MUTANTS. LAY FLAT ON YOUR…” Outside, a Sentinel has emerged from one of the guard posts, stepping out in the open; its eyes -- gleaming red -- have focused on Micah and the two children he’s trying to rescue. Immediately, the Sentinel produces a low, throatish ‘thrum’; it’s beginning to levitate, feet rising off the ground, moving toward them, arms extending out.
Probably he should be getting prisoners out, teleporter that he is, probably shouldn't be wasting time and /yet/. En route to a cluster of mutants starting to kneel on the ground, his feverish-bright eyes land on Kay and whatever priorities he /had/ change into an almost pained yip, a flying static-charged /tackle/ through the air. Incidentally, it'll probably bear the pyro to the ground -- that's /like/ compliance, right? "{No fucking /way/ brother you were dead dead dead all this while you've been here I'll fucking kill you.}" Ash doesn't really respond to Anette's greeting at first, his mouth filled with food and a little bit of blood, weariness still on his face, half a wince squinting one eye. He nods slowly and grimaces, trying to finish the mess in his mouth. He reaches a hand out to lightly pat her on the shoulder when everything seems to go to hell. The sudden alarms and Sentinel commands do not elicit the correct response from the earthbender. He stands there, stock still, staring with a dead expression, bowl practically falling from his fingers. He tenses slightly when Dusk speaks, his brows rising, a hint of a menacing smile starting to change his features. "Missed you." He inhales deeply, then turns and throws himself in the direction of the Sentinel stomping toward his friend. The bowl of eggy gruel is flung in the robot's face, the mess covering those red eyes. "You lay down on your belly." Relief is the last thing going through Anette’s mind as the camp is stormed. With a whimper, she keeps herself low to the ground until one of the rescuers comes into view: Dusk. Despite not seeing him for sometime, she recognizes him immediately. “Just arrived...couple days...you, what are you…?” she stammers, still not rising from the floor just yet. As the sentinels begin waging war on the intruders, something inside her clicks, waking up the part of her that lives to fight. Amidst the chaos, she quickly jumps to her feet and runs outside the cafeteria. Gathering her bearings, she glances around before spotting the old man that had offered her food earlier, face down on the ground with his hands behind his head. She immediately hurries towards him. “Trust me…” she whispers, helping him up to his feet and carefully hurrying him towards the wall, where the rescuers seem to be originating from, while her neck twists about as she guards against attacks. The Sentinel making a straight line for Dusk -- dart-slots exposed -- is interrupted by the sudden presence of Ash, plus bowl of gruel. The gruel splatters across its face; whether or not this interferes with its ability to see is hard to tell -- it doesn’t stop moving forward. Nor does it stop firing a quick, small barrage of serum-infused darts -- though now those darts are likely to hit Ash instead of Dusk. The impact of Ash on its frame is unexpected, and enough to send it stomping to the side, stumbling back to regain its footing; internal controls begin recalibrating as it rapidly steps back, arms rising up as several darts are lodged in the ceiling overhead. Micah on his feet has a tendency to be more manoeuvrable than hover-toasters, on top of being /faster/. “Hold on, heads down, heads down, don't look!” he instructs the children, attempting to cover them as much as his body is able while dashing toward a wall. He pushes into a madcap run, looking almost like a (half-robot) animal running for all his torso is folded down over his person-cargo, less direct and more darting around-over-under-through anything in his path. Occasionally he uses his own hover-tech to get over more stubborn obstacles. The moment of truth has him hitting them even harder, crouching down and launching himself over the wall. Ash doesn't stop pushing once he hits the Sentinel's frame, twisting and pushing to apply counter pressure to every adjustment that the machine makes. Unfortunately, the amount of pressure that he applies isn't very much, as he has lost muscle mass and general weight in the countless months that he's been incarcerated, but he does apply smart pressure. A moment later, his hands are making their way up the robot's back, seeking crevices and wires to pull. The sheer number of darts that hit him and injected him with serum do hinder his efforts though, as he grows sicker and sicker as he works. Anette helps the man towards the wall, hiding them both in the shadows. “I want you to wrap your arms around my neck and hold on, alright?” She kneels to the ground as the old man nods, gripping his arms tightly as he drapes them around her neck. For the first time in weeks, she stretches her wings out to full width and gives them a few good beats. Once they’re warmed up, she gives one strong burst and lifts into the air. Out of practice, malnourished, and with added weight, she flies slower than she might normally but reaches higher and higher, keeping focused on scaling that wall while her eyes and ears search for any sign of attack. The amount of pressure Dusk has to apply, however, /is/ enormous. The shove he adds to Ash's shove is a barreling mack-truck of /wham/ -- not smart pressure, just /angry/ pressure, coming with a sharp snarl at the darts that hit his friend. "Fff -- hermano, we're going." Not so much a choice as a warning, as one arm scoops around Ash, another around a woman still on the ground nearby them, boot planted /on/ the Sentinel to launch himself back into the air to power up and over the wall to carry the others towards the trucks. Isra flings herself into the air and beats up higher than most of the fliers. She levels out into a glide, long-winged shadow grown small as the forest slope falls away from her, and only begins to descend when she crosses the fence line. The initial landing zone is more than saturated with both friendly and hostiles, and she does not even go near it. Banking in the opposite direction that Dusk took, she swings wide over the camp. "Brothers and sisters!" she calls out, both vocal chords engaging to produce a slightly eerie and startlingly loud voice. "We have come to liberate the camp." Green eyes search the ground--who can say whether for willing passengers or for opportune targets--as she repeats the message. She spots a cluster of children who had until moments ago been at a game of somewhat creative hopscotch. Her students. The older ones are dragging the younger out of the street and the path of a Sentinel who probably has little interest in them. Her wings fold in tight and she dives, picking up a frightful amount of speed like a falcon in a stoop. This momentum she imparts into the arm of the Sentinel, which she does not tackle directly but only buzzes, snagging the mechanical limb with a view to either snap it off wholesale or lever the entire robot around. “Halt.” The words come from two Sentinels at once; the one that Micah flees from as he bounds with children in hand -- and the one which Dusk helps Ash tackle to the floor. The first speaks it as it chases after Micah; its levitation is slower than the running human. Rather than fire darts, the Sentinel quietly hums after, hovering over the wall as Micah bounds -- apparently, it’s already scanned him and determined he /isn’t/ a mutant, so the serum darts aren’t going to help. That doesn’t mean it isn’t intent on stopping him, though -- just as he leaps over the wall, it’s already beginning to scale it, lifting up into the air at a steady pace -- lagging behind him, but made up for its sheer /persistence/. The one that Ash was shoving goes down -- both underneath Ash’s weakening strength and Dusk’s sudden forceful /smash/, sending it crashing to the ground. As it demands they both halt, it finds itself briefly crushed beneath that boot -- something creaks within its chest, cracks, /splinters/ -- but a moment after, as Dusk hurls himself into the air, the machine is already beginning to pick itself up (albeit with a long, labored creak of pain), its red eyes flickering. Isra’s Sentinel never gets to squawk out a ‘halt’. Its arm lifts toward her, the dart cartridges emerging from its wrist -- and then there’s a grating creak of metal as its arm is brutally /yanked/. It spins like a top freshly launched, before -- with a splintering crack and series of metallic ‘pings’ -- the arm is cleaved completely off, leaving nothing but a tangled knot of circuitry and twisted, bent metal protruding from the socket. The Sentinel, stumbling back, seems relatively at ease with this gruesome mutilation; it takes a few moments to get back on steady footing, but then it’s lifting its still-functioning arm up, another set of dart cartridges emerging from its wrist -- though it’s a bit unsteady on its feet still, as it takes aim… As Ion struggles to greet Kay, two more Sentinels emerge from a guard-post -- zeroing in on the reunion from about 15 yards away, rapidly beginning to hover, making their way toward them. “ATTENTION, MUTANTS…”
“Not helpin' your image shoutin' German at people t'get 'em t'stop fleein' your internment camp,” Micah half-mutters, kicking the hover-propulsion into gear again at the top of the wall to give him another faster boost away from the slow-climbing robot monstrosity. “We're almost there, kids, almost there.” He barely bothers to decelerate as they plummet to the ground on the other side, letting the robotic joints take the worst of the impact. It takes only a breath before he's running again, toward the trucks. “/Incoming/! Toaster on m'heels! Incomin'!” He may be speedy enough to get to the trucks, but that's not going to stop the Sentinel from catching up once he's there. The children get thrust (only a little roughly...time is of the essence here) into the back of a truck and he slams the door behind them, reaching for one of his gun holsters as he runs toward the camp once more. Tiny and lightweight, Horus's mecha-arms may be incredibly strong but /he/ lacks an incredibly strong body to go with them -- not very equipped, himself, for carrying anyone /or/ attacking things he satisfies himself with being a /distraction/. He careens down at the Sentinel aiming for Isra, large rocks held in his talons as he dives to crash those rocks straight into the Sentinel's red-eyed gaze. And dart /away/ again; he may not be built for much but speed is one thing he is good at. Flit-flit-flit. Around the camp many similar such scenes are playing out; many of his whole ragtag crew have been picked for this, winged or teleporters, speedsters or -- one young man who transforms himself and his startled passengers into mist to smoke his way through the gates. Even with the alarms and the chaos, the trucks are gaining a steady influx of prisoners -- though here, there, the camp is /also/ gaining -- one young woman struck by a dart and falling right out of the sky, another man brought down by two bots and pinned (maybe still moving? maybe not?) to the ground. Landing on the other side of the wall safely, Anette ducks down again, letting the old man hop off her back. “There, the trucks, hurry,” she says, taking off again before the old man can even register he’s back on solid ground. Moving faster now, she weaves in and out of flying mutants and sentinels. She scans the ground, searching for someone she can easily pick up. Suddenly, her head twists behind her, just in time to see a sentinel lock in on her. She nosedives, barely missing a dart aimed at her. Focused now on avoiding attacks, she weaves erratically, trying to lose herself in the chaos. There is a flash of a rifle barrel and the discharge of smoke as a well aimed shot smashes into the glowing face of a sentinel as it rises above the wall. "Damn robots, need better bullets or something," comes a voice from atop one of the vans. The voice is Faelan's though muffled by something covering his mouth, not that anyone could see him and his equipment anyway. "Once you've got a truck full to the brim say the word and it'll be off and away." Click, chuck, thunk and another muzzle flash fires away. The Sentinel aiming for Isra (albeit clumsily) is, indeed, distracted by Horus; the rocks that slam into its face cause the series of darts that fling off to aim wildly over Isra’s head, instead. The rocks hit hard enough to crack some of the glass plating; it steps back again, firing off two more (semi) blind shots for Horus. The Sentinel in pursuit of Micah is struck dead-center between the eyes by Faelan’s shot; its face caves inward with a crackle of glass and smoke -- a few brief sparks erupting from its visage as it tumbles back to the ground. And yet two more Sentinels are rising in its place -- more and more of the robots are starting to be roused, as they begin to be directed *outside* the compound, as if a sleepy hornet’s nest is starting to awaken in response to an intruder. And speaking of a sleepy hornet’s nest… a dozen or more of the machines are beginning to emerge from the roofs of various guard posts, as the auxiliary units are powered up and sent out in response to a raid…
“Faster...faster would be better!” Micah informs...whoever is listening from his side, at this point, as more of the Sentinels converge on their location. He is bringing about his handgun to aim at the one dead-ahead when Faelan takes it out. “Thank you!” Politeness isn't lost on the battlefield. Sometimes. The two robots rising to take the fallen one's place gain his attention next. Aiming at the sensory array on one. Firing. Darting to a new location, aiming at the /other's/ sensory array. Firing again. Darting off /behind/ some of the vegetation shield that Jim has provided before even assessing whether either of his bullets found their marks. Apparently he's not going to make it back to the camp to retrieve more detainees at this rate. Time to be a /painful/ distraction! He continues to use speed to his advantage, firing and hiding out in the foliage, staying a moving target...in addition to working toward the few small caches of homemade explosives that were stashed by the first Resistance fighters to arrive on scene. If the toasters get too densely packed in their onslaught, the fallback plan may turn into the /current/ plan. Poor Ion; he's initially greeted with a startled harsh canine-squall sound from Kay, who responds to sudden body-impact with a reflexive thump of elbow to the GUT. By the time they hit the ground, though, that staticy embrace and rapid-fire Spanish must have been recognized because Ion will find Kay clapping hands onto either side of his FACE and shaking-grabbing at him and… kind of just rolling across the ground GRAPPLING him and snarling in a rush, "You /bastard/, you bastard, I knew it!" His body does not possess the usual inferno-heat it used to, but the grip in his fingers is /strong/, the feverish glint in his eyes awake and fierce and -- -- well, there's a little too much that warrants dealing with to dwell much. The two Sentinels coming their way are spotted over Ion's shoulder and Kay just as quickly slaps a hand against Ion's chest to SHOVE him up, trying to get him /standing/, "...fuck, rock and /roll/, bro, we let's jet." A network of deep lines twisting in his face, one arm curled hard around his stomach, he's straining to regain his feet too. Probably partially climbing up Ion if he's there already. Gripping onto the back of the other's belt like a /lifeline/. And just… looking around at the invasion, Dusk and Isra, all the familiar figures, with eyes bright, /hungry/, immediate. Ion's fierce eager grappling cuts short with another yelp as, rather abruptly, he seems to remember just /where/ they are. Arms still locked around Kay, his head snaps up, eyes fixing on the approaching Sentinels almost hungrily. "{Out, fuck, right, /out/}." Though his tongue is swiping across his lips as he rolls up to his feet. One arm curls behind him to help BOOST Kay up into place on his back; the other reaches out, stretching towards the bots with a fierce grin curling onto his face. It's hard to truly completely /drain/ the arc reactors that power the sentinels but there's a (probably very uncomfortable for Kay) crackling surge of energy sucked in. Sucked in and just as soon fired back out in a searing lightning-rush, shot through the oncoming robo-guards in an effort to simply overload their systems. Whether or not it works, a half-second later there is no more Ion, no more Kay, no more anyone even remotely within reach; just a singed electric-burn scent and an exhilarated /pile/of mutant reappearing on the other side of the fences. Ion leaves his gathered charges in Kay's hands with an exhortation: "{Just over that hill, brother, you put them in the big trucks. I'll see you on the other side, huh?}" He leaves Kay with a firm SMACK on the cheek. A small handheld /explosive/ pulled from inside his jacket and pressed into the once-pyrokinetic's hand. And then, poof, gone, reappearing again in the thick of things once more. The Sentinel facing down Isra -- firing off its brief volley of blind serum darts -- is promptly ARM’D in the face with its own appendage, smashing across its visage in a crash of crumpled metal and plastic; the plating at the front of its face caves inward as whatever system continues to drive it seems to, at last, splutter to its end. It collapses to the ground, still sparking. The two Sentinels rising up find themselves fired upon by Micah; a bullet pings off of one of their shoulders -- another bullet manages to slap across the brow of one of the Sentinels, gouging a hole through its plating, though not putting it out of commission. They continue to rise in tandem, honing in on Micah -- perceiving him, now, as a credible threat -- as several more Sentinels break off from the rising tide to join the two (though they’re lagging behind). The Sentinels attacking Ion find themselves twitching, spasming as if both are undergoing a sudden grand mal seizure -- smoke emerges from the various interlocking joints as their eyes flash a brilliant, hot-white glow -- before a series of ‘pops’ and ‘sizzles’ burst from inside of them. They crumple to the ground like puppets with their strings cut; above them, however, four more Sentinels are descending -- still over a dozen yards away, but beginning to close in fast, their arms rising up to point… at the spot that Ion and Kay /used/ to be. Hzzzn.
“Nonono, bad. Can't get outnumbered by toasters.” Micah fires again, aiming at the same targets and hoping he can take out or /hinder/ at least one. Meanwhile he's scurried to the nearest explosives cache, flinging the camouflaging covering from them. He grabs one of the hand-held devices, arming it to chuck into the midst of the two Sentinels with the goal of disabling both simultaneously. Then quickly preparing the next given the stream of robots headed their way and few defenders on the trucks to prevent being overcome. “Just keep clumpin' t'gether an' we'll have a fine scrap heap 'fore we tear outta here...” he instructs under his breath. Isra turns to her students, who have flattened themselves as a body against the wall of an adjacent building. "Finn, Ender with me," she orders, soft alto clashing with the faint growl that still issues from her lower vocal chords. A waiflike boy with black eyes and a child with light purple skin, come to her. "Valen," this to a teenaged girl, the oldest of the group, "take the others, find your mother and Collin's parents, tell them the Resistance is here. Stay out of the Sentinels' way." She scoops up the little ones she had called, who cling to her without any need for instruction. Her leathery wings spread and snap down as she springs aloft. "Go!" she shouts down as she labors through an almost vertical climb to get above the level of the buildings. Cruising altitude attained, she wheels back toward the trucks, beating desperately to eat up the distance. The scene that greets her at the extraction zone cranks the low growl back up again. She dives, though near so quick or smooth as before, and backwings furiously only after gaining the cover of the trucks. No sooner had she thrust her charges into the waiting arms of the other evacuees, she is airborne again. Her eyes dart between the Sentinels converging on the trucks and the growing chaos in the camp itself. "Micah! Do you need support here?" High above the chaos and din of the battle in the camp, an angry, dark cloud has been gathering and growing in mass, a swirling knot that moves around, seemingly with a mind of its own. Occasionally a flash of bright green or shimmering, oily black catches the light as the murmuration twists about and swarms, surveilling the scene below as though awaiting just the right moment. Occasionally a small group will break off and head away, seemingly at random, only to return or be replaced. As the Sentinels start to mount the walls, the dark swarm descends as a whole, twittering and screeching as the shapes of nearly a thousand birds - starlings, house sparrows, and a handful of flashing green parakeets - come into focus, aiming for the nearest Sentinel. Like buckshot, the swarm of birds explodes on contact, forming a swirling distraction around the robot. Tiny beaks peck, talons scratch at the metal, and small feathered bodies crash into the visual sensors, the guns, anything seemingly of use on the Sentinel, all the while their voices screech and squawk in rage and terror. Some distance away, near the original gathering point, a circle of large, white swans stand guard around seemingly nothing. Only a quiet, repeated mutter of “I’m sorry. So so sorry. So sorry,” can be heard from beyond the line of birds. However many jolts Kay may endure in the course of boarding the IonExpress, he manages along the escape with mostly just faintly smoking hair and a few /muscle/ spasms, at nearly the same time he is CHEEKpatted, he's delivering a firm PAT to the side of Ion's flank, managing only a brief nod and urgent, bright-shining eyes while taking the device from Ion. ...before he's turning to the surrounding escapees (some regaining their feet sooner than others) and barking, "/UP/! Go, go up, let's GO!" While saying it, he's /yanking/ one young man up by his upper arm and shoving him towards the hill, boom-barking his voice like a herding dog, sharp and aggressive enough that a few stunned mutants are startling to their feet /away/ from him. Those that can't are… well, just hauled to their feet and push-shove-pulled into whatever hurried locomotion is possible. Up beyond the hill, the engine of one of the rescue vehicles snarls abruptly to life against the sounds of laser fire gus. "Not gonna get /easier/, this comes down to attrition," Jim agrees loud enough to be heard out the window towards Faelan, the rifle he'd been laying down his own back-up fire from tossed to the passenger seat. For a split second, his mouth semi-drops open at the feathered rain of shadow descending from the heavens. The wheels begin to roll out. "Let's go knock on the door." Vrmvrm. With a heavy whump Dusk has deposited his cargo in the back of the revving truck, taking to the sky again -- though this time with a brief gaping hesitation at the storm of wings in the sky before he dives back into camp. Not to attack, this time; just to help round /up/ the rest of the stragglers, prisoners and injured invading army alike. "-- trucks coming to us, now. Just gotta --" He doesn't finish this thought. Helps a skinny grey-haired woman to her feet, curls a wing around a limping boy with vividly orange scales running down his neck. Slams his other wing out against an approaching bot as he hurries them towards a convergence point nearer the thrown-open gate. “Yes!” Micah answers Isra in no uncertain terms, a stream of Sentinels converging on his position. “We got three caches of explosives scattered t'cover our retreat. Jane says t'give the toasters her regards, by the way. Prob'ly /air/ s'port'd give better deliv'ry'n me just chuckin' from where I can /run/.” He grabs one more explosive in each hand. “Take the rest of these, maybe I can get t'the others. Trucks're on the move now. I'm not even sure where we're lookin' t'gather for gettin' /outta/ here anymore...” Horus squawks, one of the rocks dropping from his talons when a dart hits him; he dives back to pick it back /up/ in one tentacly arm, circling back in to swoop over the wall and towards the Sentinels converging on the trucks. Thud, thud, /thwack/, careening down to slam his rock-laden arm against robotic faces and zip back up into the air, trying to draw them /up/ away from the trucks. << -- but we'll still sing we are not afraid, >> sings strongly in his mind, bright eyes fixing on the sky and not on the chaos lying below in camp. "Gladly." Isra swoops down in a comparatively sluggish parabolic arc to pluck the explosives from Micah's outstretched hands. Beating back up, she flew one tight circle over the advancing line of Sentinels. The incoming birds draws her attention away for a moment, but she seems satisfied to assure herself that they came to assist and not hinder. Then, her keen green eyes snap back to the enemies nearer at hand, and she deploys an explosive into the densest cluster of Sentinels below her. There's a growing commotion at one of the guard posts as the iron-wrought fence simply vanishes; two soldiers dressed in black body-armor step out, guns in hand, to offer support to the looming Sentinels overhead. More Sentinels continue to pour from all the guard posts -- apparently, someone's made a call for /every/ unit to be activated, immediately. The entire facility is swelling in a surge of sirens; the posts are /pouring/ Sentinel after Sentinel into the air. All total, there looks to be somewhere around... a hundred and twenty-five. Micah's shot glances off the semi-damaged Sentinel's face-shield again; it isn't disabled, but it seems to be having problems processing the battlefield as it wobbles in the air. The explosive device detonates in-between them, though -- and suddenly, the semi-disabled Sentinel is little more than smoldering slag, the other Sentinel sent careening in a pile next to it -- slamming into the ground. What's left of Sentinel-two -- now, on fire and smoking -- begins to drag itself forward, its legs and flight systems disabled -- intent on /dragging/ itself to the trucks. That Sentinel is soon joined by the squadron emerging from the nearest guard-post; eight Sentinels in total are descending to join their brethren -- and /this/ time, they've got enough sense to stay far apart so explosives won't take out more than one at a time. But this group is suddenly assaulted by another attack -- this time, a horde of birds, rushing across them, *slamming* into them, pecking wildly at their bodies. The Sentinels prove to be hardy targets against the cloud of descending, ravenous birds -- but two collapse, crushed bones and pulped feathers stuck in between their joints, struggling to pull themselves up to their feet -- effectively non-functional. Three more fall to the ground, their hovering systems gummed up; at least one of them lands head-first, cracking its plating and disabling it. A moment later, Isra's explosive device drops -- landing square-between the two that are still functional -- prompting them both to vanish in a concussive blast of flame and pitch. When the smoke clears, that leaves... one Sentinel, barely functional, pulling itself forward by its arms, out of the missing gate -- and three more hovering *above* the gate, fighting a cloud of angry birds as they attempt to descend toward the trucks. Behind them -- in the distance, nearly a football field's length away -- a wave of twenty more Sentinels is en route. And then, amidst this den of chaos, all the way on the other side of the camp, comes a sound. At first, it would be easy to mistake the flying figure for one of the raiders -- it moves far too quickly for a Sentinel. But rather than swooping down to carry mutants to safety -- or to interrupt the hordes of rising robots -- it zooms straight out for one of the mutant flyers who's wandered too deep into enemy territory. When it closes in, several things become clear: It is twice the size of a normal Sentinel. It has a single eye that gleams a brilliant, pulsing red. It has claws as large as machetes, and teeth like steak-knives. And whatever it is, it's *not* on the raiders’ side. In an instant, the mutant flyer vanishes; a cloud of red replaces him -- viscera raining down on the encampment below. The /thing/ is moving forward, and moving fast -- clouds of Sentinel drones swoop in behind it, beginning to work to herd flying mutants into its path. It is coming, and it is coming /fast/ -- straight toward the gate. The trucks. The flyers. Everyone. And that sound it's making? It's getting louder. It sounds like an endless, breathless, mechanized /scream/. “Oh Hell no…”, comes Faelan’s voice from beside one of the trucks. “Tell everyone we’re jumping in one minute one way or another. Get them crammed in, I have one more pickup to make.” With that there is a thud of boots as he goes scampering off, away from the prison up towards the grassy hills of birds. "{Oh fuck oh fuck.}" That's all, from Ion. Eyes widening, before the electrokinetic disappears in a sudden fizzlepop. Reappears across camp to pick up a woman unconscious on the ground there, blips back to the center to drop her with the others. There's no more /grinning/ from him, no more talk, no more /anything/ except a rapidfire series of jumps, herding who he /can/ together. Swift and silent and with a faint shiver of sparks crackling along the surface of his forehead that in someone else might be sweat. Horus's screech is keening, loud and sharp. He dives, cutting past the cloud of Sentinels to press the line of flying mutants /back/, away from them -- away from the newcomer -- towards the trucks instead. << Soon we'll lose our chains and we will all fly free --- never fear and put your trust in me -- >> His mental music has shifted, though it's still fierce and strong in his mind, an undercurrent of << (no no no back back back no no no /home home home/) >> trying not to surface past the music. << Don't you dare be afraid, just you hold your head up high -- >> He's pushing the straggling remains of his army /home/, away, towards the trucks. He's seized a stray explosive from the ground, tossing it towards the toothy incoming murderbot. << Hey. Hey-hey-hey those are mine-mine-mine my people mine -- (don't you dare be afraid) >> His mental commentary is mingling with his mental music, bowler hat tipped way off to the side and only holding on by the ragged string with which he's tied it to his head as he tries to buy the other flyers enough time to get back in. With the last explosives from the first cache clenched in each hand, Micah uses Isra's cover to flee for a second cache, thankful for the foliage to hide in every super-human speed desperate-running step of the way. He tosses the covering off of this cache, as well, collecting the ratty knapsack full of explosives. Then he realises...time to get going or not get at all. Perhaps the ridiculous anime robot awakening has something to do with this decision. “Dammit, /dammit/! No time for the last cache...” It /is/ time for another madcap dash, however, /this/ time back into the camp to catch up with the trucks. The explosives in his hands are saved for any clusters of Sentinels or toasters too hot on his heels as he flees. With any luck, the ones remaining in his bag can be used to cover the /trucks'/ retreat as intended. With even /better/ luck he might even get to be /on/ one. His zig-zagging, hover-over-obstacles run is aiming at a passenger door to the truck nearest his flight path, at least.
If he notices the whirling flying Murderbot raining down spatters of red, he only acknowledges it by flipping on the front windshield. And then resuming fire. Kay is less lucky, they don't make full-body wipers so easily - sprinting long-legged towards the vehicle with an elderly balding mutant sporting a crown of small blunted horns /dragging/ along as fast as the two of them can go, he can only really throw up an arm to protect his face from the grisly crimson rain sending rushed droplets down his face and hair. There's a strained wheezing-desperate keen to each exhale he makes, and when they reach the van, he turns, kisses the small handheld device Ion had gifted him, arms it, draws back an arm and softball pitches it towards the flying meatgrinder bearing down on them from above. Hidden and invisible in the center of her protective circle of mute swans, Ducky is still trying to concentrate on her command of the birds, attempting to cause as much trouble as possible. Each death, each crushed bird, however, begins to chip away at her focus, her apologetic mantra has become a muffled whimper as she rocks invisibly in place. At the mechanical scream, her concentration breaks, and the murmuration of birds begins to dissipate into a chaotic flock, no longer tied together by her mind. Confusion and terror drive the birds in every direction, a flutter of wings and screeching that bump into Sentinels and whatever that screaming thing is, though they lack the force they had under Ducky's control. Hazel eyes snap open as her mind snaps back to her, and she starts to cry out, slapping her hands over her mouth to muffle the sound. Her swan guard still stand around her, ruffling as the footsteps come closer, though something keeps them from attacking Faelan. "We need to go. Go now. Need to go. Please. Please need to run. Birds gone. So many gone. So so sorry," she whispers, biting back sobs as she watches the scene below. << Horus? Horus please. We need to go. Go now. Bravery good, but we need to go. Please. Please. Saved many. Save yourself, please. >> she pleads mentally, exhaustion obvious in her thoughts. "Please," she sobs almost silently, rising shakily to her feet and starting to stumble towards the approaching bootfalls, "So sorry." "Ohshit." Dusk's reaction is much the same as Ion's. Thoughts of fighting seem to evaporate in the face of just a very hurried /herding/ of people into the back of the incoming truck, huge (blood-spattered) wings funnelling people in before it has entirely finished moving. His eyes tip up, scanning the air with a deep growl rumbling in his chest. "Isra --" The wings at his back /twitch/ like he wants to launch himself into the air. But doesn't. Just scooping up a small child from the ground and jumping up into the truck, wings stretching downward to assist others in getting inside rapidly. Not /all/ the blood-and-viscera from the ex-mutant in the air has showered down upon the masses; up above there is a small stream of it that seems to be flowing in reverse, sucked /up/ along the sides of the larger Sentinel, channeled up along its arms to vanish again into its body. Still screaming fast through the air (a second of the airborne mutants, straggling behind the others, meets a similarly swift end -- a similar rain of /pieces/ down to the ground) it seems that it will be /on/ the truck well before the others have a chance to pile in, until those explosives thud into it in quick succession. One and then another and for a moment its flight is interrupted, rocking back away from Horus as he shepherds his people down onto a safer path. The thumping boom that follows should probably be louder, probably should add a shower of machine-parts to the gore that has fallen from the sky -- but instead there’s just a muffled /thud/ from somewhere within the bot, a deep red-orange glow inside its chest cavity, and the screaming too-fast flight continues. Diverted, at least, from the trucks; /they/ have a few seconds more, it seems. The Mark IV spins, briefly, in its path, leaving the swarm of Mark IIIs to chase (more slowly) after the truck down in camp. The sharp-toothed mouth opens, spitting out a sudden solid stream of fire searing-hot towards the ragtag army’s intrepid general; for a moment, the air overhead is bright-hot with a wall of flame. It makes the grey winter sky look practically dark again in comparison afterwards. The Mark IV closes its mouth, turns, and dives, ground around it shaking when it lands. << walk right beside you and I'll never let you -- >> Horus's singing cuts off. Somewhere overhead there is a screech, mostly lost in a roar of flame and the thrum of so very many Sentinels filling the air. Crisp and charred, the black singed remains of a bowler hat drift down to fall to the bloody ground behind the truck. Grabbing hold of Ducky’s hand, Faelan guides the girl along towards the trucks and the people there. “Move move, we don’t have time. Need to jump soon,” and to make the point there is a slight hup noise as the running noise becomes singular, perhaps because the invisible man is carrying an invisible girl. As falling blood and ashes hit his field it simply fades into it keeping his position still harder to discover as he hauls butt to get into range. “Running out of time! Anyone not in has to make their own way!” With the majority of the Sentinels otherwise engaged, Micah manages to make it to the truck he aims for...only slightly denting the door as he runs /into/ it with his excess momentum. The breath knocks out of him with a wheezing groan, for only a moment before he flings the door open and throws himself inside. He looks up just in time to see the flames engulf Horus above. “Horus!” Half-blindly, his fingers tear open the knapsack, activating one of the explosives and closing the bag back up. The enormous robot-beast lands nearby and he pushes himself half out the truck's passenger side window to hurl the bag right at its blade-toothed maw. Fortunately that robot /is/ the biggest threat out there. Micah might have made the same move even if it weren't. It's hard to tell what a paling of skin might look like on skin that's semi-treebark. But something in Jim's face constricts and sinks in badly when the flames engulf the little winged figure. And while far from interfering with Micah's defense, the hand that snarls up in the back of the MECHA-man's shirt may primarily be useful in keeping the other man from falling /from/ the vehicle - but it may very well stay lock-clenched in position even once the bombs are thrown. "Can't get out of the vehicle again." Spoken in the slow-ponderous way of a plant, perhaps. But whether it's for Micah's benefit or his own is negotiable. The searing-bright firelight throws out strange and terrible shadows, fading off with Kay panting open-mouthed at the truck's side simply - ...watching the fire whirl away into mere oily air shimmers and smoke. And he then /does/ break away, toward the HAT or probably in search of the small general, running stooped over low, gore-streaked hair swept back from his face in the gusts of irregular winds whipping up from so many explosions, suctions of air and shockwaves of pressure heating up the winter day to something sweaty and /dry/ and smelling of burnt meat and clothes and tortured metal. A howl of rage tears itself from Isra's throat when Horus goes down, and--though too far from him to do any good even if he hadn't died on the spot--she nearly reverses course to go after him. But then she sees Kay, and dives toward him instead. She snatches him from the ground, not waiting for his approval or complaint, not observing whether he has rescued anything from the wreckage. A few strokes of powerful wings gains them no more than five yards' elevation, but enough to clear the obstacles on the ground--fallen Sentinels, fallen bodies, burning debris. One powerful arm clasped around Kay, she turns and hurls her last explosive in direction of the Mark IV, not aiming for its body as such, content to get the weapon near enough to just confuse its target. Turning back, she mantels, holding her passenger close as she stalls out and drops them none-too-gracefully into the back of the truck. Her mass and momentum would bowl Dusk over if they were not borne up by the bulk of evacuees already crammed into the vehicle. She is snarling and weeping at once, but back on her feet reaching out to anyone still near enough to grab. "{/Kay/ you fucking /asshole/ fuck you JesusChrist no you goddamn /stupid/ mother/fucker/ /get in the fucking truck/--}" For once, Ion's string of profanity doesn't sound fierce or gleeful or anything except starkly horrified. His dark skin has gone a few shades paler and though he's wilting, flagging, small sparks sizzling in dancing skim across his skin, he /throws/ the girl currently in his arms into the back of the truck and vanishes, reappearing -- where Kay /used/ to be, anyway. A little wide-eyed alarmed to find no more Kay /there/, the sparks dancing brighter along his skin like he's ready to explode someone right then and /there/ for sniping /his/ pyrokinetic. There’s another rocking-thumping step back as Micah’s explosive thuds home, into the Mark IV. Another glow from within it. Another step forward as the bot seems to recover from this just as easily as the last ones. Around the truck the rest of the Sentinels are dropping down thickly, ground starting to shudder with the landings. One sharp machete-arm slices out, /extends/ out in a sudden expanding stretch -- its bloodstained blade sliding quite neatly /through/ the abdomen of one confused electrokinetic, a stream of blood oddly not quite reaching the /ground/ but sliding back up along the limb to disappear once more. Another quick-flail slice has commandeered a young obsidian-skinned girl /back/ from Isra’s helping grasp -- by way of neatly severing the gargoyle’s outstretched /arm/ before skewering the child. The single red eye fixes upward into the packed-full truck. It is /likely/ that the robot does not have particular feelings -- but the mouthful of sharp teeth looks uncannily like a grin.
Every bird that had previously begun to fly away in confusion makes an about face and begins tearing in rage at the Sentinels. Even as their tiny bodies crash against the unyielding metal, more birds begin to wing into the area - more mute swans, starlings, sparrows, and sea-gulls joining the fray. Each screeching in fury and agony as they swarm, little to no direction to their actions. They rage and rage and thrash and screech at any Sentinel or guard unlucky enough to be in their path. The swarm of Sentinels and the Mark IV outside are briefly illuminated by a brilliant flare of blue-white, a storm-surge of lightning that can be /felt/ raising hairs and prickling skin even inside the truck, electricity coursing through the robot as the blade slices through Ion. And then the storm passes, all that is left of Ion a partially-burned wash of blood coating the Sentinel's blade. Jim is going to find his hands—or whatever appendages happen to be holding Micah right now—incredibly full. Wildly thrashing, half hard synthetic robotic material, cyborg trying to dive the rest of the way out of the window. “Ion! /Ion/! Someone has t'grab 'im we can't leave 'im there like that!” /Likely/ the window and door of this particular truck are going to need significant repairs before they function again. The young man has a growing number of bruises and small cuts from his own flailing, the better half of him hanging out of the vehicle by now. Likely the crazed young man hasn't even /seen/ what's become of the man he's trying to reach. "We honor the sacrifice of those who have not made it this day," comes Faelan's voice now from the front hood of the truck. Handing off a suddenly visible Ducky to whomever he can, he pulls out a syringe from an inner pocket, the little vial glinting in the light as it jams down with force into his abdomen, the impact and it's contents causing the man to appear, wearing his old X-men uniform, the X polished on his chest. "Fucckkk adrenaline," he says with a shudder as he pulls a cell phone out of a small bag at his hip, his hands shuddering as he holds it in his hands and he faces the trucks of evacuees. "Please oh please oh please," he says as he starts to hyperventilate and suddenly, there is no truck, no him, and a whole lot of no mutants nearby. Just dry air to replace what had been. | |
