ArchivedLogs:Razor's Edge

Razor's Edge
Dramatis Personae Razor, Peter	2013-05-03 Peter is not having a good night.
Location Warehouse
It's a really typical warehouse, stacked full of boxes of crap and dusty as all get out. It doesn't look like anyone has really been in here in a long while, other than a few spatters of dried blood on the floor. Used to be an old meat-packing plant, and by the smell, they didn't clean it up too much when it was converted. It's a pretty macabre setup here. About three goons or so are sort of lazing around. Well, two of the tree are lazing around. The third has his hands wrapped in some kind of... tape? From an old meat hook dangling from a ceiling chain hangs a man. The hook is looped under a pair of cuffs, and this serves to hold him upright in a painfully stretched manner. Especially since he long since stopped holding himself up a long while back. Shirt off, there are a dozen or more shallow cuts all over his body, as well as two black eyes, and large fist-sized bruises. The man who had most likely been pummeling him has just stopped in between generating screams from the man to take a long sip of water,"Hey, Mike... Your turn. My fists are getting sore." As if the screams somehow irritate her, Razor can't be bothered to pay attention. In fact, she's sitting in a chair mostly ignoring the exchange in favor of playing Angry Birds on her phone,"Heheh. Stupid pigs. Stealin' my eggs. Go get 'em birdy." A radio on a small table with 'refreshments' for her is currently playing a Jane's Addiction album. She addresses 'Mike' as he begins to tape up his fists,"Mike, get in there. You ain't hit the gym in weeks. You need to work off a little bit of that gut. I ain't gonna employ no fatties. You remember Big Fred, right? You remember what I did to Big Fred because he was too big? He ain't so big anymore. Fit's in a tiny little box." The goons shudder. Peter has actually been /off-duty/ for the next day or so; it took a considerable amount of pleading, promising, and negotiating with Dr. McCoy to let him go home a little earlier than had been planned - but Peter's mutation seems to have stabilized and there are no immediately pressing medical concerns. But then... on his way back - slinging and roof-hopping himself through a rough part of town - he hears the screaming. He really /shouldn't/. He's got little to no real experience with violence; police are supposed to handle these things, and... THWP. Scamper, scamper. Rules are for chumps. The boy's clad in his black hoodie and dress slacks; on top of that - with his hood up - he's wearing a black ski-mask and bug-eyed goggles with a yellow tint. He's already slipped out of his shoes, donning the tabi socks from his back nylon backpack; he's also got on curious looking wrist-watches - sleek, cleverly designed things. Currently, he is scuttling along the ceiling, fingers reaching, /peering/ down at the people beneath him. OhGod. Is this - are these actual /criminals/. Like from the /mob/. Oh man, oh man, they are /beating/ that dude, and... he should probably call the police. He should /definitely/ call the police. He reaches for his phone, slipping it out from his back pocket - one hand and both feet clinging to the ceiling above him - and does the thumb-swipe thing. One consequence of the thumb-swipe thing: It promptly makes his phone /light up/, briefly gleaming like a beacon overhead. She doesn't actually look up. Just tilts her head when one of her goons (disciplined git!) taps her on the shoulder and discretely gestures in the direction of the beacon. "Mike, keep going. Elion, Rico, maybe you take a little a target practice in a minute? You know the drill." She reaches over to fiddle with the radio tracks and starts Corey Taylor's "I'm Not Jesus". Then like any villain in love with their own sense of drama, Razor stands, and begins to do a little jig as she sings along with the tune. Weird little woman. Or maybe it's at least a LITTLE bit about strategy. As the lyrics "when your world's comes crashing down" a copy of Razor appears in the rafters close to where Peter clings to the ceiling... with her favorite pearl-handled straight razor open. At least he gets a bit of warning! Hell, first sign of her is when the singing is suddenly very close to Peter. Without hesitation, she slashes it at the boy lightning quick. At least this gets her to stop singing along. Sort of. "Time to make this memorable for you, friend. Hell, I'm sure you'll remember this for the rest of your life. Not that it'll be that long. Curiosity and cats, and all that shit." Peter was already getting a prickly sense of danger from this very room; but in an instant, that prickle becomes a screeching /siren/ - plunging headlong to slam into the bundle of nerves at the core of Peter's brain. DANGER! DANGER! DANGER! Peter's learned not to question that instinct. Instead, he just reacts: An instant before the straight razor is aiming to slit him wide open, Peter's just /dropping/ - tumbling like dead-weight toward the floor. The razor still gets a tiny taste of meat slipping through the side of his hoodie, /scraping/ up his rib-cage - but it's not probably not the hungry bite Razor was hoping for. When Peter hits the ground, it's in a tangled, confused mess - landing, essentially, right behind everything. *WHUMP* - suddenly, he's in a crouch, phone in one hand, other hand extended out, eyes /wide/ beneath those goggles - the phone pointed at all the gangsters, along with their bloody victim. The phone makes a *CLICK*, followed by a *whirr*. Say cheese. "...uh. I can - delete - that." Tiny, squeaky voice. As Peter dives to the ground... so does Razor. Or, more accurately, Razor jumps off, feet together and extended to try to land on Peter. For a normal human, that's a near suicidal jump. Almost as if she doesn't care. "You must think I'm some kind of stupid. Why do I need-" Another copy appears before Peter as the other falls towards him, slashing the razor at the phone rather than the boy,"-you to delete the picture, when I can just destroy it and then destroy you." Just to reassure Peter, there's the click of guns chambering rounds as the goons draw their weapons. The man hanging from the hook moans and stirs,"Hey, buddy... you gotta help me! Call the cops! Do somethin'! Oh god, please don't let me die here! I got kids! You know what she's gonna do to me?" It's a grown man, sobbing like a baby. And Razor, she simply says,"You're in over your head, buddy." WHUMP. Razor's feet hit Peter right on in the back - and it's only then that the searing cut of that first razor slit hits him, a few seconds /after/ Razor's feet have managed to drive the point home. Peter /slams/ into the cold, dank concrete floor; there's an umph - the phone clatters out of his hand, making a loud *THWOK* as it hits the ground. Razor glancing off its surface, sending it skidding. And then... Peter kicks up and /hurls/ himself into the air. It might throw Razor off - just how much sheer /jumping/ power Peter contains. Enough, at least, to send a normal-sized human /flinging/ into the air when he hops up - and, assuming she doesn't catch him, enough to send him flinging back /up/ into the rafters - a sudden series of THWP THWP THWP THWPs ringing out. Not for Razor - but for her friends. Aiming for their /faces/; tight, densely packed glueballs attempting to splat them and /seal/ them shut. Peter aims high, preferably for the eyes; in the chaos, it's hard to keep track of anything. "Crapcrap/holycrap/!" Peter responds. And it does throw her off, at first. As the phone goes skidding, the first Razor steps forward to slam her heel down on it. Why? To break the shit out of it. Again and again and again. Then, moments later, she puffs into a pile of white, inert carbon. As for the copy of Razor that landed on Peter? She kind of hurt her legs landing on him like that, so it's easy to throw her off... Then again, with his strength, Peter probably could've easily thrown her off if her legs felt FINE. As it is is, when she lands, there's loud CRUNCH sound as she hits the ground at the wrong angle. She's not dead, but she looks... injured? The copy gives Peter the finger,"FUC-" Then it puffs into another pile of carbon. Meanwhile, there are now a trio of thugs who cannot use their guns... BECAUSE THEY HAVE TO PULL WEIRD GLUEY STUFF OFF THEIR FACES! The remaining copy laughs out loud,"OH. MY. GOD. That is so cool! Oh, wow. I mean, it's too bad I'm going to have to slit your throat, but oh my god, that is cool! I bet you practice looking cool in the mirror! I used to practice evil speeches in the mirror. I'll share a tip with you, though, I learned a long time ago. Stop practicing, just go with what you're feeling. When I started doing that-" A copy appears next to Peter, this one hanging from a ceiling light by one hand, razor slicing at him aggressively from the fee hand,"-it worked out so much better." The captive guy has begun to push up on his toes, trying to free his handcuffs, while the copy of Razor still on the ground begins to pull a gun from her jacket. *KRKRT* goes Peter's mobile device; he really /liked/ that one. But he's got no time to mourn the demise of the Spider-Phone - because in an instant, there's another Razor behind him, taking another swing. Peter's gotten enough hang of this to realize, at least in part, what's going on - when he feels that stabbing panic at the base of his skull, he /responds/ - one hand /stabbing/ forward to try and catch Razor's armed wrist before it reaches skin - his other hand rushing out in a practiced, potentially pain-inducing /jab/ for the space just below Razor's sternum. Not hard enough to kill - but hard enough to send the air /rushing/ out of her. /Way/ harder than someone of his frame should be capable of. To the dude below, Peter just bellows, his voice wheezing through pain, confusion, and panic: "RUN DUDE JUST RUN RUN -- /RUN/!" He doesn't see the gun, but - again, he feels that /tingle/ of danger in the back of his skull. Something something CRAP CRAP CRAP-- Peter is rewarded with the sharp exhalation of air that will assure him that he just did something very painful to the woman whose wrist he holds. Still, she's a little bit of a bitch, even now. When she gets struck hard, she goes deadweight in Peter's grasp so that he has to juggle her entire weight with the one hand he's holding. The copy of Razor on the ground is, of course, aiming up at Peter when she sees her other copy go ragdoll in Peter's grasp. Eyes dart around the warehouse, looking for a possible third copy. Not finding one, she swears, sighs, and turns. BLAMBLAMBLAM! That is not the sound of the hostage being shot. In fact, at Peter's prompting, he's out the door. No, that's the sound of Razor's copy executing her own goons out of apparent spite,"YOU'RE FUCKING THIS UP." Finally, though, the copy Peter holds is able to concentrate enough that another one blinks into existence on a rafter not far from him. Rather than attacking, her smile spreads obscenely wide on her face, the expression in her eyes almost sickeningly cruel and eager,"Run, boy. It'll buy you a few precious seconds!" The copy on the ground finally fires off two rounds before crumbling. One of them hits the copy he holds dead in the center of her forehead. Peter is... holy /crapstalks/ Peter is getting the hell /out/ of here. There are clones, clones /killing/ clones, and someone's shooting a gun. A moment after Peter's hit this particular Razor-clone - and a moment after she collapses - he goes right /with/ her, holding the wrist-armed hand and /pushing/, before attempting to kick off her as the bullet slams into her temple - eyes wider than saucers beneath that mask "Holy - holy /CRAP/ you are - RUN!" he shouts to the dude who is running, all the while /slinging/ - THWP - as he fires a web-line for the ceiling, /swooping/ for the opposite end of the building with THWP after THWP - trying to use the weblines and momentum to carry him the /hell/ out of here. One never knows exactly when fate will toss one a bone. Seems Peter has a whole lot of luck there, though, at least. Why? Because Razor is fully focused on him. So much so that the man fleeing for the door can soon only be identified by the sound of his footsteps dying off in the distance. Even better, Peter's luck holds as, at the other end of the warehouse, there's even an open window. And the best bit of luck? Though a copy appears close to Peter again, it has to take a moment to draw its gun. The remaining clones, as they begin to take aim with their guns, start LAUGHING at Peter's distress. Honest to god belly laughter. Which means they can't seem to shoot straight. They're literally cackling so hard, it's difficult to aim with any regularity,"HAHAHAHAHAH! I'LL FIND YOU, AND I'LL GUT YOU, AND EVERYONE YOU LOVE!"