legionmissions | [Out With the Old] [modplot] [finale]

Entry tags:

[Out With the Old] [modplot] [finale]

Who| Anyone that's in Out With the Old can react
What| Plot finale
Where| The main studio room
When| After all the Legion of Supervillain villains have either been captured or run away
Warnings/Notes| Character injury (no death, though). A player wanted a big heroic moment for a character before they were dropped. Please allow Reinhardt to start this off.

The man that comes out from his hiding place is just a no-name villain. A nobody. Not even one of the ones from any of the worlds the Legionnaires had come from. He was just some third-rate hack that managed to talk his way onto the Legion of Supervillains.

It was easy enough, thanks to the groundwork the Heralds had laid down for all this. The Legion of Supervillains were a bunch of chumps, easily manipulated -- most of the villains that Chronoblivion had pulled into this universe, that had joined the LOSV, genuinely believed all the lies and pretty promises they'd been told.

To be honest, the lack of a challenge had made this whole thing a snore. Just a short bit of sweet-talking and he'd worked his way onto this team of freaks and misfits, just like that. Easiest deal he'd ever closed.

So the no-name who isn't a no-name goes and looks for what he sneaked into the studio, unbeknownst to even the Legion of Supervillain leadership. It's backstage in a pile of props, and when the time is right -- when the day seems firmly and thoroughly saved -- Mr. No-name sneaks out of his hiding place, and takes the device in his hand, hiding it behind his back.

He walks out from the shadows with a wild grin (teeth, he still can't get over how fantastically weird bone protrusions in the mouth are!) To the Legionnaires, it probably looks like some small-time villain timidly walking out to surrender, at first, but no, the villain that looks at them all through black goggles smiles a large smile like he's not used to having a mouth and thoroughly enjoying the ride.

"Hahaha!" the laugh is bright and cheerful, like the Legion of Supervillains' loss means nothing to him. "Well well well, looks like the Legion saved the day yet again! Or at least we made it look like you did."

He pulls out the device from behind his back and presses a button. The little sphere starts blinking and making an alarming high-pitched squealing noise that grows in volume and pitch.

"What are you doing?!" cries out Mastermind blearily. She's half-conscious, and in restraints now, but with it enough to realize something is wrong. "You're going to kill us all!"

"Of course I am!" the man says brightly. "That was the point of all this -- to get this meat-suit close enough to close the deal! Good job saving the day, heroes. Here's your prize: total obliteration!"

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

They have mere seconds. There's a window in the studio that can be used to get the villain outside the building but someone has to move fast enough to get him out.

Edited 2017-02-23 06:25 (UTC)

For the most part, Reinhardt had begun to wind down now that the fighting was over. After all, given the fantastical distraction he'd managed to provide, it was no shock that the old man had been running mostly on adrenaline all this time. With the leaders tied up though, and all the other villains being rounded up, it seemed like a good time for the adrenaline to wash away, for the old man to catch his breath...

Until he heard the beeping. A beeping that caused an immense feeling of dread to wash over him, when he heard the way it increased in volume and pitch.

The response was instant. Reinhardt immediately faced in the direction of the beeping, and without warning, activated his engine. "MOVE!" He didn't give the people around him much of a chance to move though, as he shot forward, charging through the studio. Adrenaline coursed through his veins again, as he became acutely aware of every second he was charging to the threat.

He recognized the sound of a bomb when he heard it.

Edited 2017-02-23 06:37 (UTC)

He wasn't expecting a fast enough reaction, he bragged a little too long. They go careening out the window in a shower of broken flexiglass.

"No!"

Then the man's ferocious expression fades, as if something has suddenly changed, as if he's suddenly aware of the bomb in his hand and the fact he's falling.

"Wait, what -- AAAAUGH!"

He has time for only one scream before the bomb goes off.

In all honesty, Reinhardt hadn't been thinking about where he was charging the bomb-holder to. He'd mostly reacted instinctively, hoping to push him away. It wasn't until they careened out the window that Reinhardt was thankful that he'd lucked himself into a proper trajectory. The fact that the densely-packed studio was safe giving him a moment of relief, before the final escalation of the beeping brought him back.

Quickly, in mid-air, the old man shifted gears. Bringing his arm up, and activating his barrier field mere milliseconds before the bomb went off. The field, however, was destroyed immediately once the explosion went off. Taking the brunt of the damage, as the explosion pushed the old man away with enough force for him to slam against the outer wall of the studio, leaving an indent.

Something that, despite himself, made the old man chuckle.

"S-Suicide bombers..." He said with a chuckle, before coughing violently. Something wet heard in his helmet, as he continued. "Can't... have a kidnapping without it..."

Of course, his adrenaline was pumping so hard, he hadn't noticed yet that his armor was destroyed in places. That his field hadn't taken all the damage, and that he was hurting. There was red liquid on some parts of his body, mostly prominent on his arm. An arm which, he very quickly realized... he couldn't move.

"... I... might be in trouble..."

Before he can fall from where he's currently lodged in the wall, shadows pour out of the hole that had once been a window, wrapping gently around Reinhardt and pulling him back into the studio -- the same shadows that had acted as a shield to block the explosion from affecting the studio.

"Rest easy, warrior," she tells him, cradling him with her shadows. They feel cold, but it's a soothing cold, one that leeches away his pain. "I've taken away your pain. You still have a fight before you, but you're more than strong enough."

He just has to fight to stay alive. Long enough for him to be taken to Legion World's Medbay.

Edited 2017-02-23 07:41 (UTC)

It was an odd feeling, to suddenly feel his pain wash away like it wasn't even there. To find himself back in the studio, his exhaustion starting to take hold. It felt surreal almost, like the whole thing wasn't really happening. But he knew better than to think that... especially as he started to taste the blood in his mouth.

"Rest... sounds good..." He murmured, leaning his head back. Resting it against the floor, as he closed his eyes and allowed himself to finally wind down. "Very good... actually..."

It's been so long since anyone actually took a knife to North that he imagines, as he limps out of the studio, that it has to feel worse than it actually is. Because honestly, he's been shot. What's a knife wound or two?

As it turns out, a knife wound or two (or three. or six.) is enough to keep him in medical for at least a day. And from the time he wakes up from being patched up to the time they finally cut him free, it's torture to just sit around, figuring out the omnicomms and absorbing as much of this new world as he can in that way.

Once he's free, he spends more time than he probably should exploring his surroundings, overwriting his mental map of the Mother of Invention with this new base of operations. If nothing else, it makes for some excellent practice flying when his leg starts to hurt.

Edited 2017-02-26 06:23 (UTC)

South isn't ready to give up her newfound independance yet, convinced that the moment people realized she and North were twins they'd be shuffled together again, and there'd be no escaping it.

But, he was her brother, and she did care about him, so when she learned he was in medical she couldn't not stop by and visit him.

Of course, there's no reason why she should do it as herself.

So hello North; here is Carolina walking in.

"You don't look too bad for someone who's been perforated."

He'd known that York was around. And CT. And . . . not Maine, not really, but close. So when Carolina strolls through the door, he just laughs, a lazy, I-should've-known-it kind of laugh.

"I guess practice makes perfect." He works his way up to sitting, slinging his legs over the edge of the mattress, because even outside of the Project there's something itchy and wrong about Carolina seeing him laid out flat. Movement is uncomfortable, but it doesn't hold a candle to that. "So they got you too, huh?"

"Huh? Oh, yeah, totally. I mean, yes; just arrived today. Missed out on all the excitement, damn." South is already feeling slightly stressed talking to her brother, but then to remember halfway through that oh yeah she's not wearing her own face well, it takes her a moment to 'get into character'.

"Rest up and get better, because tomorrow we're hitting the training room floor." That's something Carolina would say, right?

North may be injured and on painkillers, but he knows his team. Even Carolina, miss ten-steps-ahead, is predictable in her own way. And if it weren't for his encounter with not-Maine, that sense of incongruity probably wouldn't send the same ripple of unease down North's spine.

He leans back and manages a smile, though. Play it cool. If it is her, no reason to look like a basket case. And if she's not? He can handle a controlled detonation on that bridge when they get to it.

"Looks like I do need to put in some more work with the whole 'superpowers' thing, huh." And then, ever so casually-

"What did you get?"

"Oh, you know...." Think, South, think. "Invisibility. Super-speed." Nice save. "But any practice is good practice."

She crosses her arms, "What did you get?" Okay, so far so good, this isn't so bad. She's still sort of thinking about getting away sometime soon.

"The dome shield, built-in thermals. So basically, I get to keep doing everything I was doing before, but I don't need armor to do it now."

Reasonable request, really. If she's going to step back up as de facto leader, she needs to know what her squad is capable of. Not that he's sure he wants that, given what had just happened before he'd gotten here, but on the other hand Carolina has never been great about keeping her grudges hidden. If she remembered Project Freelancer going down screaming? He would know by now. "Who else from the team is here?"

Oh, cool. He's got the bubble sheild. There's a little shimmer of pride that she considers her powers much cooler.

Like, pretending she's Carolina, for one.

"Washington, Connecticut, New York," She gives him a careful look, "And your sister, South Dakota."

"South's here?"

He straightens at that, physically, looks up at her with relief the only thing to temper the sudden focus he gives the conversation. He's already talked with York, he knows that they apparently can come from different times. That doesn't matter, when he's been worrying over what happened to his sister since he landed.

"Where is she?"

There was something equally satisfying and annoying about that reaction, and for a moment South doesn't know if she's done the right thing now coming in as Carolina. She waves her hand somewhat dismissively.

"Oh, you know, off being cool somewhere."

... yeah. That's.

That's not Carolina.

North would go ahead and say that, but he's beaten to hell, still in glorified hospital pyjamas, and as a testing curl of his hand confirms, without the ring that would make jumping out the window feasible.

Damn it.

"Yeah, sounds like her," he confirms, smiling blithely and ready to bolt.

Oops, twin-sense tingling. She can tell he's getting tense; and that's her cue to get the hell out of dodge before she's discovered. She starts to walk back towards the door.

"Well, I've got some more training to do. If I see her I'll send her in. Don't forget to eat your vegetables!"

Sure he'd been bleeding. Sure he'd been patched up, but he needed to double check that no it wasn't an elaborate fucking hallucination. Step one in that process is reasserting the part of reality that holds North in it, here and now.

Part two is taking a moment to reassert his personal reality that this has happened, that this is real- and that'll mean a little time with people too different and amazing for him to have made up. BUT. Step one before step two. Walking before crawling. He's down to civvies and bandaged up his own self by the time he drags his sorry ass to North's bed. It's familiar enough to be disconcerting- so much so that he doesn't blink at the youthful cast of North's expression while out cold and drags a chair over. Crosses his arms next to his hand and dozes off as was his custom back on the MOI.

North doesnt sleep well in medical of any kind. Even bled sleepy and on something unpronouncable to blunt the pain he naps in fits and starts, and all the weariness does is lengthen the interval between when he drowsily peers at the top of York's head and when he remembers where they are.

Theta relaxes from his nervous spinning to see him too, and North reaches out to pat his shoulder and nudge him awake, pushing himself closer to upright with a grumble of discomfort.

It doesn't take much to rouse him- he'd always been easy to wake on the MOI but the strung tight coil of his shoulders snaps into place in a microsecond, head snapping up, hand falling to a holster at his hip (even in medical, it's stun, they let him keep it), the set of his jaw and quick flick of his eyes to every line of attack speaks less of the usual soldierly wariness and a more bone deep paranoia.

Something he'd picked up along with the lean angle to his jaw (a few months here isn't enough to fill in the padding he'd lost on the MOI just yet), the crinkles by his eyes, the spattering of grey here and there in the blonde. Time for York has passed. Now awake and settling back into his usual amiable chill dudebro persona he's better able to blink at North and,

Uh.

"Damn, you haven't aged a day, huh?"

North goes still. Theta does too, for a moment, both of them bewildered and working to parse what exactly is happening here. North blinks at York and, without talking his eyes from him, asks-

"Theta?" A beat. "How long was I out for?"

He projects tentatively, a quick flicker into being close to North, tucked near the hollow at the small of his back. "Um. Eleven hours. And nine minutes."

Yeah. That does nothing to answer why York is sitting in front of him looking several hard years older than when he'd last seen him before fleeing the ship.

Edited 2017-02-26 07:35 (UTC)

"You're surprised-" Wait. They're pulled from wherever and whenever. Just cuz he's from one time doesn't mean- His eye goes a little wide and wondering as he shifts, hand skidding up to catch the angle of North's jaw. As familiar and comforting as his armor and the sound of his voice over the comms had been? This is North.

This is Gabriel cracked out of his shell and not a day older than the last time he'd seen him. No wrinkles. No scars. Barely a hair out of place (except for the stabbing but he's not walking away unscathed either so-) but. Him.

"Holy shit. You- what's the last thing you remember?"

Oh boy. And he thought things were weird already. Now York is holding his face, looking at him like there's some kind of epiphany in staring at your teammate injury-hungover and unshaved.

"Leaving the Mother of Invention crashed on Sidewinder?" He's guessing that's what he's asking, and he reaches for his hand, not sure if he means to pull it away or just ... feel it. "York, what the hell-"

"It's been about five years since that for me." Five ish? Time sort of blends together when you're keeping your head down and your AI is more focused on keeping both of you hidden and alive than- well. Timekeeping. "We, uh. We split up, you know? You, T, and South, me and Delta."

Had to. It was the only way that'd be safe for them and that still didn't fucking work for long. Go figure.

"And here I thought it was good genetics or something."

Five years - he almost wants to laugh at that, except . . . it fits. This looks like York with five hard years on him, five years with stolen and highly-classified tech on his back and in his skull, and his fingertips hitch against rough knuckles as he considers and rejects the temptation to pull his hand away.

"Aren't you the sweet-talker," he drawls, a bit of idling carelessness that buys time more than anything as he tries to pull his mental footing back under himself. It's not easy, especially since Theta's flickered back into fretful hiding, pulling him toward worries about whether he should be trying to comfort him rather than puzzling over that gulf of time between them. "Any other timeline differences I should know about?"

"Wash is from further on than either of us. He's older than me and that'll never not be weird. CT's from-" He swallows, shrugs, eyes ticking away from North's face for a moment and fidgeting in a subtle glide of his thumb back and forth along the rasp of North's stubble, because even when you know and you know in your bones someone is not making it back-

He killed her. All he had to do was keep that damn door locked for another five, ten minutes. The lock wasn't that easy. Those twins had been fucking crazy. It'd have been entirely possible. "Uh- just after Tex injured her in that op on the Innie base."

That weren't actually Insurrectionists, go figure. "South's from about that time too."

All right. So something is up with CT. York's poker face is infamously shit, and worse when he doesn't have the realtime pattern-puzzle of poker to bury his mind away from his facial muscles.

"Damn." He rolls the thought of pushing that tell around in his mind, then nudges it into a corner for later. There's something more important - something he's mostly not trying to think of for Theta's sake, because even a passing thought of it brings a childish jitter of terror echoing back. ". . . and what about Maine."

"I- have no idea what that was about." Not even a little. "I know the jackass running around with him is a manipulative fuckstick I kind of wanna kill but that's just me."

He tried to take out Wash, Carolina, and Azucar. Also he stabbed him. That kinda weighs in. "Whoever that was? It wasn't maine. Not anymore. I figured after the crash- Delta and I heard some shit while we were on the run. Didn't know what to think."

Tex is in the training facilities when she sees him walk in. At this point the sight of another soldier from the Project doesn't surprise her much, not after running into Connie during the mission. She abandons what she's doing and approaches, that slight swagger of hers apparent in the way she makes her way over.

"You'd think this place was running a reunion committee," she remarks. "It's been a long time since I saw you last."

"I've been getting that." Five years for York, so he'd been told, and he guesses he's not surprised to get the same kind of reaction from Tex. York had always had the devil's own luck, and Tex-? She was as close to untouchable as he'd even seen someone get.

"How long has it been for you?" He steps in, both to meet her and to get a better look at the training equipment that they're supplied with here.

"Since I last saw you?" she says. "Six years."

Through memories, visions from the other AIs, she knows what happened to North. She has felt Theta's emptiness at missing North and his distrust of Sigma from the way North was killed. None of this is evident in her affect, however, not in her tone of voice or posture. There's no point in letting any of that show.

A low whistle, because what else is he supposed to say to that? Six years. So she's up there with Wash, if his gossip-gathered timeline is to be believed.

"We're just from all over the place, huh," he muses, half to himself, inspecting one of the weight machines curiously. New powers, new name, new team, new headquarters - though he'd pretty much reconciled himself to that last two when the MoI crashed. "And all on the side of the angels, apparently."

"That's one way of putting it."

She watches him distract himself that way, thinking it's probably a way of coping with the thought of the strangeness of this whole situation. For her own part, she's not one to stand there and make eye contact when things get heavy; she turns a bit, looking out into the room as people work the machines.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[Out With the Old] [modplot] [finale]

BOOM

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

AFTERMATH

Agent North | OTA

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

In Medical

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

exploring

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject