MURDERWORLD [mod plot] [Reunion/Rescue]

[letsgolegion]

Who| Everyone who wants in
What| The reunion/rescue of the folks in Murderworld
Where| The Temperate Zone
When| Day 3, at the very end of the arena
Warnings/Notes|

Thanks to the heroes that broke into Arcade's control room, the arena was officially over, and now that the Science Police and Legion had been contacted, people were being gathered up in an area in the temperate Zone and being extracted by portable threshold gates. A first aid station had been set up to triage those who needed immediate emergency care and patch up what injuries they could to hold people over until they got home.

Grief counselors were already on standby to help the Legionnaires and Harrubian dissidents and their families deal with the crisis they had just faced.

Arcade had already been taken away by the Science Police to face trial for multi-murder, and while some of the raw footage of the arena had already been uploaded to the UP internet, the Legionnaires had made the best of a bad situation.

The fact of the matter was every Legionnaire that had been kidnapped had survived. Arcade had been stopped. Almost all of Arcade's "Tributes" had been killed or detained by the Legionnaires and some of the Harubbian dissidents. The arena had ended on Day 3 instead of Day 30, which had saved dozens of lives. And the upload of the raw footage had been stopped mid-stream so that only a few people would have to deal with their ordeal becoming public knowledge.

Now it was time for friends and teammates to reunite and for everyone to head back to the safety of Legion World.

[ooc: Anyone can start a thread, regardless of whether they're a Legionnaire that was in the arena, or a Legionnaire outside the arena checking up on their friends.]

Comments

[fantasmaniac]

He can't help but chuckle under his breath, an unearthly sort of rumbling deep within his chest. If anything, McCree is still good for a laugh. Perhaps the bounty means nothing here, but he's more hardpressed to make it seem like his familiar tone with him is mostly due to recognizing him through his bounty.

McCree's had his share of dealings with Talon, at least, so there's that connection as well. He plans on keeping the cowboy in the dark for as long as he can, just to see how long it takes for him to come to a shocking realization or something.

"Sorry to disappoint," he says, doing very well not to call him 'cowboy' like he used to, and totally not sorry at all. "No game this time. We don't exactly get kidnapped of our own volition."

[good_bamf_ugly]

"Sorta contrary to the definition of kidnap." He spits, just for the sake of being difficult.

And yeah that was the non-answer he expected. He rephrases the question then, "You get sworn in or what?"

[fantasmaniac]

Oh Jesse, still a little shit. Reaper doesn't bother replying to that, and were he not wearing the mask, he'd simply narrow his eyes at him. Instead, he just appears to be staring blankly at him, letting the pause stretch on long past the question.

"To everyone's surprise." He sounds almost bitter. "Of course, there was little choice involved."

He's sure Jesse would know all about that. Seemed like a very similar situation, now that he thinks about it. Join us in helping the greater good or go to jail.

[good_bamf_ugly]

So that answered that.

There was an undeniable resemblance to Overwatch that McCree couldn't shake, though it got lost somewhere between realizing the moon was gone and replaced with a space station that would make the Death Star green with envy, and the "world" that could always use heroes was now more like the entire god damn universe could use more heroes. The scope of McCree and even Reaper's place in it all suddenly seemed so small and managed to dredge up an entirely different kind of cynicism.

"Yeah, now you can't exactly do any more of Talon's dirty work. Ain't no reason to hide under that mask any more."

[fantasmaniac]

An amused hum, barely audible.

"That's what you think."

He leaves it at that, infuriatingly cryptic. Even if he wasn't fucked up underneath it, even if Jesse knew who he was, he has no intentions of removing it.

"The mask stays."

And then he goes back to flipping through the book, stopping at a blank page to scrape a small marking into it with his claw. A tiny Overwatch symbol. He doesn't care how big the universe is; his objectives remain the same the moment he's done here. Right now, the concept is too much to take in– it doesn't hit home or strike him as altogether real. Maybe somewhere later down the line, it'll hit him, but right now he's stubborn in his ways.

[good_bamf_ugly]

The casual manner he goes back to flipping through his book is enough to make McCree bite into the thick of his cigar with the back of his molar. He's not sure why he was letting this get under his skin, other than the guy had dealings with Talon and that didn't deserve an iota of his patience.

"You can't hide under that thing forever. Like it or not--and Lord knows I don't like it one bit--we're on the same team now." McCree says this but in the same breath would obstinately refuse missions with Reaper if given the choice. It'd be his first. They're only on a technical truce, and he knows Reaper knows that.

"You afraid of what I might see underneath?"

[fantasmaniac]

If he knows Jesse (and does he know Jesse), and if the punk hadn't changed much since they last spoke when he wasn't a spooky smokey ghost, he'd like to think that he's starting to get under his skin. That feeling in itself is nostalgic, which surprises him a little. A bitter sort of feeling, however, and he just grunts in response.

"Maybe I just like the way it looks." The last word is snarled out in disdain, though not because of the word and just simply because it's Jesse, and he snaps the book shut.

"Let it alone, cowboy. This isn't the hill you want to die on."

Well, so much for not using the word 'cowboy'. It's not as if he wore this mask for Talon, anyway.

[good_bamf_ugly]

"You ain't gonna tell me what hill I am and am not going to die on." Defiant and even petulant of a statement as that is, it's delivered with a casual demeanor, like it's just a matter of fact. The fact he had to say it at all is still a testament to his testiness towards the spooky smokey dude, but he ain't afraid of no ghost.

[fantasmaniac]

That nostalgia that continues to dredge up within him is hard to smother down, chuckling lowly again as he steers his body off a little to the side. It makes getting a read on him harder from this angle, which he seems to do subconsciously. He tosses the book over his shoulder just as casually, a loud flapping of empty pages followed by a thump, refusing to get riled up himself.

Defiance always did encourage him, especially when it came from his former subordinates.

"Then I won't guarantee this'll end pretty."

If Jesse continues to press him about it, anyway. It's almost a dare, the way he draws out his words a little and the tone beckoning.

[good_bamf_ugly]

Yeah that's a nice reaction, one McCree was looking for. Now that he's got it he's not entirely sure where it's going to go but he's certainly not afraid of it. It's a little foolish to pick a fight just for the sake of this, but he'll make an exception for the likes of Reaper. McCree is nothing if not confident in himself.

"That's already a guarantee now that your ugly mug's gettin' involved."

He takes a stance that says it all; back straight, his right arm held loosely at his side while his fingers splay wide near the holster of his gun. All he needs is a tumbleweed and the slightest threatening twitch in Reaper's body language to give him purpose to draw. Worst of all, he feels himself smirking, anticipating, even looking forward to it.

Cowboy dares.

[fantasmaniac]

Jesse always was transparent about his intentions. He recognizes the stance, the way he holds his arm just a little ways apart from his side just ready to snatch up the pistol. It would be so easy to just completely ignore his taunt. He rarely fell victim to it before, and he could easily avoid it again, but perhaps that'd be too telling.

But Reaper is tired. It's been a long day, and he's not sure if he can fully dredge up the energy to put into this fated confrontation. He can feel Jesse's energy, though. The punk wants a fight, and he wishes he could indulge him just to get a satisfying crack of his knuckles against his jaw or something.

Well, this wouldn't be the first time he's let Jesse down.

"Shots fired before the draw."

He drawls like he's rolling his eyes. His own fingers twitch, hovering near his own gun. If the cowboy draws, he'll have to respond, regardless of how tired he is. Death never does takes a break.

[good_bamf_ugly]

Even if McCree has not dared to break eye contact (or what counts for it when he's looking at two dark empty sockets on a mask) he can see in his periphery where that hand is going. He's of no opinion that it should stop, no flinch or hesitate to indicate he's thinking even remotely twice about this.

There is a dull, warning in the back of his head that this is probably breaking Legion legislation or something, but it's easily ignored. He's never been one for rules. Besides... there's one perfectly good reason to not fear the Reaper in this instance.

"..."

The silence draws, thick and long, and McCree soaks up every tension-filled second like he needs it to breathe. There's a glimmer in his eye that wouldn't ask for anything less than this moment.

Then he breaks it in the blink of an eye and fires right for that nice white spot between those two dark empty sockets.

[fantasmaniac]

Gabriel could never win against Jesse when it came to a quick draw.

He doesn't even bother. That is, he bothers to put in the effort of acting like he was going to participate in this obviously one-sided duel, but otherwise? Nah. He knows he'll lose, and he'll definitely get a bullet right in the skull. Vaguely, he wonders if that'll just get the punk in hot water. That should be funny to witness. Jesse never really did give two shits about rules unless they really mattered to him.

The tension is practically tangible. All that's missing is the tumbleweeds, indeed. Within the split second before the draw, his fingers twitch. The motion seems to thrum throughout his entire body, following the lightspeed impact. An impact which should knocked a normal person back onto their back. Dead.

But instead, the entire visage dissolves onto the ground like a puddle, the black smoke rippling out dangerously.