ArchivedLogs:Terrorists Win

Terrorists Win
Dramatis Personae Regan, Dusk, Pietro, Toru, Thea
In Absentia	2013-07-09 '
Location
Sing Sing correctional facility -- the prison responsible for the term 'Up The River' -- has gotten a recent addition to its Mutant VIP wing (formally known as the Control Unit; /informally/ known as 'The Freakshow'). Thea's room is about as boring as it gets -- a tight, cramped, sterile space -- a steel door -- a tiny window (certainly too small to /crawl/ out of) with bars, bullet-proof glass, /and/ a dome on top of that (they're not taking any chances re: Insects) which pretty much reduces the view to -- no view at all. Some light, yes; but there's actually no light fixtures in the room itself -- a bench in the wall, a /very/ uncomfortable bed, and a mounted steel toilet (she's only allotted a certain amount of toilet paper per week, and she has to /ask/ for it in advance). The Freakshow itself is a recent addition to Sing Sing; a small, rather unassuming looking two-story building off to the side of the main prison, walled off and quarantined from the rest of the population. The guards /here/ aren't just your average run-of-the-mill thugs; these guys are largely all ex-military -- armed with shotguns and semi-automatic rifles -- /body-armor/ -- and take their job as seriously as a heart-attack. Any sign of aggression is responded to with deadly force -- no questions asked. They patrol the exterior of the tightly controlled facility with a sort of efficient brutality. The first floor of the facility is processing; a kitchen, security check-points, cameras, so on -- the second floor are where the inmates are kept within their tightly packed cells, clustered like honeycombs along the linoleum hallways -- with metal doors ready to slam down in place and lock the facility off from the rest of the world. Notably, this place doesn't even subscribe to proper fire-codes; if this wing burned down, all the prisoners would die horribly in their cells. This fact does not seem to bother many people. "First flipping day back..." The speedster is muttering softly below his breath, not likely to be heard as he was already scoping out the compound. With the others sneaking in as the plan detailed Pietro was zipping across the grounds. The blur never pauses as it defies gravity and arcs across the far side of the building(far side from where the team had planned their entrance.) In his impossible march he kicks out the glass of every window in the administrative wing... but not before disappearing into a jagged hole himself. "Waaaaarden!" He bellowed as he took a seat at the Warden's desk with his feet up; having come in the window. Regan and her two MINIONS do not, today, look anything like themselves; she and Dusk and Toru have been redecorated bland in prison-guard uniforms, nondescript features, nondescript hair. Underneath the illusion, gloves and skimasks, just in /case/ of wayward security cameras. But with it, normal! Totally Not Terrorists at all. Regan is striding through the complex like she belongs here, just at the moment; her mind poking thoughtfully at cells to find Thea's, poking thoughtfully at /guards/ to find things like oh right how do we open those cells anyway? "-- If anyone does give you problems," she has levelly informed them, "you can kill them." But for the moment, she is just listening with a small quirk of lips to the noises from elsewhere. Arriving at the first security checkpoint with a telepathic /probing/ of the guard already there, searching for faces he'd be likely to accept and reconfiguring hers appropriately to a guard who actually /belongs/ here. "New trainees," she says with a jerk of her head to not!Dusk and not!Toru, "figured they should /see/ the Freakshow before they have to jump straight into the fire." Thea is resting in her cell, contemplating her hosts, and the white plaster cast on her right forearm. She's probably lucky she even got that. It'll be a conversation piece for later, certainly. She's in the classic orange jumpsuit, and the soft cloth booties they give to dangerous prisoners. Her straight blond hair is pulled back in a ponytail, showing the extend of chitin growing up the back of her neck, and reaching around the sides of her face. "One day, one of you bastards is going to come in here with /lice/," she murmurs to herself. "Then you'll all /pay/." She stands suddenly and thumps the door with her good hand in sudden agitation. "You can't keep me in here forever, you BASTARDS!" Regan and her two MINIONS do not, today, look anything like themselves; she and Dusk and Toru have been redecorated bland in prison-guard uniforms, nondescript features, nondescript hair. Underneath the illusion, gloves and skimasks, just in /case/ of wayward security cameras. But with it, normal! Totally Not Terrorists at all. Regan is striding through the complex like she belongs here, just at the moment; her mind poking thoughtfully at cells to find Thea's, poking thoughtfully at /guards/ to find things like oh right how do we open those cells anyway? "-- If anyone does give you problems," she has levelly informed them, "you can kill them." But for the moment, she is just listening with a small quirk of lips to the noises from elsewhere. Arriving at the first security checkpoint with a telepathic /probing/ of the guard already there, searching for faces he'd be likely to accept and reconfiguring hers appropriately to a guard who actually /belongs/ here. "New trainees," she says with a jerk of her head to not!Dusk and not!Toru, "figured they should /see/ the Freakshow before they have to jump straight into the fire." The license to kill only earns a small compression of not!Dusk's lips. He just nods, /his/ thoughts at least none too sanguine with the idea of more killing but -- preparing for it regardless. "-- How many we got in there?" he's asking, with a nod towards the Control Unit door. The prospect of having permission for /murder/ has Toru looking forward to this operation to a possibly inappropriate degree; nonetheless, if that's what it takes to keep him in line, so be it, yeah? He's even keeping most of his posturing under control, and actually! behaves like a trainee! Keeping quiet, not acting suspicious, and keeping track of the layout of the building as they move through it. Dusk asks his question before he can get to it, so he just pipes down listens in for the answer. BSHHH -- BSHHH -- BSHHH -- that's the sound of over a dozen windows IMPLODING at the business-end of Quicksilver's foot, sending a torrential downpour of glittering glass raining down into the offices of Sing Sing's administrative wing. The warden -- a fat, balding, portly man in a suit with funny little soda-bottle glasses -- is stepping in with paperwork in his hands, head half-turned behind him to make some idle comment -- "--my wife that I'll be coming home late--" when suddenly EVERY WINDOW IS EXPLODING AT ONCE. There are screams of panic; people shouting, people throwing themselves to the ground -- the warden, perhaps surprisingly, seems only slightly phased. When he turns and sees Pietro sitting in his chair, his eyes /bulge/ widely. Grip tightening on that sheathe of papers. And then: "--who are--what." His mouth thins to a straight, narrow line: "Gracie," he says, forcing his voice to stay level and calm, "we're under attack. /Call the hotline/." Back in the Freakshow: "Ohhey," the guard -- his name is Bill, he's an ex-Marine, been working here for two years; his daughter's getting married this September to a real lay-about, a dick named Tony. Except that isn't what Regan's looking for; she's looking for the face of Augustine, a young man who started working at the 'Freakshow' just recently -- and who Bill's got a friendly, trusting, mentorish relationship with. Even if he /does/ sometimes give him shit about the name. "Hey, Auggie," he says, with a grin. Reaching for his keys, jamming them into the switch -- bzzz, front door opens; when they're inside, the door closes behind them -- a moment, then -- bzz, the /next/ door opens, granting them access. "The bug bitch's been making a lot of racket," Bill tells the three proto-terrorists. "You read about this shit in the papers?" He gestures to the newspaper article out in front of him, on the desk; it's a few days old. The title reads 'WEIRDNESS IN TENNESSEE'. "Freaks are showing up everywhere. Still hunting for the fuck. Maybe he'll show up in here." This idea, at least, seems to prompt Bill into grinning. "Oh, about -- eight, at the moment," Bill tells Dusk, before adding: "Oh man, the /shit/ you see down here. You would not fucking believe it. Did you know," he asks, "we got one up there made of /spiders/? Nothing but fucking spiders. We keep /that/ one far the fuck away from the bugbitch." The warden enters the office to find Pietro seated at his desk, with his feet up and something in his hands. Two guards are flanking the warden and they raise their guns... in a flash they are disarmed though and Pietro is once more sitting at the desk with something in his hands- and two guns in his lap. A subtle, "Tsk, tsk, tsk," Escapes Pietro softly. "Beautiful daughter? Is she? Grand daughter, you old coot?" The flabbergasted warden stares at Pietro as the man turns the picture of the little girl around to face the others. "C'mon, we're going for a run warden." Pietro jumps to his feet and grabs the Warden by the arm... dislocating a shoulder. Being dragged by Pietro was no pleasent experience. Broken bones and a lost shoe are likely just a few effects of the journey to the control unit. The warden will be out of breath even though he did very little actual running those speeds just had less oxygen involved. "They always make a lot of racket," Augustine!Regan laments with a small grimace down at the headline. "And I think they're definitely /spreading/. My ma thinks it's a sign of the end times." He gestures the others in after him. "Won't be long. Their first real shift isn't till tomorrow. Jesus," he's adding to the other two, "you should see the one with the slime -- I'd stay away from the cage door, though." This is tacked on with a wry smile as he continues in to the unit proper. "Holy shit," is his abrupt-startled reaction to the /sudden/ appearance of a Pietro; he grabs the other two by the shoulder to yank them further into the room. "-- We got company," this is a useless after-the-fact warning; Regan is paying attention less to Pietro and more to whatever security (and thoughts) are immediately jumped to in making sure the cages all stay locked. Dusk tips his head down to read the newspaper with a rather /baffled/ expression. "-- sand monster," he blinks down at the article. "Guy made of spiders. You're shitting me. At least it's not a guy made of /bees/. What's spider-man in here for?" He steps back when he's yanked, very abruptly. "That's -- not normal, right?" He's looking to Bill for CONFIRMATION on this. But also edging back further! Towards where the entry to the CELLS are. Toru is-- also looking down at that newspaper, for a moment. Given that in real life he also doesn't read the news much, it actually is a new story to him, so he gives it just a smidge more than a cursory glance! And shrugs over to Dusk. "Well, y'know, the fuggin' South, yeah?" And he looks to Bill. "How the hell can you be a bunch of spiders but still be a person? That's messed up." He shakes his head disparagingly, starting to make another comment-- then before he knows it he's getting yanked to the side, and he lets out a yelp of genuine surprise when Pietro shows up. "What the hell--!" He skitters back, towards /cells/, and adds an irritated, "Is this some kinda fucking training drill?!" In a flash Pietro is up upon the bars with the battered warden in one strong grip. "Freeze." He orders of the fumbling Bill. He shakes the Warden who is scared, injured and threatened at this point. He is likely to echo Pietro's commands. "Now Warden, tell our friend-" Pietro's eyes cut to the ID card with a perceptive swiftness. "Tell Bill here what sort of game we are playing tonight? Or shall I?" There's a weak little squeak from the warden as he's forcefully seized; wide-eyed and terrified, his shoulder *CRKTS* out of place as he's dragged in a blurring rush of maddening speed -- lungs unable to swallow oxygen, body dragged, hammered by the intense forces that Pietro's speed subjects him to. The guards stumble back, similarly wide-eyed; one of them is already reaching for his radio a moment after Pietro disappears in a bolt of wind and a few fluttering memos. "--we're under attack, I repeat, we're under /mutant attack/--" Bill laughs at Augustine!Regan's comment about the slime; he looks like he's about to say something in response when -- that Holy-Shit manages to drag him away -- eyes /bulging/ in his skull as he stares at Pietro, on the other side of the bars, holding the red-faced, spluttering warden -- shoulder dislocated, ankle broken, wrist sprained. Hyperventilating. Bill's mind is a flurry of panic with a flutter of procedure. His thoughts are an open book to Regan; in about two seconds, he's going to stop panicking, reach for his firearm (a simple pistol; a set of shotguns are mounted in a weapons station behind him, locked) with one hand -- and reach for the glass-sheathed button on the wall with the other. Opening the container for the button will take another two seconds; after that, he'll slam his fist down on it. At which point, Regan learns, the building will officially enter 'lockdown'. Metal doors SLAMMING to the ground on the upper floors and stairwells -- reinforced steel plating. Cutting them down will be next to impossible. If that button gets hit -- unless they've got a way to tunnel through three inches of steel -- no one's going anywhere. In a flash Pietro is up upon the bars with the battered warden in one strong grip. "Freeze." He orders of the fumbling Bill. He shakes the Warden who is scared, injured and threatened at this point. He is likely to echo Pietro's commands. "Now Warden, tell our friend-" Pietro's eyes cut to the ID card with a perceptive swiftness. "Tell Bill here what sort of game we are playing tonight? Or shall I?" Thea idles in her cell, picking at the plaster of her cast. She hears muffled noises, but that's normal. Somebody is always making some kind of noise up here. And the short range of her antennae isn't really telling her anything interesting, so it must not have anything to do with her. She sighs and sits back down on her bunk. The information about the button is silently relayed to Regan's teammates, a very fierce warning to make sure it is not pressed! There is, very suddenly, a SWARM of spiders coating the button on the wall, sharp and -- very /bitey/; the glass over it seems to really not want to /budge/, too. << Bones. Kill him. >> Meanwhile externally Regan is scrambling back, one hand still on Dusk. "Should warn them upstairs," 'Augustine' is staying, as he half-drags Dusk with him that way, leaving Pietro and Toru with the warden and the Bill downstairs. Dusk's mind is oddly /calm/ for someone who is new to this whole terrorism thing; the sudden chaos only find a brief flicker of memories (other cells, other guards, the uniforms different but the institutional prison-feel the same.) He hurries along when he is dragged, for now just focusing on getting where they are going; he only spares Pietro and Toru a brief backwards glance. Toru gives Regan a brief glance after the command is given, as if kind of confirming her intentions, and with a little shrug he steps forward and cracks his knuckles, tilting his head from one side to the other to limber up a little, and pulls his gloves off to tuck them into his pockets as he approaches the guard. "Lo siento, dude, but you heard the man." Well, no he didn't, but that's beside the point! Because rather abruptly, Toru is /lunging/ forward to grab Bill's /neck/ in both hands, to squeeze it as tight as his Toru hands can, while simultaneously ossifying the flesh in his grip so that it will /stay/ in that compressed state. "Bill--" the warden begins, suddenly /mashed/ up against those bars; his glasses drop off his nose and clatter to the ground, crinkling; he makes a wheezing, whimpering sort of sound: "Bill he's -- oh, Christ. Bill -- h-h." He swallows as he feels Pietro's arm compress around his neck, and manages to whimper -- weakly: "/Hit the button/." And for a moment, that's precisely what Bill's going to do -- reaching for the button, even as that handgun begins to rise. But then, suddenly, the button is covered in /spiders/ and -- what? He stares, shocked -- and then he glances behind him, as if to confirm -- wait, /what/? Why is one of the new recuits -- GLURK. Bill's eyes widen with surprise as Toru's fingers squeeze around his throat; at first, he's just /shoving/ at Toru with both hands -- handgun turned sideways -- instinctively repelled at the notion of opening fire on one of his 'teammates'. But when he feels that rapid ossification, his eyes pop open like two giant tea saucers, his face becoming florid with color -- and then he's stumbling back against the bars, the pistol dropped to the floor. Making a gurgling near-breathless wheezing sound, fingers /clawing/ at his own neck. The warden watches with mortal terror, helpless to do anything but gasp and whimper: "Oh God, oh God, /Bill/ oh /fuck/ what are you--doing to--" Regan and Dusk find upstairs easy enough to access; a stairwell up -- leads them to the honeycomb like passageways that lurk on the upper floors. There are two guards here, at a station; both are alert, standing at attention -- at the sight of Augustine!Regan, they relax, their shotguns lowering toward the floor: "There's some sort of attack on the main facility," one of them says. The other soon follows up: "Are we going on lockdown? /Fuck/. What's going on?" Regan might notice the glittery keys on their waists; a brief, mental check will confirm. These are the keys they are looking for! Pietro meanwhile was in his element, he was comfortable playing the threatening role and distracting the man as his doom lunged up behind him. Once Bill was dead Pietro glances around to check for any other approaching guards... there is a moment when he seems just to listen. Then he turns back to Toru. "Ok, open this noise and let me in." He states in a rather impatient manner. The mostly baffled warden is still gripped in one hand like an afterthought. To the Warden: "You're next fuckface, unless you have something useful to contribute." Pietro explains as he waits to see how this gate was going to be opened. It was bound to give the others an easier escape if they cleared the way. "Not yet, no. It's in the main building," Augustine!Regan says with a shake of his head, "But they sent us to make sure the prisoners here are all secured. It's some sort of freak with superspeed, they're worried it's heading this way." She doesn't bother trying to trick the guards out of their keys; /Augustine/ just stays where he is while Regan, invisible, moves away from her now-illusion doppleganger to relieve two guards of keys /herself/. Though to all appearances, keys stay where they are. "It's been quiet here, though?" Augustine is asking. As a man slowly chokes to death not a foot away from him, Toru pulls his gloves back on before brushing around in search of those keys-- ah, here we go. Oblivious to Bill's gurgling, the boy is actually /whistling/. 'Singin' in the Rain'. He even gives the guard a little kick in the side, once he finishes dying, on his way to unlocking the cage. He's being very /casual/ about the whole thing, really; and even waves Pietro in as though just doing a routine letting-a-dude-in. Thing. "Cool your heels, Jesse Owens," he adds, once the first door is opened and entered, and he searches for the second key-- casually, though with a bit of a rush to it, this time, and turns that one as well. "Do we really need that guy? I think we're good unless the bossman wanted him for somethin' else." The warden's response to Pietro's inquiry is nary more than a whimper -- as Bill slumps to the ground, still clawing uselessly at his neck, his red face starting to turn interesting shades of blue; his eyes are bloodshot and watering. "Please," the warden states, "don't -- he's -- you -- he's /dying/," he wheezes, to Pietro. And to Toru. The cage opens with a buzz, granting Pietro access while Bill rapidly asphyxiates on the floor. "Fuck," Guard #1 responds to Augustine!Regan, oblivious to the approach of the /real/ Regan. Both sets of shotguns lower to point harmlessly to the side. "Super-speed? They got super-speeders?" "Maybe we should put the place on lockdown /anyway/," Guard #2 thinks. "I mean, fuck--" "It takes over four hours to get lockdown retracted," Guard #1 responds, "and do /you/ want to be locked up in here with these fucking freaks?" A glance back to Augustine!Regan, and: "Quiet. Except the bugbitch, down the hall, screaming about taking control of our lice." A grim little smile. "Also, 'Mr. Big'. Keeps pissing and moaning about not getting his chocolate pudding." A brief flicker of an image in the guard's mind; a massive man -- maybe 7 feet? Once, built like a brick shithouse; over the past two weeks, slowly withering away to nothing. Strapped down to a table inside of his room with solid-steel restraints; specific precautions crowded around him. Not allowed to move any part of his body more than three inches. /Ever/. There is a pause as the first part of the two part door way is opened and Pietro glances at the man he had been dragging. "He /is/ slowing me down." Then before the Warden can offer a breath of protest his neck has been snapped and he lands in a heap outside the cage. Pietro steps into the doorway and when one side closes and the other takes a moment to open he paces about thirty times. He blasts through the now open gate and turns to face Toru. "You did that on purpose." He challenges, busy with his own posturing as he took the moment or two inside the 'cage' as a personal insult. "Whose gonna guard that button?" He adds with a curt nod of his head- changing subjects faster than his moods. With the keys liberated, Regan moves, invisibly, back to Dusk to press one set into his hands, keeping the other for herself. She curls a hand around his wrist, tugging him off towards the doors, even as /his/ doppleganger also remains behind. "Jesus, six foot lice, can you imagine?" FakeNewRecruit shudders. "It's a long-ass time," Augustine hems uncertainly. "And it sounds quiet here, now." Regan, meanwhile, is reaching out silently towards the cells. << Stay quiet, >> is broadcast to /all/ the mutants inside. << We're friends. We've come to get you out. You can come with us, and we can get you out safely. Or stay in your cage, and wait to see what they do with you. >> She's listening for response even while leading Dusk by the wrist invisibly towards the cages to gauge response of the people inside before finding the most /amenable/ mutant prisoner to unlock first. The warden's neck is snapped with a wet little 'gurk'; his eyes roll back in his head -- and -- WHUMP -- spasming, convulsing, shuddering in the throes of ensuing death. Billy, meanwhile, has turned a vivid, grotesque purple; something frothy seems to be leaking from between his lips. If he's not dead yet, he's probably got irrepairable brain damage. EITHER WAY, Pietro and Toru are now officially 'in'. Upstairs, Guard #1 grunts in vague agreement to both FakeNewRecruit's nightmarish mention of giant lice /and/ Augustine's assessment. "Yeah, /fuck/ that, I mean--" "--look, you just told me there's a mutant /speedster/ here," Guard #2 says, and now he's stepping back toward the control desk. "I mean, if he's fast -- shit could get really bad /really/ quick. He'd just have to -- look, I'm putting us on lockdown, Jack." Reaching for the button. "Jesusfuck," Jack starts, turning to Guard #2, /scowling/. "Don't--" The mutants in their cells hem and haw in response; a few are -- difficult to communicate with -- their minds not working like you would expect. A few respond immediately, some with surprise, some with confusion, some with glee. At least one -- a thick, brutish mind -- responds with, for a moment, nothing more than silence. Before: << Let me out first. And you won't need /keys/. >> His voice sounds like the rumble of a soon-to-begin avalanche. The first cell that clicks and opens reveals the interior -- an angry looking dark-skinned woman; head shaved (well, at some point; maybe a month ago? Now there's nothing but peach-fuzz coating her skull), every inch of her covered in primitive, dark blue tattoos. As soon as the door opens, she's grinning widely; one of the mutants who responded with glee to Regan's missive: "/Fuck/ yeah," she says, at the sight of that open door. Raising an eyebrow at Pietro, Toru-- just about calls the challenge, but settles for a big ol' shrug. "Hey, whatever. Seein' as how you're such a people person, how's about you stay here to greet any new guests that show up, yeah?" As he's suggesting this, he's JUST ABOUT to stroll off, when a thought occurs. Once Bill has finished choking to death - and as the process gets grisly the boy does actually cringe a bit, invisible as it is under his ski mask - he kneels at the guard's side, pulling one of his gloves off, and passing a hand over the man's neck; it takes a minute, but the bone is de-boned, removing /the evidence/. Glove back on, he pulls the pistol off Bill's person, and throws the keys to Pietro. "There's guns in that cabinet over there, homes." And with that taken care of, he takes off in the direction Regan & Co. had headed. "Seriously?!" Pietro echos to Toru as he allows the man to walk off. "/I/ have to guard the button?" He intones in an almost whine. He then looks back to the button. He rolls strange silver eyes in irritation. The dead bodies get a glance but he is already unlocking the cabinet and shifting through the contents. If he decided to arm everyone upstairs it would only take about five minutes. Now he was taking inventory at a close to normal pace as he muttered to himself faster than anyone could translate. "Man this isn't even my first day yet," grumbles NewRecruit, "I'm already getting locked in the Freakshow? Is this some kind of hazing?" Augustine snorts. "More like every damn day around here, when people get so twitchy." "Come on," Regan's voice is quiet and comes invisibly from the open door, urging the woman outside. And then she tugs Dusk along to the door that voice came from, to unleash the Kraken -- er, Juggernaut. "Do you want to get the others out?" her quiet voice asks, as they slip in to unlock his restraints. "I think we might have company soon. We should be swift." The interior of the room from which that rumbling avalanche of a voice came is small, cramped, and includes a metal tray table with manacles locked down in place -- and a withered, sickly looking man covered in bedsores who extends over the entirety of that steel reinforced table. He grins, widely, as Dusk and Regan enter; the woman they freed earlier follows -- apparently they're forming a party? Well. Dusk and Regan have managed to get the sickly man's wrists free. Despite his size, it's clear he needs help just to sit /up/; whatever strength he possesses seems to have been steadily worn away by over two weeks of complete immobilization. The neck brace comes next -- followed by the waist brace, the ankle braces... each undone with the keys. Each, as they descend to the floor, accompanied by a slow surge of strength -- like just /moving his limbs/ is somehow reinvigorating him... "Twitchy," Guard #2 begins, "isn't the word. /Cautious/ is the word. I mean, fuck, if we're under a terrorist att--" He stops, then. Staring. Because Augustine and NewRecruit have just vanished. He looks to Guard #1 -- who's staring, wide-eyed, at the space they once were. "...oh, shit," Guard #1 says. Followed by: "Oh, /SHIT/. HIT THE BUTTON--" The button is hit. Alarms go off -- just as Toru's stepping up into the stairwell, a steel panel SLAMS down behind him, locking him upstairs. Over every cell -- a steel door /DESCENDS/ like an anvil, locking into place with a pneumatic hiss. Over three inches of solid plating; pretty much /impenetrable/. It's at this moment the man in the cell is getting to his feet with Dusk and Regan's help; when the steel panels descend, rather than looking shocked or afraid, he just starts to grin. Five seconds later, and the cell door is /exploding/ -- along with the walls on either side -- in a rushing CLOUD of shattered plaster, cracked concrete, and ruptured steel plating. A voice rumbling through the prison as every alarm blares at full volume: "NOTHING. STOPS. THE JUGGERNAUT."