ArchivedLogs:Close to Home

Close to Home
Dramatis Personae Flicker, Ororo, Shane	2015-08-27 "Lie face-down and keep your hands on top of your head. Failure to do so will be construed as violence and met with appropriate force."
Location <XS> Danger Room
Xavier's School is situated on grounds as luxurious as the mansion itself. The tree-lined drive brings you up to the lush green sweep of front lawn and the wide front porch with its bench swing, often frequented by students studying in pleasant weather. The large oak tree in the front yard is home to a tire swing, installed long ago beneath the sturdy old treehouse. The lawn rolls out all the way down to the thin rocky pier at the edge of the glittering lake. The water stretches huge and wide off into the distance, the boathouse a small blip at its shore. Along its bank, forest stretches dense and shady to one side; to the other cliffs start to rise, high and rocky, providing trails for hiking or climbing, for the adventurous. Sunlight reflects, dazzling bright, off of the chrome armor of the robots. The first wave has almost made it across the lawn, though several of their number lie in sparking, smoldering heaps and another two lines are marching steadily up the drive. Somewhere beyond them, largely obscured from sight, the human troops remain with the transport vehicles, guarding the destroyed gate through which they made their ingress. A low, visceral thump-thump-thump broadcasts the presence of a low-flying military helicopter on rapid approach even before it appears over the smoke-wreathed treeline. "Attention, this is a Homeland Security operation," a stentorian voice, amplified by a helicopter-mounted loudspeaker, easily drowns out the surprisingly quiet sound of stomping Sentinels. "Lie face-down and keep your hands on top of your head. Failure to do so will be construed as violence and met with appropriate force." Inside the school an alarm is already sounding. Even on the grounds outside it puts a small wince on Shane's face. His sharp teeth are gritted, gills fluttering just above the collar of his dark X-jacket. Just below its cuffs, a pair of bulky boxy wristwatch-looking straps circle his slim wrists. A set of keys -- from the looks of them, some sort of car keys -- dangle from one claw. His sharp teeth press down against his lips, dark eyes narrowed on the helicopter above. "... we're not going to have a hope of clearing an evacuation route for the kids if they keep the /air/ too." Flicker probably has been at Shane's side. A moment ago. But that was then. Half a second later he's halfway towards the oncoming line of bots, a vague fuzzy /blur/ of a person -- though he's throwing a /bright/ grin back towards Storm. "They /won't/ keep the air. I'll clear a road for you, Shane. I -- doubt the /sky/ will be a problem." Despite the order, Ororo is not laying down. Nor is she moving or preparing to attack. She's just standing from her position beneath a large tree which provides a makeshift, temporary shelter from attacks. Those who know her, of course, would recognize she is attacking - her eyes completely white now and nearly glowing. Keep to the air the helicopter will -not- as already storm clouds begin to form above the XMen. Suddenly, they begin to swirl; anyone looking up might compare it to the eye of a hurricane. On ground level, they might feel a stiff breeze at most but it's a bit hairy up in the sky with winds picking up generously. Not completely heartless, Ororo is giving the pilots time to get out of the windstorm before it gets worse. But not a lot of time. Upon Flicker's approach, the line of Sentinels lift their right arms as one, opening their panels to reveal dart guns. "We are authorized to use force if necessary," the nearest one says, its simulated voice clear, neutral, and not altogether unpleasant. "For your own safety, peaceful compliance is advised." Overhead, the helicopter had just begun to settle into a hover as the winds begin to reach gale force around it. The pilot, though clearly skilled, has some trouble maintaining stability, and the olive-drab vehicle wobbles perilously in mid-air. "Attention, this is a Homeland Security operation..."the announcer continues, undaunted, even as his ride starts shedding altitude in sickening fits and starts. "Oh -- right. Of -- course." Shane's quiet mumble is almost sheepish as the clouds and wind overhead begin to pick up. For a moment he looks kind of indecisive -- not, though, really like he's considering /lying down/ or putting his hands on his head. Just like he's considering moving back further into the driveway, the side door, the waiting school and its children, ushering them into a bus. After a brief hesitant spell he darts forward instead, wrists turning up and out; from the devices on them shoot out huge thick globs of sticky web-glue, aimed for the nearest of the Sentinels that is aiming at Flicker. Only briefly. /Then/ he's turning to head back. Flicker does not look overly concerned about the arms trained on him. Not that it's easy to discern his expression -- he's never /in/ the same place more than an instant at a time, shimmering from one spot to the next to the next in a blink. It only takes a touch to bring one of the Sentinels /with/ him -- a complete lack of any super-strength means he can't actually hold onto it for any time at all. Not really a /problem/, honestly. It takes no touch at all to let it /go/ down onto the ones below and return for another. Ororo gave the pilot a chance. The storm in the sky exponentially increases in strength with each passing moment, though now quite a bit of focus and energy is put into moving that storm, and with it the helicopter, well away from the school and children. It won't do much good to crash the helicopter if it lands on the students. Two Sentinels struck by the web-shooters topple over after another two steps, their limbs working in useless, jerky cadence against the rapidly solidifying adhesive. The third, though still standing, cannot fire its dart gun. A fourth one, though half-paralyzed with webs, *does* fire, though the dart whizzes harmlessly through the air that only a moment again contained Flicker. Inside the mansion, the barely contained chaos of the evacuation is well underway. Faculty and staff members shepherd students into the Great Hall, though a small handful of young children enter with only two teenagers as escort. Some students are crying, though many more just cluster together, chattering nervously and checking their phones with a frequency that seems compulsive even by the standards of their cohort. Ponderous as they are, the Sentinels make excellent projectiles, though Flicker's maneuver seems to damage the Sentinels dropped more than the ones they drop upon. Even so, he certainly has attracted the attention of the robots, for the second line approaching them has also begun to take aim at him. Caught up in the windshear, the helicopter skids sideways in the air, then begins spiraling out of control even has the winds push it away from the school proper. The announcer's words descend into a scream of terror as the aircraft's landing struts clip a particularly tall poplar tree. The branches tear and snap quite audibly even from such a distance, but the collision takes a greater toll on the helicopter's already compromised flight. Its rotor blades rip into the treeline and a cloud of shredded leaves burst up bare seconds before a fireball consumes the helicopter and tree both. A black plume of smoke shoots upward in the wake of the crash, masking the flickers of orange flame below. Beyond the body of advancing Sentinels, some shuffling can be seen. A moment later the engines of the armored vehicles start up, bearing the heavily armed and armored troops forward. A *much* louder announcement comes blaring from the LRAD disc mounted on the leading APC, "This is a Homeland Security operation. Lie face-down and keep your hands on your heads. Any resistance *will* be met with force. This is your final warning." Shane's approach to the mansion is through a side door. He doesn't properly enter so much as gesture the gathered students out to the small waiting bus he's parked in the drive. "Just ignore the robots," he tells them with a fierce sharp curl of grin. "Think of them like velociraptors. If you can't see them --" He doesn't actually finish this. Just scoops up a pair of small children to bring them out to the van personally, setting them down on a bench seat and clambering up to the driver's seat himself. The engine chugs to life. He's /looking/ at the chaos down the drive, though not -- going anywhere. Yet. Flicker's path is more erratic still given the stormy winds in the sky. His grin is gone. Just determination, now. Dip down. Grab another Sentinel. Drop. And then he's standing beside the APC in front. Looking almost apologetic with his polite: "This is going to be. A little disorienting." The blur that is Flicker is, now, accompanied by other shapes. Darting in and out of the vehicles. Starting with the one in the lead. Retrieving the people from within them -- unharmed but inconvenienced, they are summarily deposited in tall (not-on-fire) trees none too near the road. "Ororo. Can you get the empty vehicles /out/ of the way? Shane's gonna have a busload of kids coming through soon. Too many. Too heavy. For me." Tempting though it may be to whirl through and leave a neat path of neatly parted Humvees in his wake. “Gladly,” Ororo says, discharging the storm in the sky and letting sun shine through again. She bolts out from the tree and makes her way towards the bus and the row of vehicles in front, now abandoned. She holds her arms out, creating a tornado from thin air. It barrels its way down the road, kicking up dirt and gravel until it hits the vehicles. They stand no chance, uprooting and being tossed about in the air like toys, landing haphazardly on the ground in various states of damaged. The tornado continues on down the road, picking up speed and debris, ensuring a clear path for the bus. As the tornado gain distance, it only makes sense for Ororo to follow it so she too becomes airborne, the air in her immediate vicinity churning until she has gained some height. She positions herself just above the bus, in a position to protect it from any unexpected threats. Students file onto the bus in hurried but not too disorderly fashion. Two adults stay by the door, one ushering and one counting. Behind them, other vehicles--mostly school-owned vans and a couple of cars belonging to faculty members--are filling up, as well. "Can't velociraptors hear and smell you, too?" one tiny purple child with a birdlike crest of feathery hair asks, peering over the back of the padded barrier dividing their bench from the driver's seat. "I bet the robots have *sensor suites*. Good thing they're broken, huh?" The noise from the tornado, like a freight train passing by, soon makes spoke conversation impossible. It sends the military vehicles flying, even the huge mobile command center, all its technology no proof against the might of the raging vortex. The complaints from the people Flicker has relocated soon forms a veritable chorus of profanity, soon drowned out below the howling of the wind and the resultant thrashing of tree branches. Some of them try to take pot shots at Ororo once she is airborne, but the distance, their disorientation, and the swaying of their precarious perches sends their aim quite wide. Even so, the occasional bullet thudding into the ground within view of the bus causes a panic among the students. "These are probably pretty perceptive velociraptors," Shane is forced to admit. "But Flicker and Storm'll --" He stops bothering with speech as the road outside picks up. His eyes widen, clawed hands tightening hard on the steering wheel. His cheeks puff out, gills pressing down flat against the side of his neck. Deep breaths. Slow. He watches the spiral make its way down the drive, watches the vehicles tossed like matchbox cars in its wake. And then finally once the military vehicles down the drive have landed, pushes down on the gas -- his path is just a /little/ swervy, hands not /entirely/ steady, but with his teammates outside he's paying more attention to driving safe than to the soldiers, trusting them to take care of the scattered incoming fire as he zooms for the gate. Flicker's shimmering flightpath is getting a little bit slower. A little bit easier to track. Which isn't to say it's /slow/, really. Just more of a stutter in his blinking as he fights his way through the stormy trees, revisiting the soldiers he has put there. Occasionally buffeted into the whipping branches himself. As he jumps his way through the people he's left there their weapons begin disappearing from their hands. Dropped down to the ground far below. "C'mon, man. Those are -- just /kids/." He sounds kind of /disappointed/. For /shame/. Even though the road is clear, Ororo continues to let the tornado lead the way, just to discourage anyone from coming up the front. Though none of the bullets from the tree-trapped attackers hit her, she is clearly angered and the air about them develops a sudden chill. Storm clouds begin forming above the men trapped in the trees though instead of rain, they begin pouring snow. Mini blizzards spiral around the men and trees, simultaneously blinding them and submersing them in arctic temperatures. “Don’t you /dare/ attack the children,” Ororo warns, her voice cold and dangerous as it carries above the sound of the battle. The people stranded up in the trees, disarmed and snowed-in, no longer pose even the illusion of a threat. The evacuation vehicles roll down the drive at speed toward the mangled front gate following the tornado's path. The moment Shane's bus leaves the school property, the entire world shimmers, turning pixelated and then fades away into the interior of a dark gray hemisphere comprised of hexagonal ceramic panels. "End simulation," a computer-generated voice, only faintly feminine, announces as the lights come up around them. "Mission complete."