ArchivedLogs:Freedom

Freedom
Dramatis Personae Cage, Trib	2013-05-22 Trib gets rescued. (Part of Thunderdome.)
Location <NYC> Chinatown
One of New York's oldest neighborhoods and the oldest Chinese enclave outside of Asia, Chinatown is a vibrant ethnic community, which draws throngs of tourists annually as well. This neighborhood is packed with Chinese-owned businesses, from restaurants to groceries to theaters to fashion. The rescue was a complete surprise, to the captured mutants. The sudden and unprecedented exit of the guards was enough to draw Trib's attention, and then it was just /happening/. People being taken out, and ushered off to who-knows-where. At first, he thought it might be just a moving of the operation, although he's never seen that before. By the time someone came for him, it was clear by the excitement in other cages that this was a rescue. Now, out in the alley, the big man paws at his head, blinking at the bright sunlight over the rim of his mask and wincing in pain. His face is still battered-looking, where it can be seen, and the flesh underneath the collar around his neck looks scarred, some of them fairly fresh. Other than the collar, the only other item of clothing he has on is a pair of tattered jeans that are slowly losing that battle. Trib's pawing hands come around to the straps holding his muzzle to his face, and he PULLS at them, grinding his teeth together audibly as the small padlock in the back prevents its removal. ".../fuck/. Fuckfuckfuck." "Go go GO!" Luke Cage comes jogging out of the building ushering a couple of adults who are healthy enough to still run. No obvious mutations, but they're definitely brother and sister. But no matter - the two run for it like they're supposed to. Luke looks like he's about to turn and head back in when he sees Trib wrestling with the face mask. "Sweet Christmas, brotha, what the fuck did they do to /you/?" Cage circles around so he's in front of Trib, inspecting the fastenings, and then makes eye contact. "Hey, I can snap that shit off. Two things - it'll probably pinch you, and you better not bite me. I don't /know/ what you got behind there, but I'm just sayin - don't." He doesn't really sound pissed, or nervous, its just that he doesn't like his hand in another man's mouth. All business. The sound of other people approaching behind him brings Trib around to face the others, his hands frozen on his muzzle and his eyes wide with momentary alarm. But, there are no badges. Just more sad fucks like him who are somehow, amazingly FREE. And alive. That golden gaze takes in the other, bigger man(!) studiously, and then he drops his hands. "I guess they figured it was a good idea," he grunts with a roll of his shoulders. His accent is Jersey thick. "You're one of the white hats, right?" At the offer, he nods, his eyebrows lifting. "Man, I had a fucking shark hanging off of my elbow less than a week ago. I think I can take a fuckin' /pinch/." Then he's dipping his head forward, putting that padlock on display for easy removal. "Have at it, homes." "Yeah OK, just relax," Cage says, nodding, also not really sure what to do the additional shark information. He reaches up to the lock, grips it, and twists. The twisting momentarily pulls the edges of the muzzle closer together, and actually becomes a lot tighter, but only for a moment. It doesn't take long for the lock hinge to give way, and snap off. Luke flings it to a corner in the alley and steps back to let Trib do the unmasking. "Shit man, what were they doing to you guys in there?" Apparently this is the first chance Cage has had to stop and talk to someone. Trib grunts a bit when the muzzle pulls tight, but when it comes loose, his exhalation is one of relief. "Fucking thing," he growls, and pulls the leather straps off, shoving them into his mouth and chewing them like they were fettuccine noodles. He grunts some sort of response at the other man's question, but he seems intent on devouring those leather straps. "What did it look like?" he asks, when he's finished with the straps. Then he's biting into the plastic-and-metal faceplate, crunching through it like it was made of almond paste. There's much crunching as he does this, and the set of his eyes is hard. Like he's punishing the MASK. Luke raises an eyebrow, and then both as the straps are consumed, and then the mask. In fact, it looks like they might try to take up residence on his bald head. Plenty of real estate up there, it looks like, and the neighborhood down here just isn't what it used to be. He clears his throat, still fascinated with the eating, but the /punishment/ vibe is easy for an ex-con to pick up on. "Damn, man, it looked like a fight ring for people like you and me, thats what it looked like. That's fucked up." Trib nods, his brow furrowing as he polishes off the mask. tossing some plastic bits in the general direction of a trash can. "That's about the long and the short of it. Fight for the normals, sometimes ice or be iced." He puts a finger gun to his temple and pulls the trigger with a grim set of his mouth. "So, yeah. Fucked up." He falls silent, glancing up and down the alley as if looking for the cops to return. "You guys got here just in time," he notes when his eyes return to Luke. "There was too many kids in there." Then he straightens his spine, and twist his torso lightly. "You got a name?" "Yeah, they were pullin' all the kids out the other entrance, but we needed more room, so I made this entrance over here." On second inspection, it turns out the 'door' Trib had escaped through is actually a gaping hole in the brick facade of the building. When Trib asks his name though, Luke misses a beat. He gets that funny look in his eye like, 'is this guy messing with me?' Being probably the most media saturated figure in New York for the last month, Cage has been enjoying his fame while it lasts. It won't be forever. And now he's a little confused. So he decides to play along, sticking out his hand, he says, "Luke Cage." Glancing over his shoulder he asks, "You go some place to go? Family in town? There's a mutie-friendly shelter in Harlem I can point you at..." Trib nods. "I saw," he grunts, glancing back at the hole in the wall. "They okay? Couple of 'em were fucked up pretty bad." His gaze goes distant for a moment, his face turned to the brick wall. As he thinks, there's the smallest ripple of color through his skin, slowly becoming the color of the leather straps he's just finished eating. In fact, his skin /looks/ like that leather, even creaking as he moves a hand to scrub at his face. "Dammit. Are we really out?" A fist is raised, then, and slammed into the chipped brick of the building. When Luke introduces himself, though, he turns, and his brow furrows with a small creak. It's clear something about the name rings a bell, but it must elude Trib, because he offers a small, sharp nod. "Retribution Jones," he says, motioning at himself vaguely. The question about his accommodations gets a small widening of his eyes, and he FROWNS. "Oh, fuck. I bet my shit has all been tossed out of my place by now," he says in sudden realization. "Fuck. /Fuck/." Luke shakes his head sympathetically, especially as he realizes this guy really doesn't recognize him. He's been in there a /while/. "Yeah, some 'jumpers' got a lot of the wounded out real quick. Most of the rest went out the front way. I came around here to sweep, look for stragglers." Luke notes the skin change, and the well-placed punch, punishing the building, but doesn't comment. "I'm sorry about your stuff, and shit... I mean, this whole damn thing. I'm sorry. Look. Lemme get you set up at the shelter. Get some food and real rest, you know? See what comes next." Trib reaches up to run leathery fingers through his greasy hair, and he frowns even deeper, pulling at the oddly leathery fronds on his skull with a small grimace. "Fuck. These bastards have fucked up our whole /lives/." That earns the building another punch, although it doesn't seem to be doing anything other than chipping the brick further. "Mother/fuckers/." There's more punching, then, for a furious moment before Trib just ROARS at the building in an inarticulate rage. Then he's dropping his hands, and beginning to stalk up the alleyway. "I could use some rest," he says, and reaches down to flick at his jeans. "An' a shower an' some fuckin' clothes that ain't stained with blood an' worse." Which is probably an acceptance, since he's heading in the direction which the siblings just disappeared. t" Luke follows along, jogging to catch up and then finally falling into step with the man. He doesn't offer a hug, or any other words of encouragement. Cage has /been/ the helpless prisoner before, and he knows there's no magic word to make you feel like you got your life back. Instead, he just keeps up in silence, glad to have really be able to help someone today.