ArchivedLogs:Getting Ahead

Getting Ahead
(Sorry)
Dramatis Personae Micah, Hive, Jackson, Sage, Scott, Flicker, Hank, Jean, Clark, Lorna	7 April 2014 X-Men Debriefing. Part of the Perfectus TP. (WARNING: Brief gore.)
Location <XS> Command and Control Center – B2
Here is the heart of the Xavier Institute's true operations, the room most central to its purpose, where the Institute's most adventuresome and powerful individuals gather to receive exposition. The room is dominated by an oversized viewscreen on one wall, presently displaying an intricate diagram of the planet Earth, as well as a large central holographic projector and a handful of computer terminals along the periphery. Curiously, the whole place is rather dimly lit, as though its designers prioritized dramatic lighting over being able to find anything. It's late in the evening, and it's -- probably been a long day for everyone, grey and rainy and /Monday/. The C&C is rich with the smell of /coffee/; though it's late in the day for caffeine, people might /need/ it with what's on the docket for the night. Scott's already here, of course. He's seated down at one end of the table, leather jacket over plain white tee, red sunglasses fixed down on the screen of the cellphone in his hand; he's scrolling through some message or other as he waits for people to gather. His other hand is curled around a cup of coffee, plain and strong and black, still piping hot out of one of the large carafes on the table. Micah is looking rather significantly out of place, sticking to Jax's side as if using his husband for a /hall pass/. See? Totally supposed to be here. He also looks quite recently showered, given enough time only for washing up and dinner since getting home late from work. His auburn hair is air-dry spiked, body covered in thrift store finds from greyed-out black hoodie to Kelly green cartoon panda T-shirt to faded jeans to worn hiking boots. Given how /fidgety/ he is in his seat, the mug of coffee sitting in front of him might not be the best idea ever. Flicker /appears/ rather than, really, /enters/, eschewing /doors/ or elevators and blipping his way in through the ceiling in the ghostly shimmer-jump that lends him his name. He's still dressed from work, red-and-black Mendel Clinic guard uniform, evidently not stopping back at what passes for home yet in order to change, though he has a black corduroy jacket thrown on over it for warmth and a folded umbrella with water droplets still beaded-up wet on it hanging off one wrist. He also eschews coffee, just making his way to drop, noticeably exhausted, into a seat. He doesn't come alone, either. There's a faint ripple of mental /pressure/ that ghosts out from him, Hive's presence familiar to most all in the room and shivering out by way of impolite-polite introduction. No words, just: hello. I'm /here/. Beside Micah, Jackson looks /wired/. A little /too/ wired, given that he hasn't /slept/ in -- weeks, by now, and isn't touching the caffeine, himself; his eye is bright-wide, his posture a little too fidgety-bouncy, and there's a noticeable radiant heat coming from him. He has in front of him only a glass of orange juice, and a plate of citrus cookies which he's been eating -- /probably/ too many of, since dinner. He slides the cookies towards Flicker when the other man arrives in silent offering, wincing at the faint Hive-pressure, but acknowledging it with reciprocal mental greeting. He's also dressed as he's been all day; jeans and Xavier's tee, Cooper Union sweatshirt thrown on over top. This is a professional meeting. As such, Sage is dressed professional. Gray t-shirt, a pair of blue jeans, boots, and her X-Man jacket over the shirt, her own pair of red sunglasses affixed over her eyes as well, looking over the data she pulled off Reid Brockman's computer again. She is entering the C&C briefly after Hive and Flicker arrive themselves, taking a seat and silently pouring herself a cup of coffee. There are, of course, a few other faces throughout the room, Jean, Lorna and Hank entering shortly after Sage; it's only once everyone has seated themselves that Scott slips his phone into his pocket and glances up. "Good evening," is his only statement to call to order this meeting; his hand turns outward to gesture towards Micah. Not to put him on the /spot/ or anything. "I think you all know Micah Holland-Zedner. He's got some information that you all need to hear. Micah?" Flicker's entrance earns a little wave, which is extended as Hive comes in along with him. The latter might include a mental sensation of /hugs/, just a pleasant-friendly closeness delivered by thought. Micah regards the many faces in the room slightly wide-eyed, eventually just reaching for his coffee to take a long drink from it. Promptly in time with being called out by Scott, of course. Micah swallows hard, staring at the room for a moment like a kid in Public Speaking class. His cup thuds lightly on the table as he returns it. "Oh. Hi, that's me. Um. I think...most everybody knows that folks with special abilities been gettin' kidnapped again. S'a group as took Anole, one of the students... Right, y'all know him. Prob'ly. Um. Well, they also took another couple of folks we know, Ion an' Dusk. Ion's gotten 'imself escaped, far as we can tell. Though he's...kinda stuck in jail in Tennessee from what I hear. But Dusk's still with this group. They're kind of a...cult. Call themselves the Perfectus Church. Have a leader named John that they usually just call 'Him'. Um...I think he's some kinda...like a faith healer, but not /really/. That's how they see 'im. They're takin'...parts. From people with abilities. An' puttin' 'em on people as don't have. Abilities. Or parts, I guess. Not sure how else, but they're also givin' abilities t'people as don't have. Stealin' 'em." His eyes dart over at Jax, not certain how long he should just keep /narrating/. "You all know Dusk," Flicker speaks up quietly, leaning back in his chair. "He's been on lab raids with us plenty of times." For the moment this is his only contribution to the discussion. His hand presses against his temple, rubbing there as if urging his silent mental passenger to /stay/ silent. Hive -- mostly does, though there's a quiet /lean/ up against Micah's mind, a mental squeezing of /return/-hug that settles and /stays/. Jackson flicks his gaze back to Micah, with a silent tip of his head in a nod, quietly urging him to continue. It may not be overly reassuring though that after this he frowns, head tipping as though listening to something -- else. And then stands, squeezing Micah's shoulder but then getting up and quietly slipping from the room. Sage silently nods, taking another sip of her coffee. She's looking over everyone to gauge reactions and emotions, before speaking herself. "So it would seem their plan is not to give people powers, but to instead try and heal people. But why mutants?" Jax /leaving/ certainly serves as some distraction, Micah's eyes following him questioningly from the room. His lips part as if to ask a question but others are drawing his attention back to the matter at hand. This doesn't stop his brow from furrowing as he speaks again. "I couldn't say for sure. I went t'this church of theirs on Sunday, t'see what I could find out. There's a lotta talk about...perfectin' humanity. Formin' a Third Species. /Ascedin'/. So there might be a bit of both. They /certainly/ been gettin' abilities for some folks, but I don't know if that's its own procedure or a side effect of the...transplants. Um. While I was there, was mostly this fella Ansel talkin' at the crowd with all that rhetoric. This John-fella didn't come out none, but I get the feelin' he was...in this back room. I met a young woman an' her brother, Grace an' Richard. They's just regular congregants. Grace was blind, though, when I met her. But they called her back into a room where I couldn't see. She weren't gone but a few ticks an' came back out with...new eyes. Dusk's eyes. The folks there acted like this was somethin' they do all the time." He pauses again, reaching for his coffee to help rid the dry-uncomfortable feeling in his mouth. Flicker's fingers curl into fists where they rest on the table. His head lifts, eyes steady, now, as they shift to meet the others around the room. The mention of Dusk's eyes presses his lips into a thin line, his own eyes closing for just a brief moment. There's another ripple of mental pressure that ghosts out from him. It feels -- just a little sickened. "Wednesday," Flicker says softly. "Micah's going back Wednesday. And may actually meet this -- John person." Jackson isn't gone any time at all when he returns. /Puzzled/, and holding -- a large cookie tin. It's an old one of /his/, actually, one that he and Micah had delivered to the Morlocks -- many, many moons ago, in a weekly food shipment. Heavily taped closed. "We, um. The Morlocks just -- delivered us." He shakes his head, confused and setting the tin down on the table. "Sorry, I -- didn't mean t'interrupt, Annalee jus' -- made it seem -- urgent." His hand is tracing against the tape already, a thin line of laser cutting through it quietly. "Sorry, honey," he mutters again, sheepish. "Should. Continue." Sage nods slowly, replying again herself. "If the healer had to take Dusk's eyes, that is definitely a flaw to his powers. He cannot heal on his own, but instead, must take parts of others. If we could get to John, then perhaps we could stop this." Sage is taking another sip of her coffee, as she looks over to what Jackson is bringing in. "Then we should see it if it is so urgent. Could assist our investigation into all of this." "I really don't know. If it's somethin' t'do with the X-gene that lets 'im put the parts onto...other people. My best guess is this John-fella is...usin' a special ability 'imself. T'do this. I can't think of no other way he coulda put new /eyes/ in a woman that quickly. My only hope is that they're keepin' Dusk alive, that he had to've been alive for 'em to...harvest...workin' eyes from." Micah makes a sick face at his coffee with his own words. "I'm s'posed t'go t'this smaller meetin' on Wednesday that John might be at, yeah. I just...worry. 'Bout waitin' that long t'do somethin'. Goodness /knows/ what they're doin' t'Dusk or anybody else they got their claws in right now." He shudders visibly. "Um...I went to a dinner at Grace an' Richard's later Sunday. Got t'observe the folks a bit more. I think the average congregants don't know what's goin' on, really. They treat John like a faith healer...like cult members treat a cult leader. I don't think they /know/ that he's stealin' parts from other people's bodies t'do his healin'. There are folks as know. There's this woman, Anna. She had cancer that John healed somehow. From how she talks, I think she's prob'ly got some ability now, too. Kept talkin' 'bout how she was /better/ now. I think she knows, the way she gets all bristly an' protective. So there's prob'ly a core group that knows what's goin' on. But if this John has saved all their lives? Ain't much better way of buyin' loyalty." Micah eyes the tin on the table. "Why am I not sanguine at the idea of Morlocks bearin' urgent gifts?" Flicker also eyes the tin, brows raising and his cheeks sucking inward. "/Urgent/? Are you really sure you want to do that?" << Have you decontaminated it? >> Hive's voice sledgehammers outward, dryly. Less dry, more just /serious/, if kind of sickened: << We don't even know what Micah's going to have to do to /stay/ in with these people. He keeps going to these meetings, for all we know they're going to try to 'better' /him/. So faster may be better before they try sticking Dusk's fucking /leg/ on him. >> Jackson looks just slightly nauseated at the idea of grafting Dusk's /leg/ onto Micah, a small ripple of shudder running through him. "We don't even know how many people they've got. So, yeah. The longer we wait, the more -- the more /everything/. We're definitely going to have to move on --" He's finished searing through the tape, now, and is prying open the top of the tin. His slightly nauseated look abruptly turns to /exceedingly/ nauseated; he claps a hand over his mouth, stifling the sudden very strong urge to retch that has suddenly washed through him. It -- is not, actually, successful; a half-second later he turns around to very promptly vomit up the cookies and orange juice he's just been eating onto the C&C floor behind the chair he's only kind of half-kneeling on, a greenish-yellow light shivering around him. His knuckles press to his lips, shoulders trembling. His eye closes. A moment later he turns around. His voice is oddly /flat/ as he pushes the tin towards Sage. /Happy birthday/, Sage, you're on deck. "I think that might be a -- a. A -- a license plate? Maybe? Can you run that? See what you can find?" Inside the box is a severed head. A man, middle-aged, balding, slightly pudgy; there's been three letters followed by three numbers carved into his forehead. As the head is slid over to her, Sage doesn't react outwardly. Mentally, she is very much so disgusted, as she also stops sipping her coffee. "Of course." And then she's passing the head into the center of the table. SHARING THE LOVE! Sage is saying several commands to ATHENA before running the numbers and letters onto some program, waiting for any results she can get. "The Morlocks are so generous." "Ohgosh, ohgosh, I hope not." Micah shudders in that skin-crawling way at the commentary from Hive. This isn't helped in the least by Jax opening the tin. He /shoves/ his chair abruptly back from the table, very nearly toppling himself in the process, looking rather like he might join Jax in being ill. He forces air in and out of his mouth in an attempt to thwart the nausea. "That... Ugh. That'd be Clark. He was at the church. An' the dinner. I think he's--was--a pharmacist." His eyes screw closed tight. "There /have/ t'be better ways t'deliver information than...that." "Oh my --" Flicker pales, looking incredibly queasy himself. He backs his chair away from the table, drawing in a slow breath through his nose, pushing it back out through his mouth. Repeating, deep. His eyes are wide, fixed on the head. His hand lifts, rubbing slow at his temple as his eye scrunches up, wincing at some unheard mental commentary. The /next/ commentary is heard thudding-clear, though. << I guess she was helping. >> Hive's voice is just as abrasive as ever. << Certainly gets the point across, doesn't it? To them, too. Don't fuck with the Morlocks. >> Jackson just scrubs his hand against his face, sinking down heavily into his seat. The greenish-yellow glow around him ripples, darkens, then fades. "We have a head." His voice is still flat; there's a distinct /jitter/ to his hands, now. "In a box. I -- I should. I should get a mop. Um. I --" He shakes his head, standing again abruptly. /Possibly/ to get a mop. "'least we got a bit more t'go on, now. Maybe." "Van belongs to a company called SF Inc. They own quite a bit of property around NYC.." Sage is actually now taking a sip of her coffee again, before continuing. "...Including a familiar house in the Bronx where one of our students was rescued from. Sadly, I cannot find out who runs them, as they seem to have used tactics to hide that. I will see what I can dig up tonight and tomorrow, though." Sage takes a deep sigh, as she's still looking into some stuff on it on the screen as she speaks. "The question I have is, why mutants? There must be something about this that is requiring them to take mutants, if they are just doing it for the parts. If it is for the powers, however, it is much easier to explain." "Helpin'...with a head. Yeah." Micah shudders, keeping his gaze well /away/ from the box on the table. "They ain't really talked mechanics with me. Like I said, m'best guess is that somethin' 'bout the X-gene lets this fella do...whatever it is that he does. Maybe it's like...needin' enough midi-chlorians t'be sensitive t'the Force. An' how the Sith figured out how t'create new life by manipulatin' 'em. I...got nothin' better than that." He cuts himself off, blushing sheepishly, betraying his own opinion of the validity of that theory. "They own property? Where? Could we get folks t'check all the sites out? How many are there? How many'd be appropriate for housin' captives? This is...the best lead we're likely t'/get/." "Shouldn't we -- um. Call the police?" Flicker's eyes are still on the box on the table. "We do have a head. In a box. Like. Isn't someone going to -- look for him?" << Could return him to his church, >> Hive suggests. Dryly. It's here that Scott speaks up again, standing up from his seat. And /covering/ the cookie tin to shut the head neatly back /in/ its box. "I'll take care of it," he assures Flicker, very straight-faced. "I think we've heard all we're going to hear, for now. Sage, look into all you can find about their properties. Where they are, what they're like. If Micah doesn't /need/ to go back to that church even better. And if he does --" He pulls the box back towards himself, tucking it beneath an arm. "We'll get people out to the sites as soon as we have more information on them. Until then --" His ruby-red gaze /just might/ be focused on Jackson with this. Maybe. "Get some rest, people. I think we're going to have a long week."