Logs:Preventative Treatment

Preventative Treatment
cn: graphic violence and death, of the fash bashing variety
Dramatis Personae Akihiro, Magneto	1992-04-29 “The moment they decided they were ready to kill, they should’ve been ready to die.”
Location <NYC> Lower East Side, Manhattan
April 29th, 1992. Riots have rocked Los Angeles and the tremors are being felt all the way in New York. Protests are being planned and there’s a sense of unease hanging thick around most of the city. This warehouse is not one of those places, instead the bikers within are celebrating the acquittal of the officers involved in the beating of Rodney King. Smoke hangs heavy in the air as John Mellencamp blares from speakers strung up around the area. One of the bikers splits from the rest to go grab beers from the cooler in the back, the music and sounds of celebration drowning out the sounds of the slender young looking man creeping up from behind him. “Having fun?” he asks in a lightly Japanese accented voice before grabbing a handful of the bikers hair and smashing his face into the cooler door several times before throwing them roughly to the ground and stomping their neck. “One down.” Akihiro pops the cooler open and grabs the six pack inside before turning to head into the main area. Inside, there are some new bikers milling about with the other white supremacists. Just a few of them, really, but distinctive in their black jackets with a white cross emblazoned on the back and their crisp clean haircuts. They're making circuits, making friends and talking about the next big threat ("after, of course, we show up to the counter-protest tomorrow, help their boys in blue out, of course we're there") lurking on the horizon -- the mutant menace. Unfortunate for them that there are some of the genefreaks about them tonight -- Akihiro at the back, and, behind him, a caped figure floating gently to the ground. "And are you having fun, young man?" says Magneto, his voice carrying just enough to reach Akihiro's ears. "How many are there to go, do you think?" “Thought I smelled somebody else.” Akihiro says, glancing over his shoulder at Magneto. “Not much younger than you from the looks of it, but I’d be lying if I said no.” The corners of his mouth pull back slightly in a grin that shows off his sharpened canines. “About two dozen counting the new arrivals. They’re armed, so if you want in you might want to wait for me to draw their fire.” A brief pause as his free hand falls to his waist, “You do want in, right?” "Smelled?" Stepping out of the shadows, Magneto's white hair is the thing that probably makes him look the most aged -- his features are that of a spry 50something, well fitted in a black suit and black cape with red interior lining. His eyebrow is arched already at this, peering at Akihiro's teeth curiously. "That is a fine gift, to sense other people before they appear. Finer still to be able to hide your age." Magneto nods, once. "Though not before knowing a little more about who I fight beside. What have they done to draw your ire tonight?" Akihiro relaxes slightly, nodding once. “What haven’t they done. I’m no saint, but at least I don’t make go around killing people that don’t deserve it.” Though he doesn’t outright say anymore, his expression betrays the sentiment. “They planned on showing up to the protest and causing trouble, probably killing a few of those kids. Figured I’d get to them first. Never been too fond of nazis anyway.” "On that, we are much aligned, young man." Magneto steps forward until he's beside Akihiro, neatly rolling up his left sleeve so the number on it is visible in the dim light. "I heard --" and this is casual, light, "-- that the boys with the crosses are recruiting for a new sub-genre of fascist from these, that would would be more than happy to put mutants in their crosshairs as well as all those who will be on the streets tomorrow." He studied Akihiro's face, looking for a reaction. "Shall we get to them, first, as well?" Akihiro’s mouth tightens into a line at the sight of the tattoo. “I’m sorry.” he offers before nodding, “Let’s see what we can do.” With that he turns and heads for the door, pulling one one of the bottles from the pack and setting the rest on a folding chair. “Incoming.” One of the more impatient bikers pushes through to see what’s taking so long getting the beers, only to catch the bottle Akihiro was holding to the mouth, sending a spray of blood and teeth across the room and putting the much larger man on his ass grasping at his mouth. Without much fanfare Akihiro football kicks the man under the chin, rocking his head back and snapping his neck. “Think they know we’re here now.” Akihiro says over his shoulder before sprinting into the warehouse proper. "Yes, I believe they do." Magneto's tone is wry, amused, as he trails in Akihiro's wake into the warehouse. He seems perfectly fine to follow the other man -- at least, until they're fully inside. The speakers short out all at once with a crackle of static and ear-splitting feedback, leaving Akihiro's skull-cracking as the primary soundtrack to the suddenly hushed crowd of bikers. Magneto rises, up, up, up, cape billowing behind him despite the lack of breeze in the warehouse. He doesn't say anything, but every gun, starting with the bikers nearest to Akihiro, begins to crumple into unusable lead. As soon as the speakers squeal Akihiro crumples mid sprint, tumbling over himself as the palms of his hands dig into his ears and he swears loudly. Whatever composition he had is suddenly as he bellows loudly and pops his claws, leaping onto the nearest biker and stabbing him nearly dozen times in rapid succession. With that biker down he leaps off their corpse and launches himself at a group of about three of the new bikers, lopping one of their heads off effortlessly and jamming a claw tipped fist into each of the other men’s chest, lifting them off the ground as he cleaves through their sternums. Above, imperceptible, Magneto frowns. "{Hearing, too? You could have mentioned that,}" he mutters under his breath. Oh well -- there are bikers with crosses on their backs and around their necks dashing for the heavy metal doors that lead to the streets outside. Too bad they slam shut with a BOOM of sound, less earsplitting than the previous noise but definitive all the same. "Now, running doesn't seem very Christian of you," Magneto chides, floating down to the blood streaked floor as their own necklaces and dog tags tighten around their throats. "Are you not warriors of your god?" The Purifiers don't have much to say to that. Magneto turns back to study Akihiro's rampage. "How many left, friend?" he calls, slamming shut another exit to the dismay of some bald fellow with an iron cross tattoo. On Akihiro's left a Purifier raises a knife desperately, swinging it down as fast as he can on Akihiro's arm. “I’ll remember to next time.” Akihiro growls in the middle of his killing, crushing the throat of the biker in front of him. “Nine, but not for long.” He turns and raises his hand, letting the blade split his hand open, his other hand swinging around to open the man’s throat. “Make that eight.” "An auspicious number. Are you using those?" The pouch of ball bearings is suddenly short by ten as they slip out to circle Magneto's raised hand. Regardless of answer, they fan out -- several to crush one biker's windpipe, the rest to destroy the kneecap of a man still trying to make his escape. "Six," Magneto says, driving Crushed Kneecap's own knife into his chest with a thought. Akihiro’s hand immediately starts knitting together as he pulls the blade free. “Five.” he says, launching the blade into the throat of a biker that tried rushing him. He squats slightly before exploding to his top speed and drop kicking one of the others trying to flee, breaking his back and sending him ragdolling into a wall, only to be executed with another stomp. It's the healing factor that's caused Magneto the most pause so far. He studies the closing wound, jaw tensing for one short moment before Akihiro is off again. "Four," he remarks, watching the blood pool under Akihiro's boot. "Three" comes quickly after, as a Purifier stabs another biker in the back in his scramble to get to Magneto, blubbering something about surrender and changing and could they please let him go? Magneto raises the coward into the air by his spiked belt, letting him hover as Akihiro dispatches the last remaining fascist. "What do you think?" he asks Akihiro, turning to studying the other man's face again. "Should we be merciful?" “The moment they decided they were ready to kill, they should’ve been ready to die.” Akihiro’s claws retract into his body and he heads over towards Magneto and the last remaining biker. “He says he can change, but we just slaughtered his friends. If anything he’ll double down when he thinks he’s safe.” He practically growls this, wiping some of the blood from his face with a clean section of his forearm. “That being said, I’ll let you make the call. It’s not like he’d put up much of a fight if I had to come back for him.” At this Magneto smiles, turning his gaze from Akihiro to the last biker slowly. "I think you are right," he says, addressing Akihiro but gaze square upon the Purifier. "I have yet to meet a Nazi truly capable of turning over a new leaf. Do you think you could be the first?" The biker nods, frantically. Magneto clicks his tongue. "Unfortunately, we disagree." The biker drops onto his own knife and goes still. Magneto rubs the viscera off the ball bearings with one hand, holds them out to Akihiro. "What is your name, young mutant?" “Akihiro. Akihiro Howlett. And you are?” He answers, taking the ball bearings and dropping them back into the bag. “Oh, and for the record I’m almost fifty, even though I look like a child.” “Fifty is a excellent age,” Magneto says, “and still a young one.” The smile has gone from menacing to something more genuine, though there is something calculating in his eyes. “Erik Lensherr, for the moment. I think, Mr. Howlett, you might be interested in my organization — The Mutant Liberation Front. We are certainly interested in you.”