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Post by Ruin Queen of Oblivion on Aug 2, 2007 21:48:43 GMT -5
Jess hated it when people judged her by her age, sure she was just 18, but seriously, at least she was doing something to help people. "This safe house was originaly used during the Mutant War to help mutants to escape the humans," Jess says out loud. "My family wasn't exactly the most tolerant of humans, so I had to run the place on my own for a little while before more help eventualy came, since the war ended, we have expanded drasticaly, while still remaining in contact with New York, lets just say it helps to have friends in high places," she says, before leading them into a rather spacious room with two beds against one wall. "Its not much, but its what we've got right now, if you need anything, the other workers will be happy to help, dinner is at exactly 1800* hours, feel free to do as you wish until then," Jess says, and leaves the two to the room.
(*Roughly 6 PM, for those that don't know.)
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Post by MorriganFearn on Aug 8, 2007 8:17:48 GMT -5
((This is to fit in with your Apocalypse theme, Ruin. ^^ Yay for third and final character applications))
Name: Stryfe
Codename: Stryfe (very original)
Age: 11 (and the AU curve ball hits us...)
Mutation: Psionic powers manifesting as telepathy, and psychokinesis (telekinesis for the layman). He also can manifest under extreme duress or madness a psionic lance which is capable of scrambling minds and nervous systems on contact, morph into different shapes and lengths depending on his mental stability at the time, and can be thrown, dissociated into energy, then reconstructed.
Personality: Stryfe is a quiet psychopath. He doesn't trust anyone, has violent reactions to sudden contact and will often trigger massive telekinetic upheavals for no apparent reason. And then hang suspended in midair like a puppet whose strings are slack. He is, however, a scared child deep deep under it all, which doesn't help his precarious mentality. And a psychic without any mental balance is not something anyone wants to be near by.
History: Stryfe has a nasty, snarled family history. Cutting past the tangles, and time jumps he's the clone of a possible son of Scott and Jean, sent to the future to save him (the real son) from an evil flesh eating techno-organic virus. The son was cloned by the people who were taking care of said son, to provide a back up copy in case the real child died. This back up copy is Stryfe. Not, as you can guess, the best way to start out a new life. It gets better.
Apocalypse attacked the base of the people that were taking care of the real child and now the clone. The nice people escaped with the real boy, but let Apocalypse have the clone, because after all they could make more clones, and the first clone was most likely going to die, anyway. Such lovely people.
Now Apocalypse, being not the brightest in the old brainbox, thought that he had the real ultimate telekinetic deal, and decided to raise the clone among his chosen, naming the child after the one enemy he had fought and not overcome, Stryfe. So, he raised Stryfe among his little henchmen in the world that he was quickly turning into his apocalyptic utopia, where only the strong survived, and the weak perished.
One such little henchman was a Victorian Era scientist named Dr. Essex, also called the Sinister Man. Essex was fascinated by Stryfe, believing the young mutant to be the culmination of his research into the human genome, the epitome of mutant kind. Of course that didn't stop him from experimenting on Stryfe when he could. The doctor introduced the same flesh eating virus that had been destroying the original child into Stryfe's system to see if the mutant was capable of dealing with such a deadly threat (by then Essex had enough genetic samples from stryfe stored away so that he could make more clones of the clone if the "original" died).
Stryfe's powerful telekinetic abilities could apparently go down to the cellular level, and create barriers against the invading virus. But this did not occur until his left arm had become totally consumed, along with a good patch of his torso, neck, and left eye. This made him part machine, part human, in fine Darth Vader style, and put him through extreme pain. During his worst bouts of agony he would telekinetically rip apart anything solid within a few feet of his body. He once destabilized a portion of Apocalypse's citadel, ripping molecules into atoms, and then electrons from the happy building blocks of matter, creating several very interesting explosions.
This understandably made Apocalypse a little leery, as even his powerful body couldn't stand up against Stryfe's maddened onslaughts. It was probably a very good thing for Stryfe, despite his acclimatization to the idea that torture, murder, and destruction are normal past times, that the people of Apocalypse's world held a revolt. It literally made made Stryfe's world implode. Terrified as the citadel burned around him he used his mind to tear apart reality and forced his way into this "Revo" 'verse. Pulling himself through dimensions left him exhausted, with barely enough energy for the telekinetic manipulation required to hold the techno-organic virus at bay. Still, he has his telepathy, and hasn't done to badly for a half insane eleven year old.
Appearance: Stryfe's hair is prematurely gray from the amount of stress and other stuff that he has been under. His right eye is blue, while his left one glows yellow, thanks to the virus. The glow magnifies, however when he's using his psionic abilities, so perhaps there is more to his left eye than meets the, well, eye. His left arm is actually just the machine that the virus leaves in its wake when it has finished devouring flesh and bone. The fact that it remains still hand and arm shaped (instead of becoming a massive cable or box, or some other "efficient" shape) is because of Stryfe's telekinetic manipulations. Other than these features he looks like any other eleven year old who doesn't eat regularly, and has be routinely experimented upon by a mad scientist. He's scrawny, and shorter than most girls his age, though this will all change once he hits his growth spurt. Hopefully.
Universe Variations: Stryfe comes from an alternate Askani'Son time line (not the Age of Apocalypse). Only this time the rebels succeeded in defeating Apoccy. Unfortunately they didn't kow where to stop, as they destroyed Apocaslypse's son, Holocaust's armored suit, and Holocaust did what he was named for as soon as his skin was exposed to open air.
~ ~ ~
((Back to RPdom))
Luna clutched her bag to her, feeling frightened. She didn't mind it here, and had lived in worse, but she could sense that her father was going to disappear again. This place was so big, and the woman had been so cold and brusque. Usually new neighbors were nice to her. She wanted to be back in New York.
Pietro in the mean time was eying the two beds, and realized that he was probably expected to stay with Luna. Which he couldn't do without drawing attention to this place. And he could remember the piles of paper piling up in the Muna Pol office. They would want someone on the inside, someone who could help in the inevitable raid.
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Post by Ruin Queen of Oblivion on Aug 8, 2007 11:11:28 GMT -5
("Psychokenesis, like how Carrie got even at the prom?"-Dana Scully, X-Files Episode Shadows.
Sorry, I couldn't resist putting that in, anyway, accepted.)
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Post by MorriganFearn on Aug 8, 2007 20:19:31 GMT -5
((Heh, wonderful. I always wonder why I never watched X-Files.))
Pain filled his side as the fires blasted all around him. Stryfe floated, untouched, in the globular shield he had made. Acrid smoke had made the air unbreathable outside his mental shell, and soon enough the air would be unbreathable inside. Red and orange light danced on his features. Sweat rolled down his face. Heat consumed him. It was an inferno -- hell fire -- holocaust.
He screamed, a primal shriek defying the conflagration. His scream tore the smoke, just one of countless others frying alive, as he desperately tore at the flame. But fire was not solid. It was easier to tear at air, tear it apart with the single thought: get away from here. He tore savagely, shredding the electrons, ripping into space, time, anything his mind could touch. He was engulfed in a golden nova streaming from his left eye. And then he found blackness.
~ ~ ~
It was like a scar in the air, as if the atmosphere had been wounded above the New York skyline. Red an pulsing with licking fire the sky broke open. From the rift the small body fell, unnoticed as the fiery abyss wriggled, and shut again, dimensions healing one another.
~ ~ ~
Stryfe was falling. He could feel the air rushing past him. He saw millions of lights -- for too many for the number of people in the citadel, he thought dreamily -- coming at him. Past him. Away from him. He was falling.
Thought sleeted into his mind from all sides. he had never felt so much thought, emotion, before in his life. Never had he experienced so many people packed into one place. He'd have destroyed half of them in fear, but the power -- he couldn't touch the power. It was slipping away from him. Draining from his raw screaming mind as he fell. He couldn't rip them, all apart anymore. And it was no fun to kill with thought. It just wasn't real enough. The lights were dimming, falling away. Not here in this stretch of town that he was heading toward.
He was going to die. He had survived the fires only to die. Slpatty splatty. He'd laugh at his body, if only he wasn't going to die in three -- the scent of garbage and human waste met his raw sensitized nostrils -- two -- he was falling between buildings now. No roof top to stop him. he'd die in an alley -- one. The power jerked behind his mismatched eyes, jerked his body to a complete halt half a foot above three bulging garbage bags. He felt bruises blossom along his body from the abrupt stop. But he was alive.
And he lost his hold on the power, and fell face first into the bags, which obliginly cushioned his small body by bursting their seams. Stryfe decided to lie there for some minutes, and pray none of the other occupants of the alley had noticed his arrival. He certainly could gather the strength to stand right now if they did. Yes, concentrate on lying down, resting, and not breathing through his nose. That was the key. Don't breathe in.
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Pascal
Raichu
SO happy.
Posts: 74
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Post by Pascal on Aug 9, 2007 13:13:55 GMT -5
Nothing interrupted one's star gazing as a frail young body falling from the night sky. Well, crackling flames and sirens also acted against such a past time, but not many people flew through the sky. Following the kid's form as he fell, Ansel simply sat where he was. He acted as if the boy's rapid descent had nothing to do with him. By the time Ansel caught sight of Stryfe it was too late. He didn't wish to know that he had failed trying to save the boy. Maybe he could convince himself that he was dreaming, and never near the alley again.
Half-fearing the splat that would follow the fall, Ansel waited. There was no splat. No bone-crushing crash. Just a soft, cushioned landing. Daring a peek into the alley, Ansel saw Stryfe laying face down on a small pile of black garbage bags. A pathetic, small boy, hair grayed and form breathless. Creeping into the alley as if the slightest noise would cause the boy to stir.
"Kid...", Ansel whispered, nearing the boy who's senior he only was by five or six years, "You okay, kid?" What a stupid question that was. No one's okay after falling from God knows how high up. But, the mutant had always had a soft side for kids. Maybe it was a reflection of the kindness he had never known as a child.
Should I try and move him? No, he's probably too banged up. Falling all that way and landing on three garbage bags...it's a miracle. He must be a mutant. Why else would he have fallen from the sky, and how else would he survive...?
Crouching by his side, Ansel watched the boy with sympathetic eyes.
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Post by MorriganFearn on Aug 9, 2007 13:35:22 GMT -5
Kid...
The quiet question filtered through Stryfe's dazed hearing. Some was near. Over him. He had to get away, if he could only summon the energy to get up and run. With the power gone and his mind hurting like a wound he was weak. The weak perished.
You okay, kid? the question hit him again, and he forced himself to roll onto his right side, and open his eyes.
The glow from the left one had faded to a dim pulse of yellow. He looked back at the older person. The teen was weak. Had to be. He didn't look like one of the strong. Had Stryfe fallen in the pens? Or had he gone somewhere -- other. Where the Rule had not spread. He couldn't imagine such a place.
"Where am I?" he asked tentatively.
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Pascal
Raichu
SO happy.
Posts: 74
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Post by Pascal on Aug 10, 2007 20:22:55 GMT -5
As the boy stirred, Ansel was relieved. He was still probably in pain, but at least he could manage movement. Something was weird about the kid. His eyes, Ansel noticed, were two completely different colors. Yellow wasn't exactly the most normal color for an eye, either.
Lost a contact...or he's a mutant...or...something.
"Some random, nameless alleyway.", Ansel sighed, seeming not to care about answering his question. "I wonder, though, how you got here..." Looking into the boys discolored eyes, the hemokinetic wondered what this kid had been through. Part of him didn't want to guess.
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Post by MorriganFearn on Aug 10, 2007 20:41:58 GMT -5
"It was burning," Stryfe muttered, the best he could come to a "I don't know." Not knowing meant weakness. Weakness meant death. It was weak of him, but he did not want to die. Not having survived so much tonight. He could die tomorrow. Take everything with him.
"Where?" Stryfe repeated, now trying to sit up. The screaming aches of his body told the kid this was a bad move, but the bruises hurt much less than his side, which seared with agony. He wanted to slam everything in the alley into the wall, to pull it apart. Not even the squished yellow and brown peel near his knee would so much as wriggle.
"How far is it to the citadel?" he asked, sounding as if anyone should know what "the citadel" meant. He needed to get home -- either to find it unscathed, or burned to ashes. Either way he needed to know how his home had fared.
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Post by Ruin Queen of Oblivion on Aug 11, 2007 22:31:40 GMT -5
Jess enters a room that seems empty except for a large bookshelf against the wall. She closes the door, and pulls out 3 books in a certain order, We, Brave New World, and 1984.
"Password please," a computerized woman's voice says.
"Death to Magneto," Jess says.
"Voiceprint confirmed, welcome Commander Ruin," the voice says, and the bookshelf divides in half, and Jess walks inside as the shelves return, she places the books back in reverse order, and an elevator activates, and goes down...
Into the hidden world of the GNSP Underground.
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Post by MorriganFearn on Aug 12, 2007 19:28:28 GMT -5
Time is flexible.
That was really the only rule that governed speed. Speed was time over distance. Distance was the determining factor. It was x. Time was y. Time was therefor flexible, and could be changed, while distance could not.
"I'll be back," Pietro said to Luna, smiling and ruffling her hair. His mind had finished ticking over it's suspicions. He was going to talk to the Rolands girl. She could be anywhere in the complex, but he could find anyone, and he was too fast for all but the most sensitive millisecond-by-millisecond cameras to detect.
He dashed around the safe house, breaking it up by floor, as time slowed to a halt for him.
Jess entered a room. He almost stopped, seeing her pull out those books in that order. Pietro groaned inwardly, realizing before her fingers sought 1984 what she must be doing. He slid to the oposite wall of the hallway, forcing himself to tremble so fast that he became invisible. Any security cameras in the house shouldn't be allowed to see him.
Seconds crawled by, hours for the speed demon, waiting for the inevitable secret passage to open. It was an elevator. Same principal, Pietro thought, zooming into the lift just before the doors clicked shut.
"Youknow," he said, his words slurring together as he pulled his mind back into a "normal" time frame. "Yoursecurityisutter crap. If I wanted to kill you back there you'd be dead right now. Instead, I want to talk."
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Post by Ruin Queen of Oblivion on Aug 12, 2007 19:47:17 GMT -5
"Computer, shut down the elevator," Jess commands, and the elevator stops suddenly, as suddenly the darkness surrounding them swirls up, and twists around the speed demon, leaving him completely immobalized, as the room turns into a murky grey, and Jess adjusts her trench coat, revealing a pistol in a holster on her hip. "Mr. Maximoff, you should know better than to sneak up on a woman like that, so you wanna talk? Lets talk."
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Post by MorriganFearn on Aug 12, 2007 19:58:56 GMT -5
"Okay, first, I do have to point out that you've got to get a better security system," Pietro said carelessly, internally shrieking as he felt himself unable to move. "Second, you think I would have risked entering unknown and most likely hostile territory if I wanted a fight? Gimme some credit for liking my skin in one piece, and take the dark off, will you?" Even speaking was an effort through Jess' powers. "Finally, you and I both know you can't have me here, and I'm not leaving Luna in the care of my enemies again. So, let's be friends, or at least allies."
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Post by Ruin Queen of Oblivion on Aug 12, 2007 20:11:12 GMT -5
"THE BOOKSHELF WAS SUPPOSED TO PREVENT INTRUDERS, NOT TO MENTION THE PASSWORD AND VOICEPRINT SYSTEM!" Jess shouts, but still removes the dark from around him. "My appologies, no one outside the group has made it even this far before, then again we've never had a Speed Demon in here either. Luna, huh? So, that's her name, strange that the granddaughter of Magneto to be, well, human. Did Rogue send you?"
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Post by MorriganFearn on Aug 12, 2007 20:25:10 GMT -5
"Yes, but if she hadn't you'd just have informed me that she was in on this operation that I could have stumbled onto by accident," Pietro shook his head. "The problem with your bookshelf -- beyond the B-Movie quality of it -- is that it's a lone bookshelf in an empty room. That looks fairly suspicious. Anyone trying to infiltrate this place would mark that off as something to investigate. The problem with the books is the content. Anyone with a high school level of education in English literature knows that those books champion the ideas of your little resistance, and a half competent spy could figure that out along with the correct order in which to pull them.
"Finally, your password is ludicrously easy to figure out, considering what this little movement is all about. What's the point of hiding underground when you shout: "This way to our strong hold, please!"? I know half a dozen mutants who could fake your voice to perfection with their mutations. Many of them have very legitimate reasons to hate the humans that you protect, and wouldn't mind destroying you just to see you burn," Pietro took a breath.
"No one outside your group may have made it here to your knowledge, but it might have happened. You act like -- kids. You dream the dreams, but you don't know how to act them out effectively. Anyway, there's all my advice for free, so let's come to a deal about the rest of it."
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Post by Ruin Queen of Oblivion on Aug 12, 2007 20:47:42 GMT -5
"You think you know everything, don't you?" Jess asks. "You spend a couple of years working for the New Age Gestapo, and you think you've got your enemy all figured out. I have seen more death and pain then most people have seen in their entire life, atrocaties upon humans that had commited no crime beyond being born without an X-Gene, or even with a dormant one, I saw my family being dragged away to be murdured, I can still remember the look on my mother's face, its seared into my memory, they forced me to watch as they shot them dead, and then they dragged me off to their little experimentation facility, and made me into this. Oh, I killed them too, I killed that bloody scientist, and the guards, I won't deny that I enjoyed it, sending the pain right back at them, causing them to suffer in ways they never even imagined. Hannibal, that name mean anything to you? It was a concentration camp in Missouri, hundreds, even thousands of humans died there, some of us called it Auchwitz, for the notorious Nazi camp, but I think there was a better name that summed it all up: Hell."
Jess leans back against the side of the elevator, and sighs.
"You want a deal, Pietro? Luna will be kept safe here, we can promise that much, but we'll need something in return for her safety, namely your silence, you call a raid on what you've found, and Luna will be in as much danger as the rest of us."
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Post by MorriganFearn on Aug 12, 2007 21:35:16 GMT -5
"Keep your temper kid," Pietro just smirked back as he leaned against the cold steel. "You give away everything when you're angry. And you really haven't a clue about how to use the resources you got."
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Post by Ruin Queen of Oblivion on Aug 12, 2007 21:39:53 GMT -5
"Yeah, like you where older than me when you joined the Brotherhood," Jess mutters. "It doesn't matter, the only way that this elevator is going to move is if I say so, and I doubt that what you learn will be valuable if your dead."
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Post by MorriganFearn on Aug 13, 2007 9:13:33 GMT -5
"Two years younger. But we were a band of kids thrown together for our own protection. None of us were trying to wage a secret war against the government," Pietro shrugged. "And you obviously don't have the right mutants available to you if you think death stops interrogation."
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Post by Ruin Queen of Oblivion on Aug 13, 2007 11:23:14 GMT -5
"Please, we perfer the term revolution or Gurilla Warfare," Jess says, and shakes her head. "And for your information, I'm not the youngest leader in history of such an organization. And not to mention, your the one who doesn't know the make-up of the organization, we have a lot more power than you know."
(The youngest would be the twins Luther and Johnny Htoo, both 12 years old in 2000, led a renegade ethnic militia from Myanmar called "God's Army.")
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Post by MorriganFearn on Aug 13, 2007 11:44:39 GMT -5
"Yes, but I do know that you're not causing anywhere near enough trouble," Pietro replied snarkily, warming to this new game of baiting Jess. "As far as the big picture is concerned you're a minor thorn in the side of Muna Pol. You don't do much damage, but it's embarrassing to us that we haven't gotten around to cleaning you all up in a big way. Although that's likely to change. This "safe house" is generating an awful lot of reports down at the local precinct, and eventually they'll go up the line. You've only been lucking ut that you've got a friend in a very high place indeed. It won't last."
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