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Everything posted by Grim

  1. Fenris crouched as the blast of emerald fire engulfed him, weathering the burning storm with his eyes closed. As the torrent of flame winked out, a glance at him told Ronnie that despite the severe burns the Russian mutant had suffered he was already healing, fresh skin replacing the seared and charred patches before her eyes. Fenris was in pain, of course. His existence was a story of pain that he constantly recovered from, and this latest installment was nothing particularly new for a mutant who, as a boy, had taken on men with flamethrowers and machine guns. He disliked being burned in the same way that normal people hated stubbing their toe - it made him grit his teeth and want to swear - but there was no fear of the flame or it's wielder. The pain was excruciating, though, and remaining in his crouch he bided his time as he watched the Western mutant attack the fliers with his bolts of golden energy. Not a flier himself, he was damned if he'd go leaping up there to engage them and possibly get in the way. Let his unlikely allies shoot the enemy down, and he would be waiting to finish the job.
  2. Jujilia gasped in pain as a booted foot pressed down on her wrists, the gun dropping from her nerveless hands as she looked up into the blue-green eyes of Fenris who crouched over her, studying her face. She glared angrily, even as fear filled her at the realisation of his intent. "Savage!" she spat in Russian. "The Rodina should never have kept you alive." "The Rodina should not have kept me alive in a cage." he corrected dispassionately before his claws opened her throat with one lightning-fast motion. She collapsed face down in the dirt, her laboured breathing making faint bubbling noises as she began to drown in her own blood. "But that is no longer your concern." he told her as he straightened and turned to the two mutants who, five minutes ago, had been enemies. "You are right." he told Grav. "We do need to go now, if we would live." He looked at the purple-haired woman. "You have an extraction route?"
  3. Gunfire, flares of light from between the trees. Somewhere close by, the white-haired woman had taken off with extreme speed and was headed for the base. She'd be there in seconds at that speed - the protection detail wouldn't have had time to get the VIP to safety. Standing in the knot of silence surrounded by all this in the dimly lit jungle clearing, Fenris didn't care. The woman had called him by name. His old name, his human name. She was from Dr LaCroix... or claimed to be. She was here to get them all out: him and the other two, Grav and Dog. As he scanned her body's chemistry reflexively, he detected many things: fear, excitement, tension... but no deceit. She didn't mean him ill. She was telling the truth. "I'm following." the wolf on two legs told the purple haired woman as he straightened up out of his feral crouch, a slight fleshy noise heralded the shift of his brutal taloned fingers back to normal hands. Just like that, Fenris had made the switch from loyal Russian mutant to escapee. If this was a false-flag, then at least he would die free... But he was fairly sure that this was real. It felt real, in his gut and bone. "If we're to take the other two with us, we had better collect them, yes?"
  4. The cool, calculating professional Fenris had been trained to be re-assessed the situation. Three mutants. The purple-haired one is a new variable - with the others or not? Is this a test of some kind? I will not be able to fight all three. On the other hand, the savage innate predatory beast that Fenris, under the years of training and 'taming', still WAS had a much simpler thought process... if you could call it thinking. Razor-sharp instinctual process was probably a better description. Female-close-trapped-CAGED-ESCAPE-KILL! He struggled for a moment, and the purple-haired woman grinned a little. "Hey, cut that out. I'm enjoying it far too much." She had him securely, that much was obvious, but the beast didn't deal in obvious, not when it's blood was up. Fenris's head snapped forward, white teeth bared in a feral snarl as he tried to literally sink them into the strange mutant's cheek. She was good, barely flinching from the sudden and savage attack. Many might have recoiled entirely, letting go their hold, but the purple-hued woman simply moved her head back. Just as the beast had planned. With her head craned back the center of gravity shifted in the clinch, and Fenris forced himself down and twisted out of the hold, rolling away from his attacker before coming to his feet in a crouch facing her, claws held low and wide. Blue-green eyes shifted to green-blue as he tilted his head in an attitude of aggressive wariness. His human-level reason was still at work overlaying the savagery of his instincts - if the woman truly wanted to talk, now was the time.
  5. The woman's warm blood stained his taloned hands, the scent of it almost intoxicatingly sweet in his nostrils as Fenris moved in a silent lope, eating up the ground at terrifying speed as he headed away from the ambush site at first, then started to loop around. He wanted to draw more blood - he would draw more blood - but he also had a job to do. He dropped one clawed hand to his belt and keyed the radio, speaking Russian in a low voice as he moved. "This is Fenris. Two enemy mutants have infiltrated the island at sector 3. I am engaging. Secure the VIP." He turned the radio off and angled back towards the bleeding woman, his senses keener than a shark's guiding him unerringly. His sense of smell was so good, in fact, that he could - and had - used it to aim firearms at targets. But guns lacked the visceral thrill of using his natural gifts... He saw/smelled/heard the woman in the darkness and leapt, claws outstretched as he pounced with deadly speed... and in equally deadly silence.
  6. As a heads-up: I realised when going over Fenny's sheet that I'd overspent by 2 PPs on his Wolf's Claws power, having put 5 PPs into the power but failing to take into account the -2 to the cost due to the Activation limitation. I've corrected that, so going-forwards Fenris's claws now add 6 to his damage, and he has the Hide in Plain Sight advantage. Kockup corrected.
  7. DEHA OMF Subject: Anatole Borovsko Classification: Prometheus Status: Top Priority Capture - Termination Allowance Designation No.: 56981472 Codename: Fenris Vital Statistics Height: 1.96 m Weight: 95.25 kg Hair: Blonde Eyes: Blue-green Age: 73 Known History: Records of the mutant known as Fenris go back to the mid-seventies and a rash of Cold War killings and disappearances on both sides of the Iron Curtain. Rumors started to circulate about a KGB black ops department that specialised in harnessing and controlling mutants 'in the service of the state'. In those rumors, it was Codename: Fenris that came up more often than not. With no single modus operandi, it was difficult to tell which of the killings attributed to this mutant were genuine, but at least 27 Western agents were definitely eliminated in a similar fashion: rent apart as if by a large animal with razor-sharp claws. CIA and their allies spent a lot of time and dollars trying to catch, and then simply to positively ID Fenris, but to no real avail. The mutant seemed to have a sixth sense for avoiding such measures. After the collapse of the Soviet Union, a lot of the KGB's mutant agents that survived were absorbed into the new state security apparatus. With the Cold War over, Fenris was put to work by his new masters solidifying Russia's hold over her various interests. Only a few fingerprints and hair fiber samples serve as identifying features, for those that have known they were encountering Fenris either have no interest in talking about him... or are no longer capable of doing so. Limelight-shy though he or she may be (evidence points to a male, based on hair analysis) Fenris has certainly not been shy about killing to preserve his anonymity. With his recent escape, the Russians have reluctantly authorised the release of more details about their renegade mutant. Fenris's true name is Anatole Borovsko, and he came to the attention of the Soviet Union during World War II when, as a small boy, he tore apart a German infantry platoon that had sacked his family's village, killing everyone else present. The Russians used him to great effect during the War and afterwards, using a combination of loyalty and his anger against the Nazis to direct him, and then afterwards put him to work in their covert intelligence operations. Fenris is what is commonly referred to as a 'feral' mutant, most of which rarely exceed Orpheus class. He possesses exceptional senses, capable of pinpointing by scent and hearing over miles, as well as a brain that seems developed to process all the sensory input without suffering adverse effects. He is known to be a Class A regenerator, recovering from even mortal wounds in a matter of moments, and is sufficiently physically advanced to be able to pace an automobile and leap extraordinary distances. He also possesses minor shapeshifting abilities, growing natural weaponry in the form of clawed bestial hands. (Note: The Russians were officially ambiguous as to whether this was the extent of their rogue's shifting capability. Sources indicate that subconscious post-hypnotic conditioning has been used to surpress further expression of this mutation. Caution suggested.)
  8. Fenris saw it: the fine edge where there was an opening to strike. The woman told the glowing mutant to 'handle' Julija, pausing just long enough to issue the order before moving on towards the compound, radiating taut impatience in her scent and posture. The enemy had split their strength in an attempt to deal with two problems at once. Stupid. He picked his target and drifted into alignment with them, his tread noiseless against the sounds of the forest. They were maybe 60 feet from him, unaware of what lurked in the darkness and intent on their own objective. All that remained was for his enemies to move out of sight of each other. In the jungle at night, that could be a matter of moments. Uncaring of the human woman's fate, viewing it as a means to his end, Fenris prepared to attack.
  9. His idle stalking of the human woman, a strange mix of male interest and predatory instinct, was abandoned in a heartbeat as gleaming blue-green eyes turned towards the streak of light and it's companion. With scarcely a rustle Fenris was on the hunt, moving at a ground-eating lope that ate up the intervening distance. He didn't need paths, ghosting past thick vegetation with virtually no trace of his passing, and his ears and nostrils pinpointed the location of the two mutants well before he was within any sort of line of sight. This sort of work, the silent stalk utilising his senses to perceive without being himself perceived, was an old game to the Russian mutant who had hunted facisti snipers, officers and scouts in Stalingrad and the Long March to Berlin, with a kill record higher even than that of the legendary hero of the Soviet Union, Vassily Zaitsev... But of course no mutant could be acknowledged as a hero. So... Two mutants, male and female. The male smelled and sounded subservient, the woman like she kept herself under tight control. The hunter marked that as he waited in the shadow of a tree trunk, trying to decide who would die first. His hand hovered over the silent alert button, but he held off. Calling an alert right now would spook his prey, force them to alter their plans or even abandon them. Trained to be a spook as much as a killer, it was second nature to Fenris to wait, listen, and gather information. Right now, he was fairly confident that he was in control of the situation.
  10. There was a tiger a few hundred yards away, but he was sleepy and satiated, having just eaten this last hour. Fenris steered a small distance around the beast, not really wanting to put the President's friends pets in danger. If he killed one of the tigers he would be punished severely, after all. He ran at a steady 30 miles per hour up the slope, occasionally leaping when the ground got impassable on foot. Clad in olive drab t-shirt and combat trousers, with light jungle boots on his feet and a webbing belt around his waist carrying light gear, the Russian mutant was making good time to the top of the southernmost peak. A final bound put him near the top, on a rocky outcrop he'd scouted on his first ascent, where he crouched and scanned the horizon for boats, choppers or aircraft. This was better than the facility, and relatively easy duty. He wondered if Dr LaCroix had arranged this somehow, and if so, why? Compassion was not something he was used to receiving from humans. The island was small enough that he could run across it in two minutes, and the peaks of the dormant volcanoes were excellent vantage points. From them, he could hear, see and, wind allowing, smell everything happening below him. For Fenris, he might as well have been a man standing in his own backyard for how easy it was to patrol. Pulling out a set of high-powered binoculars in case his already-keen vision picked anything up that warranted closer inspection, the blond man squinted slightly against the tropical sun and kept watch. He would remain here for ten minutes, perhaps, then move back down and do a circuit of the island's shores to examine the scent trails before swinging past the compound to ensure all was well. In the valley between the peaks, he could see the glint of glass and stone that betrayed the villa's location, two people playing tennis on the court and a few security staff roaming the grounds. They didn't feel easy with him around, and he didn't blame them. More to the point, he didn't care. They weren't supposed to like him, they were supposed to do their jobs so he could do his.
  11. Fenris Also Known As: Subject Fenris (Russian Intelligence) Birth Name: Anatole Borovsko Aliases: Has had many, all one-use legends that have been dumped after every assignment. Allegiance: Himself; Mutantkind Age: 50+ Gender: Male Ethnic Background: Caucasian Height: 6'5” Weight: 210lbs Eye Color: Blue-Green Hair Color: Dirty Blond Handedness: Ambi Distinguishing Marks: None Image: A tall, attractive, well-built man apparently in his mid-to-late twenties. He usually wears his dark-blond hair medium-length, and his eyes waver from sea-green to light blue, depending on the light. Mutations / Complications: Fenris' eyes catch the light in an eerie way, but this is not really noticeable and hasn't affected his covert work for Russian Intelligence. He does suffer from increased instinctual response: his 'fight or flight' reflex has a tendency to default to 'fight', leading to fits of bloodlust in combat situations similar to that experienced by a fox in a henhouse. Additionally, his increased sensitivity to pheromonal triggers mean that physical and emotional responses (rage, extreme arousal, etc) can be forced on Fenris through use of certain scents. The stronger the pheromonal trigger, the more intense his reaction. It takes an effort of will for him to rein these reactions in. This ties into his previous complication: the smell of fear, blood and death sets off his bloodlust. Abilities/Special Skills: A trained black-ops agent, skilled in disguise, infiltration, combat, sabotage, stealth and survival. Goals Defending mutantkind by eliminating threats and punishing those who transgress against 'his people', as surgically (or not) as serves the purpose. Personality Cool-headed, ruthless and pragmatic. He hates his enslaved status, hates his masters, and would turn on them in a second, yet is cold-blooded enough to give them no indicator that he has any will of his own. He tends towards being laconic in conversation, not having much use or time for small talk or filler, and would rather get to the point of a discussion than talk about points of view. Towards humanity in general he is ambivalent. Though capable of discussing, planning and carrying out acts that could lead to massive loss of human life with no qualms at all, he doesn't hate humanity and would only do such things as a matter of reciprocity. He reserves his rancor for those humans in charge of the oppression of mutantkind and their elite agents. There is a special place in his heart for mutants who willingly help their oppressors, however. These he considers traitors, 'Judas Goats' of the worst kind. Anyone who serves their own species up to human persecution deserves to be first on the killing floor. Capabilities Fenris possesses physical capabilities within the upper human percentile, along with recuperative powers, the exact limits of which are unknown, and truly impressive sensory abilities.Additionally, wounds on his victims are consistent with some form of manifested claws, the spread of the wounds indicating a larger-than-human hand. It is possible from this evidence to presume that Fenris is a shapechanger. What is certain is that he possesses excellent tradecraft skills: the KGB were once upon a time the world standard for espionage and 'active measures'. He doubtless maintains a number of semi-permanent legends, as well as false identities for travel use, and will be skilled at dressing and disguising himself to blend into virtually any background. Russian State Security Top Clearance files only: Vanya can run at approximately 60 mph and leap a clear 250 feet. Additionally, he possesses some form of limited shapeshifting ability, enabling him to grow taloned claw-hands in place of his normal ones. Scientists working in Section V have theorized that this is a manifestation of as yet untapped powers. Under direction from Section Chairman Golovko, mental blocks have been placed on Vanya to prevent that power from being expressed further. OOC: Fenris's regenerative abilities are so intense that he is for all purposes functionally immortal. He thinks that decapitation or the complete destruction of his entire body might be enough to kill him, but he has 'come back from the dead' twice so far over the course of his long life. He has not shared this information with his handlers, who he lets believe that he was simply gravely injured enough to be put into a temporary coma whilst on assignment. His immune system is highly adaptable, and he is impervious to the effects of any drug, toxin, disease or poison that he has been affected with once before. As tests of his abilities, KGB have afflicted Fenris with type E AIDS, Ebola Zaire, and Lhassa fever: none of these deadly viruses lasted more than 24 hours in his system, and he was over the worst effects in half that time. Background: Records of the mutant known as Fenris go back to the mid-seventies and a rash of Cold War killings and disappearances on both sides of the Iron Curtain. Rumors started to circulate about a KGB black ops department that specialised in harnessing and controlling mutants 'in the service of the state'. In those rumors, it was Codename: Fenris that came up more often than not. With no single modus operandi, it was difficult to tell which of the killings attributed to this mutant were genuine, but at least 27 Western agents were definitely eliminated in a similar fashion: rent apart as if by a large animal with razor-sharp claws. CIA and their allies spent a lot of time and dollars trying to catch, and then simply to positively ID Fenris, but to no real avail. The mutant seemed to have a sixth sense for avoiding such measures. After the collapse of the Soviet Union, a lot of the KGB's mutant agents that survived were absorbed into the new state security apparatus. With the Cold War over, Fenris was put to work by his new masters solidifying Russia's hold over her various interests. Only a few fingerprints and hair fiber samples serve as identifying features, for those that have known they were encountering Fenris either have no interest in talking about him... or are no longer capable of doing so. Limelight-shy though he or she may be (evidence points to a male, based on hair analysis) Fenris is certainly not shy about killing to preserve his anonymity. OOC: So far, Fenris has been extensively conditioned by telepathy and subconscious manipulation as a way of keeping him loyal to his masters. There is a deep, feral core that the mind-control cannot reach, however, and this inner self has been slowly working as a mental immune system to purge Fenris of outside influences. Due to circumstance, there is not currently a telepath on the staff, and Fenris's masters have no idea how close he is to breaking the invisible chains they hold him in.
  12. The UNISON capture-team were well-trained. They led with smoke and teargas to confuse and disorient the foe, and quickly moved to secure their prisoners... Half of whom disappeared in a couple of flickers from Jaunt. Which left only two mutants behind, neither of which it was particularly a good idea to be trapped in a smokey, gas-filled room with. Fenris watched Juno grin toothily and slip into the obscuring smoke, then followed suit, going left where she went right. The gas had no effect on him either, his regenerative powers easily countering the contact irritants and leaving him, like Juno, simply with a bad taste in his mouth. The smoke swirled, swallowing the black-clad man up as he plunged into it, his fingers lengthening into fearsome talons, hunting with his nose and ears... The first UNISON agent died in a spray of blood, but otherwise silently when compared to the scream of the one who'd just met the altered Juno. The second saw a dark shape in the fog with gleaming blue-green eyes and brought his gun up, only for a clawed hand to bat his weapon aside as the other ripped him stomach to sternum. Fenris moved with dreadful economy of motion, his strikes quick and lethal and his movements almost too fast for the human eye to follow as he spun and lunged for the next enemy in line. The man screamed and tightened down on his trigger reflexively, gunfire strobing through the white smoke a scant second before his scream tailed off in a sickening gurgle, his throat ripped out and spraying his fellows in blood. Abruptly all was chaos, the remaining UNISON operatives trying to focus on the two mutants, the armored, shapeshifting girl and the tall dark figure that blurred in and out of the smoke, leaving death in his wake. Fenris zeroed in on victim number four, who managed to recoil fast enough that the cruel talons merely scored the front of his mask. He'd seen what this mutie had done to the last guy, and wasn't going to let the freak near him. Though as fast as the blood-spattered blond man moved, that was going to be a neat trick...
  13. "Not cops." Fenris answered, cocking an ear as he entered the lounge. The enemy were moving into position around the house. "UNISON." He looked at Juno's blank face and sighed. "Mutant-hunting spooks. And they know we're here because someone here told them." He let that fall across the room like a steel bar as he looked around, evaluating the fire zones. Windows, doors... this place was too open. He looked at the kids. "Into the cellar. We don't want to give them room to maneuver."
  14. John Filtiarn was a sales director from Oregon, working for a pharmaceutical company and trying to get doctors to prescribe their drugs over the competition's product. He liked golf, New Orleans jazz and Latin dancing, was recently divorced (no kids), had dark hair with some grey at his temples and wore gold-rimmed glasses to correct an astygmatism. He was a contented soul, always seeking the middle ground and to make sure everyone ended up a winner, which was one reason he was a regional director of sales and got perks like vacations to Las Vegas to attend conventions, like the one currently running for medical industry professionals at the Las Vegas Convention Center. Of course, he planned to spend a sizeable amount of his time at the MGM Grand enjoying the floor shows, playing roulette, and flirting with attractive women who were really too young for him. John Filtiarn was an unremarkable, but pleasant enough example of middle-class America. John Filtiarn didn't exist. He was a legend. 'Legend', in this case, meant a cover. A false-face for agents to slip into and out of whenever the occasion demanded. It wasn't a simple false identity - those were too easy to crack and meant for quick and dirty operations only: one shot deals. No, a legend was a favored and comfortable suit of armor to be kept clean and re-used. Fenris kept several. When he travelled, he was Jean Gevaudan or Raoul Weylyn. When he was touching base with the Mutant Underground - always on the fringes, never so close that their passionate unprofessionalism would get him imprisoned - he was Alex Garm. He was never Vanya, except to an incredibly small group of people, less than five. He was Fenris only in rumor, reputation and UNISON crime scene reports. The careful partitioning of his life was a skill he'd learned and honed until it had become second nature whilst working for Section M. He was trained to operate alone, stalking his target for months if need be, and then vanishing for a month or two more after the kill before making his way home. Here he didn't have the luxury of months, he mused as he walked into the lobby of the hotel section of the MGM Grand. Tick Tock had to die tonight, and his weapon had to go with him. If he'd been someone else, Fenris might have been irritated or daunted at the rushed nature of the assignment. But he simply took into account the fact that he might lose his Filtiarn legend this time. So be it - Filtiarn was getting older now, and Fenris needed careful grooming and make up to appear a forty-something. That he might die was also a consideration. He was more or less immortal, but a weapon designed from the Virus would be his weak link, if anything would. Hopefully it wouldn't be something as random as a gas or volatile compound. "Nice to have you with us, Mr Filtiarn." the concierge beamed as men wearing the uniforms of staff briefly ran his suitcases through a scanning machine. "I apologise for the delay - new security measures, you see." "Of course." Filtiarn replied, whilst behind the brown contacts Fenris assessed the 'staff'. Trained men, professionals, and not of the service industry kind. He leaned companionably on the desk. "We've got to look after ourselves in these troubled times." The men had grown their hair out a little, but they might as well have had soldier's cuts. These, then, were the professional mercenaries Nikolai had warned him of, probably inserted using the muscle of their Mafia bosses. "I was wondering if I could sign the guest book. And maybe get a photocopy of that signature? To show the guys back home, you know?" "Of course, sir." It was a common enough request, to have one's name immortalised in the records of the glamorous MGM Grand. The concierge smiled and passed the heavy bound ledger over. John Filtiarn fumbled with his gold pen as he peered at the page. Harry Burns - Suite 652 he read near the top of the left-hand page, then signed 'John Filtiarn - Suite 237' at the bottom of the right. "Thank you so much." he tried not to gush as he repocketed his pen. "Quiet alright sir. I'll have the copy sent to your room." Fenris walked to the elevator, followed by a bellhop with his cases, the mutant assassin's mind already working to determine the best course of attack. He knew where the traitor was, but not where the weapon was. He needed to find that out. It was unlikely Tick Tock would have it with him... Or was it? Harry Burns was a man who'd just sold out his friends and was surrounded by criminals and other unsavory sorts. If he was paranoid enough, and he certainly had reason to be, then it was entirely possible he had the package chained to his wrist, maybe even with a self-destruct charge in case someone tried to simply take it from him. That was supposition, though. He needed to eyeball Tick Tock first, find the man and follow his habits during the day. He tipped the bellhop and closed the door, then waited ten minutes as he unpacked a few belongings. Then the hunter slipped out of his room and went to the elevator. It was time to locate Suite 652, and learn his prey's scent.
  15. The RPG round was a steel-cased fragmentation warhead. It sailed neatly in through the rearmost window of the barracks building, hit something, and detonated, filling a twenty-foot area with whirring slivers of white-hot metal. In a crowded bunkroom, the result was slaughter. Cries of alarm came from inside in the aftermath of the explosion, but Vanya calmly reloaded the launch tube and took aim at another window a little further along, sending a white-phosphorus round into the dark portal of the storm-shuttered window. The cries and shouts mingled with screams of pain and fear now, voices calling out in Russian that they were under attack. Vanya ignored their urgency, was untouched by it as he slotted another grenade round into the tube and took aim at the reinforced guard tower over the gate, whose occupants were just awakening to the fact that not only was the camp under attack, but that it was from inside. This round was a shaped-charge, a tank-buster. It hit the reinforced construction of the bunkerlike tower and blew a hole roughly the size of a soccer ball in the side. Chunks of blast-driven stone and the contained vibrations of the explosion reduced the four men inside to shredded pulp. Moving a little faster, Vanya reloaded and shouldered the tube just as machine-gun fire from the other tower started to track towards him, tracers directing the gunner's to the solitary figure taking aim. A bullet went through his shoulder, causing the mutant to hiss in pain and drop to one knee, re-aiming even as he felt he sting of the wound healing. A squeeze of the trigger and it was done. May saw armed men start to rush out of the barracks now and opened fire from her covered position, keeping the bursts short and controlling the muzzle of the gun. One man down... two... four.. And now they realised that there was an enemy across from them and began to drop prone, spraying her cover with bullets. Van did say they were maybe as good as Marines the shapechanger thought, huddling down and tossing a grenade their way before belly-crawling to her next position. This is fucking nuts. I'm a spook, not a Delta. Firefights are supposed to be with pistols in dark alleys or hotel rooms, not in the damn Siberian winter with a company of goddamn Spetznaz. Vanya heard the crackle of small-arms fire and dropped the tube by his small stash of 'tools'. The explosions and fire had done their job, and May was keeping the soldiers inside the barracks, mostly. With her sniping at them, they couldn't just charge out to engage - they had to move carefully, cautiously. Too slowly. Vanya took half a step and leapt, sailing thirty feet to land on the roof of the smoking barracks. He ran light-footedly along towards the side of the roof overlooking entrance, the bones and flesh of his hands re-shifting and settling into the long-fingered monstrous claws. He heard barked commands, smelled fear and blood nearby. The setup was perfect. He was silent as he dropped. May saw him launch himself from the low roof onto the men who were firing in her direction, but there was no battle cry, no challenge or pronouncement that Death was upon them. Vanya simply attacked... and men simply died. Two men were down before the others who'd managed to force their way outside realised that there was another attacker, and now they were caught off-balance and worse, prone or kneeling so as to better protect themselves from rifle fire. They weren't expecting someone to engage them in close quarters. And they certainly weren't expecting Vanya. He was a fox in a henhouse, a wolf among sheep. Red lines of blood trailed behind his talons as he ducked, spun, slashed and leapt through the melee, blood sprayed into the snow-filled air, painting the snow red before it even finished falling. Five bodies lay strewn behind Vanya as he stabbed one man through the ribcage, claws shredding the man's heart even as he swung the man into place as a shield, absorbing the panicked spray of his next victim before tossing the dead man into the fear-stricken men peering through the doorway and leaping on the man who'd just emptied his gun to no avail. He went down in a shower of gore, the killer crouching atop of him with glimmering eyes already seeking their next victim, and settling on the men still in the barracks. They recognised him as he paused in his whirlwind of carnage, and white faces became paler. "Vanya! Vanya!" The cries went up, and some started to raise weapons as others sought escape, bolting out into the snowy yard and making it all of ten paces before a series of short bursts from May brought them down. Vanya uncoiled in a smooth spring that carried him through the doorway, and weapons fire mingled with screaming, carrying out into the otherwise silent night.
  16. "Company's coming." Fenris said calmly, though he felt his heartrate quicken at the thought of combat as he raised his phone and hit the speed-dial. "Get clear and go to ground." he told the mutants in the van. "They're after us and know we're all in the house, so expect light pursuit at best. It's a civilian area, so hug the traffic." Hearing Frostbite's terse acknowledgement, he hung up then crushed the small cellphone underfoot, looking around at the youths around him. Well, most of them were youths, he silently acknowledged. One of them wasn't as young as she looked. "A UNISON snatch-team is nearly here. They've made the choice for you. Ground floor. Move." he said, then gestured for 'Becca to follow him. "Jaunt, can you 'port people out? To seperate places, one at a time?" he asked the young man as he started down the stairs, taking a mental inventory of his gear. Smoke, tear gas, and flashbang grenades from the SWAT cops. Knife, pistol and SMG. The mission had changed, as missions do. It had started with a hunt, then had become a rescue, and was now a war. So be it. Fenris could do war as easily as the other two.
  17. "Maybe I will come to America. Have a ranch. I would like that, I think, to have land of my own to live on." Vanya said softly as he watched the fire. "Perhaps I will travel to other places, like Africa. I have never been south of Cairo. Isn't that funny, May? I think it is. I have never had a vacation." he gave a short, bitter bark of a laugh. "I shall lay on beaches, work on my tan. Once I have killed all these soldiers, and then killed the daughter-fucker in Moscow who ordered my death." He straightened up and took a deep breath before turning to face her... and paused for a moment as he took in her 'true' appearance. His head tilted slightly as he studied her, interest flickering a fin in the blue-green shimmer of his eyes. So he was normal enough in that way, at least. Or so May hoped - for all she knew, he might be imagining how she tasted. She forced herself not to flinch back and met his eyes. "So. Let us proceed." he said finally, his voice soft. -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-The central room of the control tower was a ruin now, the four men who'd been in the room dead and slumped in a variety of poses. Blood dripped and pooled on the floor as Vanya put the finishing touches on his impromptu maintainance of the communications gear with a fire axe. May kept watch, filing away the ease with which Vanya had moved through the four armed men and killed them before a shot or shout could bring help. He dropped the axe and nodded to her before leading the way out of the building and into the fierce snowstorm. The armory was guarded, but the two mutants made short work of the soldiers there. Vanya helped himself to thermite and plastic charges, shoving them into satchels as May armed herself. They went to the motor pool next, setting up charges on all the vehicles and rigging the fuel containment tanks. A trip back to the armory for more charges, and the small contingent of troop choppers was likewise rigged to blow. The storm had most of the soldiers huddled inside, and the few patrols were swiftly and ruthlessly dealt with. Once more back to the armory, and the two mutants tooled up for the final phase of the mission at hand: extermination. Vanya, coldly in control of himself now after the baring of his soul at the commandant's cabin, loaded and checked the RPG launch tube, carrying a satchel-full of reloads over one shoulder. The other satchel carried grenades. Any soldiers that escaped the hellstorm that their barracks became would be easily cut down. Satisfied that he was ready to go, he looked over at May to see if she was likewise prepared.
  18. Orphan looked up at Fenris, plainly at a loss, at least for the moment. How did you answer that? Tyler - or whoever - was dropping an enormous opportunity on her head. Not one, but five potential double-agents inside UNISON. The risk vs reward margin was too fucking narrow, and from where she was sitting Sam couldn't see which side was in front. Everything she and others had built. All they had worked for, the base, everything was being wagered on the good faith of this false-front of a man. Well, not solely good faith. She had her secret weapon, the next best thing to a mind-reader. So she looked up at Fenny, a question in her vivid green eyes. "We can trust him." Fenris said simply, his own eyes on Tyler. "Like I said before, he's sincere. He wouldn't be the first mutant forced to serve human interests, molded and stamped to their specifications." "Too big a risk." Frostbite said bluntly. "I say we tear all the info we can out of him and dump his dead ass on the U.N. doorstep with one of Fenris's little tags to show what happens to fucks who spy for the Man." "No." Sam decided, looking at Tyler and trying to see the man underneath, rather than the pretty face. Fenris's judgement wasn't clouded by wanting to bang Tyler, and Orphan took heart that the professional spook's assessment matched her own. "We'll give him a chance. Arrow, get the recording gear." She fixed Tyler with a hard stare. "We want the Et als, want to know who they are so we can see who else in there is close to us." Arrow set up the mic and other equipment, and Sam settled back, drawing Fenny's jacket around her shoulders. "Start spilling."
  19. "That might not be wise." Fenris cautioned quietly from the doorway. "The problem is not the shape, it is the instincts. They are part of me, and I've lived with them a long time. Becca hasn't. It would be best not to give those instincts additional weaponry." he advised in a calm voice. "You should all allow the girl to find her center. At the moment, you are bombarding her with stimuli - scent, sound. She can smell your nervousness and fear, and it is affecting her in addition to her own. For her sake, and all of ours, relax and back up." Becca's muzzle swung towards the voice and her gleaming yellow eyes narrowed. The male in the doorway smelled unafraid, meeting her stare with one of his own. It was his gift she had running through her body, the still-thinking part of her knew, and she wondered how he managed to keep this in check. The people around her smelled like prey, the room seemed like a cage. She wanted to run, to hunt, to... To be free. Fenris moved past Juno slowly and squatted on his haunches in front of Becca. "What are you doing?" Adrian asked nervously. "Connecting." the broad-shouldered man said calmly, keeping his eyes on Becca's as he began speaking to her. "I know what it is like, Becca. I know what you want to do, what you feel you need to do. But you must survive." he said in a soft, low voice. "If you run away now, you will be hunted. And though you are strong, and fast, if you are not smart the hunters will win, because that is how the hunt works. Stay with your brother, who loves you and will help you. Stay with me, and I will protect you."
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