OOC: Log!
The much-awaited raid of Alkali Lake. Bit of blood, bit of cursing, but it's to be expected, right?
Approximately an hour after four helicopters full of combat-ready members of the Brotherhood touched down nearby, the core of the group is now tearing its way systematically through the upper level of the metal-stripped base - members from the second arm of the attack steadily trickling in from side corridoors to blend into the organized chaos of the main group. Far out ahead and to the sides, armed Brotherhood guards form a constant perimeter that's ever dwindling in size as explosives are set off and unexpected bullets caught, but it's the main group that's serving to leave a majority of the carnage already accomplished in its wake. At the head of the group is Magneto himself, already looking a little singed around the edges - and coldly furious at the distinct lack of metal to be found within the base itself. Wordless orders are given out with stiff right-hand gestures, while his left is occupied with holding a cloud of stolen weaponry carefully aloft overhead.
Stryker stands apprehensively in a large, spacious room in the bowels of the base, edgy of the fact that he can only tell the progress of the battle by the sounds of distant gunfire and explosions, as opposed to his normal video feed. He clutches a semiautomatic in one hand, while the other holds a small remote control. Several soldiers are spaced around him, and in the rooms preceding his to the entrance to the lower levels. Most hold some firearm, including various shotguns, but all have one thing in common: they each wear a black gas-mask. Including Stryker himself. "Damn Stark," the Colonel mutters. "What the hell is going on up there?"
Stark has his hands full, thank you very much, sir. Explosions rocking the base seem to be having little effect on the incoming squads, but every little bit helps, and there is enough rubble filling the upper tunnels to effectively stop and redirect the incoming flood of mutants. It a virtual pocked road map of debris, fire, and gas vents behind the spearheading forces of the mutant scum.
A squad of three soldiers are next in the line of fire for the main attack group, each brandishing assault rifles of a higher caliber. As the imposing Lord of Magnetism drifts ever closer to them, they train their guns on him, ready to pull the trigger, before each finds their weapon drawn up into the air above them. The one in the middle gives a whicked little smile before giving a wink to Magneto. The gaurd wraps his hands around the soldier to his left and twists quickly, causing a sickening snap before that soldier drops to the floor. The other one looks at his 'companion' in disbelief as that very companion begins to morph into a blue scaled woman, whose foot connects with a spinning round house to his head, knocking him straight to the floor. Enter Mystique as she slowly draws herself up from the floor amid a swirl of smoke that drifts in from a short distance away. Her golden eyes flash in sickening glee as she gives a smile to Magneto.
Stryker paces slightly, occasionally scanning over his men and his surroundings, making certain everything is in working order. "One way in," he mutters. "There's no guarantee he'll make it this far...and we have the hole field advantage." The other soldiers seem to be doing a fair job of staying straight and silent while resisting the urge to glance and stare at their commander, who is currently talking to himself.
Keeping close to the group, Toxin's belt is loaded down with a pair of handguns she picked off of some dead guards, in addition to the knives she came in with and her own gun, modified to carry her darts filled with poison, or whatever she feels like. Sneaking up behind a straggler, her dagger is drawn and she slams it into his spine, then yanks out the dagger and slices the guard's neck. Doing so leaves a light spray of blood on one side of her face, but it doesn't seem to bother Toxin all that much as she catches up with Magneto and the rest of the group.
Chrome's brown eyes narrow in study of one of the dead soliders. Sparing a moment, to crouch down and verify.. "Sir," he intones flatly aloud, "They are all carrying gas masks." Looking up briefly at whichever of the seniors is closest, the young man drops his gaze and attentions in all haste to relieving the corpse of it's accessory.
"This is Stark," comes the curt and deep pitched reply over the closed circut headsets. "We have perimeter breaches in sectors two and ten. Subject A has been spotted, repeat- Subject A has been spotted. Sentinel team one is down. Sentinel teams two and three converge on my mark. Thundercloud one engage." With that no nonsense oration, The first set of gas cannisters are released.. several have been disarmed already.. several more are thrown into the hallways by hand. Plastic casings spill a sickening cloud of yellowish fumes into the air. At the central chamber of the upper levels, Stark's eyes narrow as he adds, "All sentinel teams, ready by grenades.."
Magneto draws to an immediate halt upon overhearing Chrome's observation, a staying hand lifted as he narrows his eyes down at the dead soldier in question. And then comes the gas. "Start stripping the dead soldiers!" The order is bellowed with little thought to the fact that it may start a struggle within his own ranks, but the realization seems to strike him just as he shifts his cold glare onto Toxin's blood spattered face. "Retreat back down the main corridor if necessary! CREED - when I return, I want a majority of these men /dead/." And so Magneto turns to join the rather hasty retreat most of the group is currently beating back down the main corridor - the dead bodies that litter the place each relieved of their uneeded gasmasks by whoever can get to them the quickest.
Stryker reaches up to his headset, adjusting the volume. "Lieutenant, be on the lookout for Lehnsherr's more dangerous brats. They're to be expected; don't be caught off guard." His gaze flits to the stairwell in the next room, whose entrance is sealed over with slag rock, moved from the multiple explosions, then to the supply elevator, the only construct of metal that still remains intact, conspicuously enough.
Dead men littering the ground, death hanging thick and yellow in the air, and sure death awaiting in the room beyond. Does life get any better? Creed turns a savage smile at Magneto as the fearless leader withdraws. "My pleasure.." the hulking mutant growls. Hefting a meat shield/dead solider, Sabretooth's black eyes pick out a headset under the helmet. Leaning in and chuckling once he howls into the dead man's headset, "I'm comin' fer ye, Fat man! Ye hear? Yer gonna *die* SCREAMIN'!" With that psychotic promise, the behemoth sucks in a massive lungful of the last clean air he's likely to get, and darts down the corridor- into the gas, pitching his meat shield/decoy (so useful, these corpses!) into the chamber ahead of him to divert the doubtlessly trigger happy soliders ahead... The Hunt, once again, is on.
Toxin begins to strip the nearest soldiers of their masks, tossing them to the nearest Brotherhood members and shoving them down the corridor. Her mutation gives her protection against this new threat, but the protection will let her make sure that she gets as many people to safety as possible. "Bloody hell Lillianne, where -are- you?" she mutters, yanking out one of the Desert Eagles, basically covering the retreat of the Brotherhood down the corridor as she trots after them. She pauses by one downed mutant, checking his pulse and moving on when she finds none. Mildly satisfied for the moment, Toxin plunges back into the gas, moving more carefully. She'll take the ones that come looking for a head count of dead mutants.
Lillianne is busy being a less dangerous, but useful brat. At least she was until the group decided to plunge on ahead of her. No point in taking out the gas vents IF THEY'VE ALREADY GONE OFF. She sits at the edge of the last mine she'd managed to disable, waiting for further orders.
Mystique knows when she's licked and begins to retreat as Magneto sounds the call. A deft hand swoops down to jerk a mask off of a nearby body before she secures it over her head, hurriedly chasing after the group.
Deft chrome tipped fingers work straps loose, and refasten them about his own head as Justin draws a first experimental breath of stale, filtered air. Mask in place, he looks through the haze at Toxin, and waits for further orders, eyes periodically flicking up to the vents overhead.. Crouching against one wall, and waiting.
"Shit." Stark's eloquent commentary on the death threat hollered across the headsets is followed closely with another rapid fire issue of orders to his men, "Yes sir, Colonel, taking steps right now.. All sentinel teams, take incoming formation.. I want no one closer than ten feet from anyone else.. If you see that big sunovabitch, blow him to pieces. Friendly fire is no longer a concern." Cruel, but utterly neccessary. Toxin finds no soliders coming into the corridor, though there is a sudden series of explosions as grenades are detonated in the corridor ahead. Creed's decoy drew two grenades.
Magneto has already exchanged his helmet for a gas mask. This really isn't time to sulk over the fact that the device clearly wasn't designed with gloating or effectively giving orders in mind. At this point, given the fact that Stryker clearly had been expecting an attack, simply surviving and getting the job done as effectively as possible are top priority - and behind him, the thinned-out group is steadying itself. The last few without masks are being helped into them, and slowly but surely, the focus is shifting back onto those in charge - a few detached clicks and shifts filling the static silence as ammo is checked and weapons are dropped and replaced. Erik takes a deep breath...and gestures for the group to move forward once more. Quietly this time. God knows what Toxin and Creed have accomplished in the meanwhile.
Stryker clutches a hand to the side of his head as Creed's proclamation blares in an excruciatingly loud manner. That would be one of Lehnsherr's more dangerous brats. "Victor Creed is with him, damn it. Did you hear that, men?!" He bellows. "If they get this far, I expect you to give them everything you've got! Is that understood?" Almost automatically, each soldier snaps to attention and choruses, "Yes Sir!" He whirls and snarls into his headset, "Kill Sabretooth; he's the immediate threat. Gas him, blow him to bits, riddle him full of bullets for all I care, just make sure you do the job right! He's a cockroach..."
In the smoke and vapor flooding the mouth of the corridor, even a big bastard like Creed can go unseen.. particularly when he is playing it stealthy, as he presently is. Though operating on a single breath (even if it is inuhmanly long) puts a timetable on the fun. The first victim does'nt see it coming. Neither does the second, nor the third. Then someone finally spots him, and things get hairy. Eyes narrowed and bleeding against the deadly cloud, Sabretooth lunges and rips.. but not before a scream gets out.. Spreading out serves the human scum well, as it slows Sabretooth's killing down..
Toxin gazes at Chrome for a split second, then motions for him to follow her, pointing down at one of the guns still on the floor, in a guard's rapidly stiffening hands. Holstering her Desert Eagle, she pulls out her dagger, still bloodied, and starts working her way down the other side of the room. She pauses and motions Chrome close, whispering. "Watch my back, and don't shoot until you have to. Find another way." Moving quickly but quietly, Toxin manages to sneak up on another soldier and reach around in front, yanking on his gas mask. It tears off, and the soldier lets out choking noises as the gas gets to him. His partner gets the same treatment, but to prevent him from making a sound, she sinks her fangs into his neck.
Mystique begins to walk along at Magneto's side once the group is motioned forward once more. Having armed herself with a rifle and loaded a spare clip, she's ready to go once again. Though, sadly, most of the work will be done before they get through.
Chrome nods curtly, following low to the corners, and keeping about a ten foot distance from Toxin, gun in his strong hand. Only one solider gets close enough to spot Toxin, and a bright, metallic vapor rising from his suddenly rigid and motionless form is the result, as Chrome darts in with practiced aptitude (Thanks, Mystique!) and touches the warrior's bare wrist... Eyes go quickly back to Toxin.
Narrowed eyes snap to one side as the first scream gets out. Yes, Victor Creed is rather distinctive figure. "Under control, Colonel-" Stark replies in a polite effort to get Stryker to kindly shut up on the combat frequency. "Sentinel Team one, supressing fire, left! Sentinel Team Two, keep watch on that door!" Too late to prevent Toxin and Chrome from slipping in.. Jerking loose a grenade, and then a second, Lt. Stark tosses one at Creed, slightly to the monster's left, and then pitches the second, slightly to his right, before pulling his sidearm, and firing as quickly as possable, his now free hand snaking down to pull a short black cylander from a belt pouch.
Still a ways down a side corridoor from Magneto, just ahead of Toxin, Chrome, and Creed, the metal frame of the elevator groans and creaks before falling very quiet, and very still. In the still-heavy yellow fog that fills and surrounds the main way, the scattered remains of the Brotherhood is hardly visible, and virtually silent, save the occasional sound of a body thumping heavily to the ground nearby. "Mystique, come with me. The rest of you, hold here until you are relieved by me or Toxin. We will return shortly." A final nod is issued to the group regardless of whether or not they can see it before Erik steps neatly over one of Creed's maulings and paces his way after the beast.
Hunkering low to confound the supressing fire that several soliders begin pouring his way, Creed sneers, black and bleeding eyes fixing for a split second on Stark. Silly little bastard thinks he can take the Hunter? The grenade is avoided without effort, a sneer is Sabretooth's opinion of the attempt. The second one though.. that was unexpected. Swatting at the explosive he just dodged right into, in hopes of knocking it clear in time, Victor's arm is blown off clear to the elbow. It is a mark of just how committed to killing Creed is that he doesnt scream.. and thus, keeps what remains of his lungful of clean air.. The bullets tear into him from several directions, at least temporarily compelling the nigh-immortal psychopath to drop.
Mystique follows after Magneto, her gun held at the ready in front of her. She narrows her eyes as she looks around, trying to see through the thick gas. Even though she realizes that if she can't see them, they can't see her, the woman remains rather cautious and treads lightly.
Stryker slowly raises his head in the direction of the ceiling, as the explosions grow nearer, and Stark's commands more frantic. He strides swiftly out of his own room into the smaller, adjoining one, where the stairwell and elevator exits lead off. Not judging any threat to be coming from the sealed stairs, he focuses on the elevator. A slight smile comes to his masked face, and he takes the remote from his belt. Contemplating it thoughtfully, a gloved finger hovers over one of the buttons. He then thinks better of it and stores the remote once more.
Another body is lowered to the floor as Toxin keeps up her deadly little crusade. While Creed's style is the up front assault style, she goes for more of a Splinter Cell type. The gas playing with her radar sense, she stays close enough to Chrome to be able to sense him, and moves forward, taking two more soldiers from behind, slicing another neck and cutting the other one's spinal cord. The sounds of the grenades takes her off guard, and she immediately heads in that direction, yanking out her gun. She stops, waiting for Chrome to catch up, and motions for him to stay behind her. Holding up the gun, she waits until she senses a guard, then fires. Luck is with her and that one is taken out. Moving forward again, her senses can't help her with the guard that has infrared goggles, and a bullet to her stomach knocks Toxin over. "Motherfucker." she snaps, teeth gritted. Even the wonders of Kevlar don't stop that from hurting. A lot.
Well, Lilli's useless now, and with the gas cloud billowing toward her, she'd better vamoose. Except... her escort has gone done and left her high and dry, and stuck on the ledge. Oh, crap. It's been one of those day, doncha know? Hmm... Guess now would be a good time to see if Mystique's lessons were any use under battle conditions. It's a few minutes, and the air is turning thick about her by the time she manages to force herself into a size more conducive to jumping away from the wall and NOT DYING! She'll be... back at the helicopters! Yeah!
Chrome opens fire immediately on the solider that he cant even see.. guessing by virtue of direction, and hoping the fellow keeps his head down. "How badly are you hit?" He inquires flatly of Toxin between gunshots, brown eyes fully occupied in trying to pick out the offending homo sapien. Crouched on one knee to present a smaller target, kneeling beside Toxin, should she need to be dragged out..
Stark has emptied his clip into Creed, only once the hulk drops releasing his held breath and mutters, "Welcome home, you sunovabitch." Looking back up, Stark feels familiar cold, heavy lump in his stomach as the floating figure of the Master of Magnetism fills the groaning doorframe. Letting the gun slip from his hand, he hollers quickly, "All units- discard firearms immediately! Repeat-" His words are cut off as Stark notes just how few soliders he has left alive to comply. "Knives, boys." A ceramic knife is a piece of crap. After the first couple stabs, it'll stark to flake and crack.. Not that it'll matter in another moment. The small cylander is palmed and his thumb held above the all but invisible button..
Any further gunfire on the part of Stryker's guards is cut off rather short as Erik draws within cloudy visual range - one rifle doing a 180 in midair to blow a very large and ragged hole through the head of its previous owner before dropping harmlessly to the ground a second or two before the twitching body thunks after it, and Stark gives his order. "Find the one giving out orders. Kill him."
Toxin waves off Chrome's semi-concern as she gets to her knees. "I'm fine. It didn't penetrate because of the suit, but it still hurts like hell." To prove that statement, she tracks a guard at the edge of her senses, then fires twice, bringing him down with the second shot. "Come on, we have to move. Now." And she matches her words with action, getting to her feet and moving off into the gas once more, her gun in her right hand, and her dagger in her left. She'll use one or the other.
Chrome nods curtly and follows after Toxin. Doing a quick mental tally of his shots fired, (and thanking fate for the methodical mind that reminded him to keep track), the young man keeps a scant few steps behind the senior, and looks for something to require his attention.. "Yes, ma'am." He manages without inflection..
Stryker mutters a curse under his breath and glares accusingly at the solid sheet of slag rock covering the entrance to the stairwell. "Men! The upper level is about to be breached totally. Ready yourselves, and be ready to kill whatever comes down here. Do it!" The men slowly face the two exits, some pointed to the stairs, others at the elevator. They level various metal firearms, but not so many as can be used to a great advantage to the opposition. Several more heft gas grenades. Stryker pivots and heads back into his sanctuary, murmuring into the headset, "Lieutenant. You'll not be ousted easily." He pauses a moment. "Give 'em hell, George." He waits halfheartedly for a response, more or less knowing how things are going upstairs.
Mystique spins to the side at the last second, having caught the outline of the lunging soldier in the corner of her eye. Her hand shoots up to grab at his wrist, but misses as he begins to withdraw, and instead wraps around the blade of the knife. With a gasp of pain, the knife slices through her hand as it's withdrawn, before it's thrusted at her again. Mystique uses her rifle to parry against the assault, finally managing to take advantage of a moment's lapse in defense to blast a hole in the man's chest.
"That would be me," Stark intones aloud at Magneto's inquiry. Standing as tall as he can with all the dignity a military man would wish when staring down his doom. "Go tell the spartans, passerby; that here, by Spartan law, we lie." he comments aloud, making referance to a battle that was ancient before ancient. Allowing a tight little smile and a muttered reply into the headset, "I'll be seeing ya, Bill." With that he presses the button that unleashes a booming firestorm that sweeps through the chamber, preceded by a shockwave that numbs the ears.
Stryker snaps his head up at the deafening explosion, wincing at the sound of sharp feedback in his ear. The elevator in the next room comes crashing down to the bottom of the shaft, causing several soldiers to jump, and the doors to open roughly halfway, buckled out by the force of the impact. Stryker hangs his head silently, briefly, at the loss of one of his closest comrades. He then looks up and states in a calm voice, cold as ice, "If any son-of-a-bitch-mutant drops down that shaft, I want them dead. Unconditionally, and without bias. The lieutenant and his squads are dead, but I wouldn't put it past Lehnsherr and his freaks to have gotten away scot-free." He sniffs offhandedly. "I want a genocide, right here. Kill. Them. All."
Magneto has time to do little more than arch a brow at balls on Stark before he's knocked very uncerimoniously forward and off his feet. It all happens very quickly - but even so, the effect is devistating. Back in the main corridor, there are doubtlessly several more dead to add to the final tally, and Erik himself is going to need to invest in a new cape, at the very least. The one he's wearing now is smouldering. Then again, so is his hair until a gloved hand can successfully quash the yellow orange glow - the unpleasant stench of burning hair mingling nastily with that of the burning flesh of some of the dead nearby. He makes no effort to get back up onto his feet. Yet. "Everyone still alive?"
Mystique's eyes widen as if in slow motion as all her senses seem to slow the scene before her down. The fireball consumes everything in its race to get to her, tossing about the bodies of the dead unceremoniously, before the force of the blast launches her backwards towards the wall, which she smashes into and rebounds off of.
In the rush to get the last few soldiers and their leader, people might have missed a few things. A fallen solder happens to have a spare clip for her gun, so Toxin pauses to pick it up, then moves on. She stops again after several steps to listen, and she moves in the direction of the voices, crouching down a little to help keep a low profile. Before she can get very far, however, the shockwave from the explosives reaches her and she does the first thing that comes to mind - dive for cover. Unfortunately, there isn't much to be had, and so Toxin dives for the cover of dead bodies. Unfortunately the firestorm pushes her back and over some debris, where she knocks her head rather hard on a rock.
"Rrrah-heh heh.." A gurgling grunt that turns into a chuckle, following the explosion, as Creed levers himself back up on his one remaining arm (that other one's gonna take a few days to grow back).. the burning blast throwing even his hefty bulk a few feet, and scorching the hair from half his body. Great, now burnt hair to go with the burnt flesh. It takes another few moments before his legs are intact enough to stand on. If you thought he was ugly before...
Chrome is thrown bodily by the blast, not as quick in his reflexes as Toxin. Impacting hard against a wall some ten feet distant, the wiry young man's wits take several moments to order themselves, before he can answer, "Yes, sir.." One arm is raw and burnt, and blood drips down the back of his head from the impact. He sits up atop pure slag.
Magneto pulls in a deep breath before making a weak effort to push himself up onto his knees - taking the lack of any answer aside from Creed's rather disturbing gurgling chuckle and Chrome's delayed answer as a poor sign. Behind him, tattered patches of his cape are still smoking faintly - the heavy material having served its purpose in protecting Magneto's life, at the very least. The older man is certainly looking his age - the gas mask removed to reveal bleeding and singed cuts along the side of his face as he surveys the damage down. "Chrome, if you are capable of converting the slag you're currently seated on into metal, I believe we may be able to do this more quickly than I had initially anticipated."
Stryker is made aware of Chrome's presence on the other side of the slag by the loud thud signaling his landing. He immediately turns to face the stairs, and silently motions for his remaining soldiers to do the same. Those with guns level them; those with gas grenades place their hands on the detonation pins. Every man in the room waits with bated breath.
There will be no detonation, as even a weary Magneto is capable of feeling those guns shifting focus through the wall. His gaze passing over Toxin and Mystique, Chrome and Creed, Erik rather abruptly spins each about on its axis, and pulls the triggers.
Creed walks unevenly, not all muscles as intact as others, a hideous smile cracking his hideous countenance. "Heh heh. We havin' FUN yet?" One eye is wholly ruined, the other goes from the boss, to the half parted doors. Another sneer and another ugly chuckle.
Mystique weakly begins to get up, stirring slowly to push a few bodies off of her legs, but doesn't get too far before she collapses back down into the rubble. The mask, half destroyed, at least protected her head from any serious injuries, and her shifting ability kept her organs safe. That doesn't mean she's immune to pain, however.
Toxin opens her eyes, taking a good look around. It takes her a moment to figure out where she is, but once that's done, she's trying to push her way to her feet. Managing it, she negotiates through the debris to make it to Magneto's side as she straightens up, wincing. One side of her face has blood running down it from the impact with the rock, and her suit has tears and burns through to her skin in various places. Looking back for the rest of the team, she sees Creed and Chrome, but not Mystique. She heads for the blue-skinned woman's side.
Considering that nine out of ten soldiers in the room bore firearms, the results of Magneto's simple action have devastating effects. Blood and brain matter spray haphazardly, and the colonel stands, frozen to the spot, as the less-than-pleasant fluids spatter across his uniform. Two very shellshocked troopers remain standing, then, almost comically, they pass out from fear and exhaustion. "Fuck," Stryker mutters articulately.
Chrome blinks twice.. "... Of course, sir." Narrowing his eyes for focus, as he looks about him.. in the remains of a doorway, it seems. Removing what's left of his gasmask, and rolling onto one knee, and placing both hands on the rock beneath him.. Never tried to convert this much mass before, but damned if he'll fail. Teeth are gritted and bright metallic hued vapor pours off his hands, muscles at the base of his neck standing out clearly under the skin. The rock is now solid chromium.. and Chrome himself slumps atop it, exhausted.
How Erik manages to look drawn up and dignified with half his hair and his face darkened with soot and blood, his uniform still smoking, and quite clearly running on empty is a mystery. But that's precisely what he's doing. Nodding his tired thanks to Chrome, one last breath is taken in before he manages a faint smirk for Creed's enthusiasm, and lifts both hands to force what was once slag gradually apart and out of the way. Then, with much less difficulty...the doors slide open, and in steps Erik Lensherr with several of his more trusted followers at his side. And also Creed.
Stryker stands as straight as he can, eyeing the arrivals with just a touch of contempt, and quite a bit of fear, though it doesn't show on the man's stoic face. He removes his gas-mask and tosses it aside, letting the arm holding the apparently useless semiautomatic drop to his side. "Mr. Lehnsherr," he calls. "It's been a while, my friend. And Victor," he adds, eyebrows arching as he sights the behemoth. "Quite the durable man, aren't we? I'd thought I built you right, Sabretooth. To what do I owe the honor?"
Creed looms behind Magneto's right shoulder, head rolling to one side with a pronounced *crack*. "Ye might wanna start screamin' now, Fat man.." Sabretooth growls into the death-filled chamber beyond the chromium-corridor. Namesake fangs bared in an unpleasant smile, Creed lets Magnus deal with the real talking..
Toxin isn't far behind Magneto, having made sure Mystique isn't dead and not in danger of dying in the next few hours. And now she pauses next to Chrome, taking a good look at the boy before she follows her leader into the rather messy room. Gross, but oh so indicative of power.
Mystique reaches up to slowly pull off what's left of the mask, dropping it to the side with a little clunk before gazing up to Toxin and giving a little laugh. Her echoy voice sounds disturbing when it's ragged as it is, "I'll be fine."
Chrome bows his head as Magneto aknowledges his effort, and concentrates on bretahing for a few moments. He drags himself to one side of the stairwell, and sets his back to the stone. As Toxing stops to check, she might note that where once only the tips of his fingers were metallic, they are now solid past the second knuckle. He's fine, but not getting up just yet.
"Colonel William Stryker...what a surprise it is to find you here, holed up in the nigh impenitrable bowels of your non-existant underground fortress while young men hardly half your age rush through the passages overhead to preserve your miserable life. To little avail." An attempt at a cool smirk fails as Erik's lip pulls up into a half-hearted sneer. He's tired, and the gun is ignored. Well, mostly, as his next heavy step is followed by a wet squishing sound, and his gaze lifts irritably to the ceiling.
Stryker smiles benevolently. "Of course; where else would I be? I'm minding my own business, thank you very much, and suddenly I find myself playing host to a few guests I'd rather not have at the moment." He takes a slow step forward and grins. "Erik, you've got no grounds t'be coming after me, or my people. You've just comitted a mass murder here, sir, and that's something I really don't take lightly." He levels the semiautomatic and sights down his arm with one eye, the eye of a seasoned vet. His finger closes on the trigger of the gun (which happens to be composed entirely of plastics).
Creed snorts derisively, as Stryker brings a gun to bear on Magneto. Talking a swaggering step forward, and rather enjoying the wet squelch that had so irritated Erik, Sabretooth is in no hurry. Has'nt Stryker learned yet? "What th' HELL you thinkin'?" He sneers.
"Please, spare me your claims of innocence...I've seen more than enough within these walls to know otherwise. But what are you going to do, Colonel? Shoot me?" A weak, wary chuckle is cut off rather abruptly as the cold fury of Erik's slightly-unhinged glare drifts back to settle on Stryker, and the gun. And as things seem to slow down for him a great deal, he realizes that there's nothing in or around the semi-automatic to force it away from him. Of course. And this time, Chrome is not nearly close enough to correct the absence of any metal. His eyes flashing, Magneto acts instantly - jerking the glasses right off Stryker's face, hard and to the side.
Stryker lets out a grunt of surprise as his own glasses fly off of his face, snapping his head to the right and carrying his aim with it. A spray of plastic bullets exits the gun, one bound to give Magneto a glancing blow, presumably due to the suddenness of the shot, while several more hit the walls around Creed's area, splintering on contact as they were designed. "Well, yes, that was the plan," the colonel mutters, squinting slightly at the loss of his vision.
Magneto cries out as his left shoulder jerks with the splintering impact of the bullet - a surreal step taken back as he actually pauses and looks down at the entry wound a second later. That...was...not supposed to happen. His left arm suddenly rendered limp and useless at his side, some serious damage having been dealt to his chest and shoulder joint. And then, looking up once more, Erik is...right back to business. Nevermind the fact that his voice is a little raspy. He's still standing firmly on his own two feet. "One of you, please incapacitate Mr. Stryker."
"Huh?" Is Creed's less than revealing reaction to gunfire and Magneto proving.. other than mutually exclusive. Snapping his baleful stare back to Stryker as bullets go off around him, and noting with a *sniff* that the powder smells.. off, Creed lunges at Stryker sending a savage swipe at the Colonel's gun hand. A wordless snarl is his oration.
Stryker cries out sharply as the misshapen mutant swipes at his gun hand, leaving a number of ugly gashes down it, and the gun clattering harmlessly to the floor. He turns his gaze from Creed, to the dead men, to Magneto. "What the hell are you doing here, Lehnsherr? What have I done to you?"
"Let us just say that it is the future I am more concerned with than the past, Mr. Stryker." An inclined jerk of his head towards the exit signalled to Creed, Erik's eyes flick to the discarded gun, next. "Mystique, collect the firearm. I believe it's time we made our escape."
Mystique reaches her hand down to weakly pick up the sidearm before beginning to make a hasty retreat, her wounds getting the better of her.
Stryker hangs his maimed hand by his side, drawing his other in a drill sergeant-esque pose to his ribcage. He gives a sidelong glance to Creed, then mutters, "And here I thought I was becoming ineffectual. Thank you Erik, you've made my month." He comments dryly.
"Eh, shut up," Creed snarls to Stryker, before turning his claw swipe around into a nasty backhand aimed at driving the wits from the 'fat man'. "Aint what ye done.. It's whats gonna be done TO yeh, that ye oughta worry about, Aheh-heh HAH!" Stryker is gripped by his belt and tossed without strain over Creed's recently smoldered shoulder.
Bang. Stryker's head snaps violently around and he stumbles in a very undignified manner, disoriented and bruised. He is slung rather easily over Creed's shoulder, and remains slightly dazed and muddled, not able to form a sentence quite yet. Creed should play a little nicer with his employers, however old they may be.
Magneto leans against the wall for a moment to collect himself once the room has been vacated - the blood seeping out of his shoulder impossible to see against the black of his uniform. There has, however, definitely been damage dealt, as Erik is already looking somewhat pale as his glare flicks over the scattered remains of Stryker's last stand one final time before he turns to fall neatly into step after Creed - his maimed cape snapping dramatically in his wake. The doors do not close behind him.
Approximately an hour after four helicopters full of combat-ready members of the Brotherhood touched down nearby, the core of the group is now tearing its way systematically through the upper level of the metal-stripped base - members from the second arm of the attack steadily trickling in from side corridoors to blend into the organized chaos of the main group. Far out ahead and to the sides, armed Brotherhood guards form a constant perimeter that's ever dwindling in size as explosives are set off and unexpected bullets caught, but it's the main group that's serving to leave a majority of the carnage already accomplished in its wake. At the head of the group is Magneto himself, already looking a little singed around the edges - and coldly furious at the distinct lack of metal to be found within the base itself. Wordless orders are given out with stiff right-hand gestures, while his left is occupied with holding a cloud of stolen weaponry carefully aloft overhead.
Stryker stands apprehensively in a large, spacious room in the bowels of the base, edgy of the fact that he can only tell the progress of the battle by the sounds of distant gunfire and explosions, as opposed to his normal video feed. He clutches a semiautomatic in one hand, while the other holds a small remote control. Several soldiers are spaced around him, and in the rooms preceding his to the entrance to the lower levels. Most hold some firearm, including various shotguns, but all have one thing in common: they each wear a black gas-mask. Including Stryker himself. "Damn Stark," the Colonel mutters. "What the hell is going on up there?"
Stark has his hands full, thank you very much, sir. Explosions rocking the base seem to be having little effect on the incoming squads, but every little bit helps, and there is enough rubble filling the upper tunnels to effectively stop and redirect the incoming flood of mutants. It a virtual pocked road map of debris, fire, and gas vents behind the spearheading forces of the mutant scum.
A squad of three soldiers are next in the line of fire for the main attack group, each brandishing assault rifles of a higher caliber. As the imposing Lord of Magnetism drifts ever closer to them, they train their guns on him, ready to pull the trigger, before each finds their weapon drawn up into the air above them. The one in the middle gives a whicked little smile before giving a wink to Magneto. The gaurd wraps his hands around the soldier to his left and twists quickly, causing a sickening snap before that soldier drops to the floor. The other one looks at his 'companion' in disbelief as that very companion begins to morph into a blue scaled woman, whose foot connects with a spinning round house to his head, knocking him straight to the floor. Enter Mystique as she slowly draws herself up from the floor amid a swirl of smoke that drifts in from a short distance away. Her golden eyes flash in sickening glee as she gives a smile to Magneto.
Stryker paces slightly, occasionally scanning over his men and his surroundings, making certain everything is in working order. "One way in," he mutters. "There's no guarantee he'll make it this far...and we have the hole field advantage." The other soldiers seem to be doing a fair job of staying straight and silent while resisting the urge to glance and stare at their commander, who is currently talking to himself.
Keeping close to the group, Toxin's belt is loaded down with a pair of handguns she picked off of some dead guards, in addition to the knives she came in with and her own gun, modified to carry her darts filled with poison, or whatever she feels like. Sneaking up behind a straggler, her dagger is drawn and she slams it into his spine, then yanks out the dagger and slices the guard's neck. Doing so leaves a light spray of blood on one side of her face, but it doesn't seem to bother Toxin all that much as she catches up with Magneto and the rest of the group.
Chrome's brown eyes narrow in study of one of the dead soliders. Sparing a moment, to crouch down and verify.. "Sir," he intones flatly aloud, "They are all carrying gas masks." Looking up briefly at whichever of the seniors is closest, the young man drops his gaze and attentions in all haste to relieving the corpse of it's accessory.
"This is Stark," comes the curt and deep pitched reply over the closed circut headsets. "We have perimeter breaches in sectors two and ten. Subject A has been spotted, repeat- Subject A has been spotted. Sentinel team one is down. Sentinel teams two and three converge on my mark. Thundercloud one engage." With that no nonsense oration, The first set of gas cannisters are released.. several have been disarmed already.. several more are thrown into the hallways by hand. Plastic casings spill a sickening cloud of yellowish fumes into the air. At the central chamber of the upper levels, Stark's eyes narrow as he adds, "All sentinel teams, ready by grenades.."
Magneto draws to an immediate halt upon overhearing Chrome's observation, a staying hand lifted as he narrows his eyes down at the dead soldier in question. And then comes the gas. "Start stripping the dead soldiers!" The order is bellowed with little thought to the fact that it may start a struggle within his own ranks, but the realization seems to strike him just as he shifts his cold glare onto Toxin's blood spattered face. "Retreat back down the main corridor if necessary! CREED - when I return, I want a majority of these men /dead/." And so Magneto turns to join the rather hasty retreat most of the group is currently beating back down the main corridor - the dead bodies that litter the place each relieved of their uneeded gasmasks by whoever can get to them the quickest.
Stryker reaches up to his headset, adjusting the volume. "Lieutenant, be on the lookout for Lehnsherr's more dangerous brats. They're to be expected; don't be caught off guard." His gaze flits to the stairwell in the next room, whose entrance is sealed over with slag rock, moved from the multiple explosions, then to the supply elevator, the only construct of metal that still remains intact, conspicuously enough.
Dead men littering the ground, death hanging thick and yellow in the air, and sure death awaiting in the room beyond. Does life get any better? Creed turns a savage smile at Magneto as the fearless leader withdraws. "My pleasure.." the hulking mutant growls. Hefting a meat shield/dead solider, Sabretooth's black eyes pick out a headset under the helmet. Leaning in and chuckling once he howls into the dead man's headset, "I'm comin' fer ye, Fat man! Ye hear? Yer gonna *die* SCREAMIN'!" With that psychotic promise, the behemoth sucks in a massive lungful of the last clean air he's likely to get, and darts down the corridor- into the gas, pitching his meat shield/decoy (so useful, these corpses!) into the chamber ahead of him to divert the doubtlessly trigger happy soliders ahead... The Hunt, once again, is on.
Toxin begins to strip the nearest soldiers of their masks, tossing them to the nearest Brotherhood members and shoving them down the corridor. Her mutation gives her protection against this new threat, but the protection will let her make sure that she gets as many people to safety as possible. "Bloody hell Lillianne, where -are- you?" she mutters, yanking out one of the Desert Eagles, basically covering the retreat of the Brotherhood down the corridor as she trots after them. She pauses by one downed mutant, checking his pulse and moving on when she finds none. Mildly satisfied for the moment, Toxin plunges back into the gas, moving more carefully. She'll take the ones that come looking for a head count of dead mutants.
Lillianne is busy being a less dangerous, but useful brat. At least she was until the group decided to plunge on ahead of her. No point in taking out the gas vents IF THEY'VE ALREADY GONE OFF. She sits at the edge of the last mine she'd managed to disable, waiting for further orders.
Mystique knows when she's licked and begins to retreat as Magneto sounds the call. A deft hand swoops down to jerk a mask off of a nearby body before she secures it over her head, hurriedly chasing after the group.
Deft chrome tipped fingers work straps loose, and refasten them about his own head as Justin draws a first experimental breath of stale, filtered air. Mask in place, he looks through the haze at Toxin, and waits for further orders, eyes periodically flicking up to the vents overhead.. Crouching against one wall, and waiting.
"Shit." Stark's eloquent commentary on the death threat hollered across the headsets is followed closely with another rapid fire issue of orders to his men, "Yes sir, Colonel, taking steps right now.. All sentinel teams, take incoming formation.. I want no one closer than ten feet from anyone else.. If you see that big sunovabitch, blow him to pieces. Friendly fire is no longer a concern." Cruel, but utterly neccessary. Toxin finds no soliders coming into the corridor, though there is a sudden series of explosions as grenades are detonated in the corridor ahead. Creed's decoy drew two grenades.
Magneto has already exchanged his helmet for a gas mask. This really isn't time to sulk over the fact that the device clearly wasn't designed with gloating or effectively giving orders in mind. At this point, given the fact that Stryker clearly had been expecting an attack, simply surviving and getting the job done as effectively as possible are top priority - and behind him, the thinned-out group is steadying itself. The last few without masks are being helped into them, and slowly but surely, the focus is shifting back onto those in charge - a few detached clicks and shifts filling the static silence as ammo is checked and weapons are dropped and replaced. Erik takes a deep breath...and gestures for the group to move forward once more. Quietly this time. God knows what Toxin and Creed have accomplished in the meanwhile.
Stryker clutches a hand to the side of his head as Creed's proclamation blares in an excruciatingly loud manner. That would be one of Lehnsherr's more dangerous brats. "Victor Creed is with him, damn it. Did you hear that, men?!" He bellows. "If they get this far, I expect you to give them everything you've got! Is that understood?" Almost automatically, each soldier snaps to attention and choruses, "Yes Sir!" He whirls and snarls into his headset, "Kill Sabretooth; he's the immediate threat. Gas him, blow him to bits, riddle him full of bullets for all I care, just make sure you do the job right! He's a cockroach..."
In the smoke and vapor flooding the mouth of the corridor, even a big bastard like Creed can go unseen.. particularly when he is playing it stealthy, as he presently is. Though operating on a single breath (even if it is inuhmanly long) puts a timetable on the fun. The first victim does'nt see it coming. Neither does the second, nor the third. Then someone finally spots him, and things get hairy. Eyes narrowed and bleeding against the deadly cloud, Sabretooth lunges and rips.. but not before a scream gets out.. Spreading out serves the human scum well, as it slows Sabretooth's killing down..
Toxin gazes at Chrome for a split second, then motions for him to follow her, pointing down at one of the guns still on the floor, in a guard's rapidly stiffening hands. Holstering her Desert Eagle, she pulls out her dagger, still bloodied, and starts working her way down the other side of the room. She pauses and motions Chrome close, whispering. "Watch my back, and don't shoot until you have to. Find another way." Moving quickly but quietly, Toxin manages to sneak up on another soldier and reach around in front, yanking on his gas mask. It tears off, and the soldier lets out choking noises as the gas gets to him. His partner gets the same treatment, but to prevent him from making a sound, she sinks her fangs into his neck.
Mystique begins to walk along at Magneto's side once the group is motioned forward once more. Having armed herself with a rifle and loaded a spare clip, she's ready to go once again. Though, sadly, most of the work will be done before they get through.
Chrome nods curtly, following low to the corners, and keeping about a ten foot distance from Toxin, gun in his strong hand. Only one solider gets close enough to spot Toxin, and a bright, metallic vapor rising from his suddenly rigid and motionless form is the result, as Chrome darts in with practiced aptitude (Thanks, Mystique!) and touches the warrior's bare wrist... Eyes go quickly back to Toxin.
Narrowed eyes snap to one side as the first scream gets out. Yes, Victor Creed is rather distinctive figure. "Under control, Colonel-" Stark replies in a polite effort to get Stryker to kindly shut up on the combat frequency. "Sentinel Team one, supressing fire, left! Sentinel Team Two, keep watch on that door!" Too late to prevent Toxin and Chrome from slipping in.. Jerking loose a grenade, and then a second, Lt. Stark tosses one at Creed, slightly to the monster's left, and then pitches the second, slightly to his right, before pulling his sidearm, and firing as quickly as possable, his now free hand snaking down to pull a short black cylander from a belt pouch.
Still a ways down a side corridoor from Magneto, just ahead of Toxin, Chrome, and Creed, the metal frame of the elevator groans and creaks before falling very quiet, and very still. In the still-heavy yellow fog that fills and surrounds the main way, the scattered remains of the Brotherhood is hardly visible, and virtually silent, save the occasional sound of a body thumping heavily to the ground nearby. "Mystique, come with me. The rest of you, hold here until you are relieved by me or Toxin. We will return shortly." A final nod is issued to the group regardless of whether or not they can see it before Erik steps neatly over one of Creed's maulings and paces his way after the beast.
Hunkering low to confound the supressing fire that several soliders begin pouring his way, Creed sneers, black and bleeding eyes fixing for a split second on Stark. Silly little bastard thinks he can take the Hunter? The grenade is avoided without effort, a sneer is Sabretooth's opinion of the attempt. The second one though.. that was unexpected. Swatting at the explosive he just dodged right into, in hopes of knocking it clear in time, Victor's arm is blown off clear to the elbow. It is a mark of just how committed to killing Creed is that he doesnt scream.. and thus, keeps what remains of his lungful of clean air.. The bullets tear into him from several directions, at least temporarily compelling the nigh-immortal psychopath to drop.
Mystique follows after Magneto, her gun held at the ready in front of her. She narrows her eyes as she looks around, trying to see through the thick gas. Even though she realizes that if she can't see them, they can't see her, the woman remains rather cautious and treads lightly.
Stryker slowly raises his head in the direction of the ceiling, as the explosions grow nearer, and Stark's commands more frantic. He strides swiftly out of his own room into the smaller, adjoining one, where the stairwell and elevator exits lead off. Not judging any threat to be coming from the sealed stairs, he focuses on the elevator. A slight smile comes to his masked face, and he takes the remote from his belt. Contemplating it thoughtfully, a gloved finger hovers over one of the buttons. He then thinks better of it and stores the remote once more.
Another body is lowered to the floor as Toxin keeps up her deadly little crusade. While Creed's style is the up front assault style, she goes for more of a Splinter Cell type. The gas playing with her radar sense, she stays close enough to Chrome to be able to sense him, and moves forward, taking two more soldiers from behind, slicing another neck and cutting the other one's spinal cord. The sounds of the grenades takes her off guard, and she immediately heads in that direction, yanking out her gun. She stops, waiting for Chrome to catch up, and motions for him to stay behind her. Holding up the gun, she waits until she senses a guard, then fires. Luck is with her and that one is taken out. Moving forward again, her senses can't help her with the guard that has infrared goggles, and a bullet to her stomach knocks Toxin over. "Motherfucker." she snaps, teeth gritted. Even the wonders of Kevlar don't stop that from hurting. A lot.
Well, Lilli's useless now, and with the gas cloud billowing toward her, she'd better vamoose. Except... her escort has gone done and left her high and dry, and stuck on the ledge. Oh, crap. It's been one of those day, doncha know? Hmm... Guess now would be a good time to see if Mystique's lessons were any use under battle conditions. It's a few minutes, and the air is turning thick about her by the time she manages to force herself into a size more conducive to jumping away from the wall and NOT DYING! She'll be... back at the helicopters! Yeah!
Chrome opens fire immediately on the solider that he cant even see.. guessing by virtue of direction, and hoping the fellow keeps his head down. "How badly are you hit?" He inquires flatly of Toxin between gunshots, brown eyes fully occupied in trying to pick out the offending homo sapien. Crouched on one knee to present a smaller target, kneeling beside Toxin, should she need to be dragged out..
Stark has emptied his clip into Creed, only once the hulk drops releasing his held breath and mutters, "Welcome home, you sunovabitch." Looking back up, Stark feels familiar cold, heavy lump in his stomach as the floating figure of the Master of Magnetism fills the groaning doorframe. Letting the gun slip from his hand, he hollers quickly, "All units- discard firearms immediately! Repeat-" His words are cut off as Stark notes just how few soliders he has left alive to comply. "Knives, boys." A ceramic knife is a piece of crap. After the first couple stabs, it'll stark to flake and crack.. Not that it'll matter in another moment. The small cylander is palmed and his thumb held above the all but invisible button..
Any further gunfire on the part of Stryker's guards is cut off rather short as Erik draws within cloudy visual range - one rifle doing a 180 in midair to blow a very large and ragged hole through the head of its previous owner before dropping harmlessly to the ground a second or two before the twitching body thunks after it, and Stark gives his order. "Find the one giving out orders. Kill him."
Toxin waves off Chrome's semi-concern as she gets to her knees. "I'm fine. It didn't penetrate because of the suit, but it still hurts like hell." To prove that statement, she tracks a guard at the edge of her senses, then fires twice, bringing him down with the second shot. "Come on, we have to move. Now." And she matches her words with action, getting to her feet and moving off into the gas once more, her gun in her right hand, and her dagger in her left. She'll use one or the other.
Chrome nods curtly and follows after Toxin. Doing a quick mental tally of his shots fired, (and thanking fate for the methodical mind that reminded him to keep track), the young man keeps a scant few steps behind the senior, and looks for something to require his attention.. "Yes, ma'am." He manages without inflection..
Stryker mutters a curse under his breath and glares accusingly at the solid sheet of slag rock covering the entrance to the stairwell. "Men! The upper level is about to be breached totally. Ready yourselves, and be ready to kill whatever comes down here. Do it!" The men slowly face the two exits, some pointed to the stairs, others at the elevator. They level various metal firearms, but not so many as can be used to a great advantage to the opposition. Several more heft gas grenades. Stryker pivots and heads back into his sanctuary, murmuring into the headset, "Lieutenant. You'll not be ousted easily." He pauses a moment. "Give 'em hell, George." He waits halfheartedly for a response, more or less knowing how things are going upstairs.
Mystique spins to the side at the last second, having caught the outline of the lunging soldier in the corner of her eye. Her hand shoots up to grab at his wrist, but misses as he begins to withdraw, and instead wraps around the blade of the knife. With a gasp of pain, the knife slices through her hand as it's withdrawn, before it's thrusted at her again. Mystique uses her rifle to parry against the assault, finally managing to take advantage of a moment's lapse in defense to blast a hole in the man's chest.
"That would be me," Stark intones aloud at Magneto's inquiry. Standing as tall as he can with all the dignity a military man would wish when staring down his doom. "Go tell the spartans, passerby; that here, by Spartan law, we lie." he comments aloud, making referance to a battle that was ancient before ancient. Allowing a tight little smile and a muttered reply into the headset, "I'll be seeing ya, Bill." With that he presses the button that unleashes a booming firestorm that sweeps through the chamber, preceded by a shockwave that numbs the ears.
Stryker snaps his head up at the deafening explosion, wincing at the sound of sharp feedback in his ear. The elevator in the next room comes crashing down to the bottom of the shaft, causing several soldiers to jump, and the doors to open roughly halfway, buckled out by the force of the impact. Stryker hangs his head silently, briefly, at the loss of one of his closest comrades. He then looks up and states in a calm voice, cold as ice, "If any son-of-a-bitch-mutant drops down that shaft, I want them dead. Unconditionally, and without bias. The lieutenant and his squads are dead, but I wouldn't put it past Lehnsherr and his freaks to have gotten away scot-free." He sniffs offhandedly. "I want a genocide, right here. Kill. Them. All."
Magneto has time to do little more than arch a brow at balls on Stark before he's knocked very uncerimoniously forward and off his feet. It all happens very quickly - but even so, the effect is devistating. Back in the main corridor, there are doubtlessly several more dead to add to the final tally, and Erik himself is going to need to invest in a new cape, at the very least. The one he's wearing now is smouldering. Then again, so is his hair until a gloved hand can successfully quash the yellow orange glow - the unpleasant stench of burning hair mingling nastily with that of the burning flesh of some of the dead nearby. He makes no effort to get back up onto his feet. Yet. "Everyone still alive?"
Mystique's eyes widen as if in slow motion as all her senses seem to slow the scene before her down. The fireball consumes everything in its race to get to her, tossing about the bodies of the dead unceremoniously, before the force of the blast launches her backwards towards the wall, which she smashes into and rebounds off of.
In the rush to get the last few soldiers and their leader, people might have missed a few things. A fallen solder happens to have a spare clip for her gun, so Toxin pauses to pick it up, then moves on. She stops again after several steps to listen, and she moves in the direction of the voices, crouching down a little to help keep a low profile. Before she can get very far, however, the shockwave from the explosives reaches her and she does the first thing that comes to mind - dive for cover. Unfortunately, there isn't much to be had, and so Toxin dives for the cover of dead bodies. Unfortunately the firestorm pushes her back and over some debris, where she knocks her head rather hard on a rock.
"Rrrah-heh heh.." A gurgling grunt that turns into a chuckle, following the explosion, as Creed levers himself back up on his one remaining arm (that other one's gonna take a few days to grow back).. the burning blast throwing even his hefty bulk a few feet, and scorching the hair from half his body. Great, now burnt hair to go with the burnt flesh. It takes another few moments before his legs are intact enough to stand on. If you thought he was ugly before...
Chrome is thrown bodily by the blast, not as quick in his reflexes as Toxin. Impacting hard against a wall some ten feet distant, the wiry young man's wits take several moments to order themselves, before he can answer, "Yes, sir.." One arm is raw and burnt, and blood drips down the back of his head from the impact. He sits up atop pure slag.
Magneto pulls in a deep breath before making a weak effort to push himself up onto his knees - taking the lack of any answer aside from Creed's rather disturbing gurgling chuckle and Chrome's delayed answer as a poor sign. Behind him, tattered patches of his cape are still smoking faintly - the heavy material having served its purpose in protecting Magneto's life, at the very least. The older man is certainly looking his age - the gas mask removed to reveal bleeding and singed cuts along the side of his face as he surveys the damage down. "Chrome, if you are capable of converting the slag you're currently seated on into metal, I believe we may be able to do this more quickly than I had initially anticipated."
Stryker is made aware of Chrome's presence on the other side of the slag by the loud thud signaling his landing. He immediately turns to face the stairs, and silently motions for his remaining soldiers to do the same. Those with guns level them; those with gas grenades place their hands on the detonation pins. Every man in the room waits with bated breath.
There will be no detonation, as even a weary Magneto is capable of feeling those guns shifting focus through the wall. His gaze passing over Toxin and Mystique, Chrome and Creed, Erik rather abruptly spins each about on its axis, and pulls the triggers.
Creed walks unevenly, not all muscles as intact as others, a hideous smile cracking his hideous countenance. "Heh heh. We havin' FUN yet?" One eye is wholly ruined, the other goes from the boss, to the half parted doors. Another sneer and another ugly chuckle.
Mystique weakly begins to get up, stirring slowly to push a few bodies off of her legs, but doesn't get too far before she collapses back down into the rubble. The mask, half destroyed, at least protected her head from any serious injuries, and her shifting ability kept her organs safe. That doesn't mean she's immune to pain, however.
Toxin opens her eyes, taking a good look around. It takes her a moment to figure out where she is, but once that's done, she's trying to push her way to her feet. Managing it, she negotiates through the debris to make it to Magneto's side as she straightens up, wincing. One side of her face has blood running down it from the impact with the rock, and her suit has tears and burns through to her skin in various places. Looking back for the rest of the team, she sees Creed and Chrome, but not Mystique. She heads for the blue-skinned woman's side.
Considering that nine out of ten soldiers in the room bore firearms, the results of Magneto's simple action have devastating effects. Blood and brain matter spray haphazardly, and the colonel stands, frozen to the spot, as the less-than-pleasant fluids spatter across his uniform. Two very shellshocked troopers remain standing, then, almost comically, they pass out from fear and exhaustion. "Fuck," Stryker mutters articulately.
Chrome blinks twice.. "... Of course, sir." Narrowing his eyes for focus, as he looks about him.. in the remains of a doorway, it seems. Removing what's left of his gasmask, and rolling onto one knee, and placing both hands on the rock beneath him.. Never tried to convert this much mass before, but damned if he'll fail. Teeth are gritted and bright metallic hued vapor pours off his hands, muscles at the base of his neck standing out clearly under the skin. The rock is now solid chromium.. and Chrome himself slumps atop it, exhausted.
How Erik manages to look drawn up and dignified with half his hair and his face darkened with soot and blood, his uniform still smoking, and quite clearly running on empty is a mystery. But that's precisely what he's doing. Nodding his tired thanks to Chrome, one last breath is taken in before he manages a faint smirk for Creed's enthusiasm, and lifts both hands to force what was once slag gradually apart and out of the way. Then, with much less difficulty...the doors slide open, and in steps Erik Lensherr with several of his more trusted followers at his side. And also Creed.
Stryker stands as straight as he can, eyeing the arrivals with just a touch of contempt, and quite a bit of fear, though it doesn't show on the man's stoic face. He removes his gas-mask and tosses it aside, letting the arm holding the apparently useless semiautomatic drop to his side. "Mr. Lehnsherr," he calls. "It's been a while, my friend. And Victor," he adds, eyebrows arching as he sights the behemoth. "Quite the durable man, aren't we? I'd thought I built you right, Sabretooth. To what do I owe the honor?"
Creed looms behind Magneto's right shoulder, head rolling to one side with a pronounced *crack*. "Ye might wanna start screamin' now, Fat man.." Sabretooth growls into the death-filled chamber beyond the chromium-corridor. Namesake fangs bared in an unpleasant smile, Creed lets Magnus deal with the real talking..
Toxin isn't far behind Magneto, having made sure Mystique isn't dead and not in danger of dying in the next few hours. And now she pauses next to Chrome, taking a good look at the boy before she follows her leader into the rather messy room. Gross, but oh so indicative of power.
Mystique reaches up to slowly pull off what's left of the mask, dropping it to the side with a little clunk before gazing up to Toxin and giving a little laugh. Her echoy voice sounds disturbing when it's ragged as it is, "I'll be fine."
Chrome bows his head as Magneto aknowledges his effort, and concentrates on bretahing for a few moments. He drags himself to one side of the stairwell, and sets his back to the stone. As Toxing stops to check, she might note that where once only the tips of his fingers were metallic, they are now solid past the second knuckle. He's fine, but not getting up just yet.
"Colonel William Stryker...what a surprise it is to find you here, holed up in the nigh impenitrable bowels of your non-existant underground fortress while young men hardly half your age rush through the passages overhead to preserve your miserable life. To little avail." An attempt at a cool smirk fails as Erik's lip pulls up into a half-hearted sneer. He's tired, and the gun is ignored. Well, mostly, as his next heavy step is followed by a wet squishing sound, and his gaze lifts irritably to the ceiling.
Stryker smiles benevolently. "Of course; where else would I be? I'm minding my own business, thank you very much, and suddenly I find myself playing host to a few guests I'd rather not have at the moment." He takes a slow step forward and grins. "Erik, you've got no grounds t'be coming after me, or my people. You've just comitted a mass murder here, sir, and that's something I really don't take lightly." He levels the semiautomatic and sights down his arm with one eye, the eye of a seasoned vet. His finger closes on the trigger of the gun (which happens to be composed entirely of plastics).
Creed snorts derisively, as Stryker brings a gun to bear on Magneto. Talking a swaggering step forward, and rather enjoying the wet squelch that had so irritated Erik, Sabretooth is in no hurry. Has'nt Stryker learned yet? "What th' HELL you thinkin'?" He sneers.
"Please, spare me your claims of innocence...I've seen more than enough within these walls to know otherwise. But what are you going to do, Colonel? Shoot me?" A weak, wary chuckle is cut off rather abruptly as the cold fury of Erik's slightly-unhinged glare drifts back to settle on Stryker, and the gun. And as things seem to slow down for him a great deal, he realizes that there's nothing in or around the semi-automatic to force it away from him. Of course. And this time, Chrome is not nearly close enough to correct the absence of any metal. His eyes flashing, Magneto acts instantly - jerking the glasses right off Stryker's face, hard and to the side.
Stryker lets out a grunt of surprise as his own glasses fly off of his face, snapping his head to the right and carrying his aim with it. A spray of plastic bullets exits the gun, one bound to give Magneto a glancing blow, presumably due to the suddenness of the shot, while several more hit the walls around Creed's area, splintering on contact as they were designed. "Well, yes, that was the plan," the colonel mutters, squinting slightly at the loss of his vision.
Magneto cries out as his left shoulder jerks with the splintering impact of the bullet - a surreal step taken back as he actually pauses and looks down at the entry wound a second later. That...was...not supposed to happen. His left arm suddenly rendered limp and useless at his side, some serious damage having been dealt to his chest and shoulder joint. And then, looking up once more, Erik is...right back to business. Nevermind the fact that his voice is a little raspy. He's still standing firmly on his own two feet. "One of you, please incapacitate Mr. Stryker."
"Huh?" Is Creed's less than revealing reaction to gunfire and Magneto proving.. other than mutually exclusive. Snapping his baleful stare back to Stryker as bullets go off around him, and noting with a *sniff* that the powder smells.. off, Creed lunges at Stryker sending a savage swipe at the Colonel's gun hand. A wordless snarl is his oration.
Stryker cries out sharply as the misshapen mutant swipes at his gun hand, leaving a number of ugly gashes down it, and the gun clattering harmlessly to the floor. He turns his gaze from Creed, to the dead men, to Magneto. "What the hell are you doing here, Lehnsherr? What have I done to you?"
"Let us just say that it is the future I am more concerned with than the past, Mr. Stryker." An inclined jerk of his head towards the exit signalled to Creed, Erik's eyes flick to the discarded gun, next. "Mystique, collect the firearm. I believe it's time we made our escape."
Mystique reaches her hand down to weakly pick up the sidearm before beginning to make a hasty retreat, her wounds getting the better of her.
Stryker hangs his maimed hand by his side, drawing his other in a drill sergeant-esque pose to his ribcage. He gives a sidelong glance to Creed, then mutters, "And here I thought I was becoming ineffectual. Thank you Erik, you've made my month." He comments dryly.
"Eh, shut up," Creed snarls to Stryker, before turning his claw swipe around into a nasty backhand aimed at driving the wits from the 'fat man'. "Aint what ye done.. It's whats gonna be done TO yeh, that ye oughta worry about, Aheh-heh HAH!" Stryker is gripped by his belt and tossed without strain over Creed's recently smoldered shoulder.
Bang. Stryker's head snaps violently around and he stumbles in a very undignified manner, disoriented and bruised. He is slung rather easily over Creed's shoulder, and remains slightly dazed and muddled, not able to form a sentence quite yet. Creed should play a little nicer with his employers, however old they may be.
Magneto leans against the wall for a moment to collect himself once the room has been vacated - the blood seeping out of his shoulder impossible to see against the black of his uniform. There has, however, definitely been damage dealt, as Erik is already looking somewhat pale as his glare flicks over the scattered remains of Stryker's last stand one final time before he turns to fall neatly into step after Creed - his maimed cape snapping dramatically in his wake. The doors do not close behind him.