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He didn't wait for the other man to finish his defense. He watched his movements just as closely as Arkaeis watched his own, and what his movements revealed was telling. He was fast, for sure, but not as fast as James could be. He watched his eyes, waited until his attention was on the antenna he was catching rather than the man that had thrown it. It was a foolish mistake to assume there would be no follow-up, to leave yourself unprepared for a second defense. He burst forward and covered the distance between them in an instant, while Arkaeis was still focused on the spear, and his right fist drove toward the man's unprotected left side at the same instant the polarity of the void around the spear would be shifting. The blow carried only a fraction of James' full strength, but would be far more than enough to pulverize a granite boulder into little more than dust, which did not bode well for the health of its target should it land.
Wolverine is maneuverable, definitely, but someone like Beast or Nightcrawler or Daredevil is always going to flip circles around him because of his weight.
That part just stood out to me as odd. The rest of it is brilliant. I like how you made him so focused on ranged capability at the expense of durability in close combat. It makes him very... Hawkeye. Lol.
That part just stood out to me as odd. The rest of it is brilliant. I like how you made him so focused on ranged capability at the expense of durability in close combat. It makes him very... Hawkeye. Lol.
Are you sure Wolverine is the best choice for acrobatic training? Usually that's Beast or Nightcrawler's department.
"What the hell just happened!" Kimura stormed across the situation room to stand behind the technician monitoring the control implant, her eyes glued to the static covering the large screen above his station. He gulped audibly before responding.
"It looks like we've lost the connection, proba..."
"I can see that, you moron. WHY did we lose the connection?!"
"I'm, uh... not sure. The implant is supposed to be impact resistant, but maybe a fifty-seven story fall was too much for it."
"It should have been too much for her. You and your squint buddies told us she couldn't survive that. By all rights I should rip your..."
"Relax, Kimura." The new voice belonged to a redhead in a lab coat and glasses who'd been staring silently at the monitors for the past ten minutes. "This is good news. We didn't know before how hard we could push her. Now we do."
Kimura left off harassing the monitoring technician and stormed up to the redhead instead. "And how exactly do you plan to get her back, Harkins? We can't even fucking track her anymore! This was supposed to be a low risk training operation and your goons fucked the whole thing up!"
"You conditioned her to be dependent. To always return home if she was lost or taken from us. Are you saying your conditioning was sub-standard?" He raised an eyebrow at the seething woman in front of him, clearly the kind of guy who was used to being right. Kimura opened her mouth to hurl a response, then thought better and closed it again, turning back to glare at the empty screens. Harkins smiled.
"I thought not. All we need to do is wait. She will come to us."
She pushed herself slowly off the pavement, almost whimpering as a split across the skin on her face closed itself up and the bullet was pushed out of the rapidly closing hole in her leg. Her entire body hurt. She wanted to curl up in a ball and cry until the pain went away, until she woke up in a warm bed somewhere with her mom cracking open the bedroom door to tell her it was time for school.
Except she didn't have a mom. She only knew what one was because she'd seen it on TV once. She didn't go to school either, and nobody in the world cared enough to wake her gently with nothing but a soft voice. That made her want to cry too, though she didn't know why. The life she had was the only one she'd ever known. A life filled with agonizing pain on a daily basis, pain that would never be dulled or lessened because her power just kept repairing her ravaged nerves even as their training and conditioning destroyed them. So while she wanted nothing more than to curl up and cry, she knew she couldn't do that. She had to get moving. The men on the roof, the cops that weren't cops, would be coming for her, probably expecting to find a corpse as their prize, and she was not willing to give them that victory.
She grit her teeth and pushed herself the rest of the way off the ground, getting her feet under her as the last of her wounds ceased bleeding and the bullet clinked onto the sidewalk. She had to move, had to get away before... Sirens. The real police were arriving. If she didn't move now she'd be caught inside their perimeter and forced to engage them. That meant casualties, and she'd been ordered to avoid those. Which way should she go though? The men on the roof made it clear her mission had been compromised, which meant she couldn't rely on her initial extraction plan. That could easily have been compromised as well. Though if it had, why hadn't control given her new orders? Had control been compromised too? There was no way to know, so she had no choice but to find the nearest safe house and wait to be contacted again.
All this flashed through her mind in an instant, and her legs were already moving before her mind was made up, instinct telling her the right course of action even before logic caught up. She ducked quickly into the nearest shadowed alley, glancing over her shoulder until the hotel entrance disappeared as she turned a corner. She had to stay ahead of the cops, but more importantly she had to stay ahead of those men and whoever they were working with. They wouldn't be alone.
Her suspicion was confirmed when two large shadows loomed in the alley ahead, both seeming to materialize out of the darkness itself. The fact that they had been able to conceal themselves from her, even momentarily, meant they were either extremely good at this or a normal part of the scenery. She slowed her pace considerably when she saw them, pulling her knees together to turn her confident stride into that of a scared young woman all alone in the dark alleys of New York. She crossed her arms, pulled her coat tight, and hunched her shoulders as if fighting off the cold, hoping she was wrong and they were just random hoodlums that wouldn't notice the blood on her clothes and skin.
She made it to within ten feet before the catcalls started. The one on the right whistled loudly as he stepped directly into her path.
"Well well, whadda we got ourselves here." His eyes ran up and down her body, taking in what he could of her figure with the coat wrapped around it and no doubt imagining the rest. "Look at the legs on this one, Jimmy." Another lewd whistle. "Y'know, I think she's a workin' girl. Gotta be. Ain't no girl gonna come down here that ain't willin' to earn her way through. Am I right Jimmy?"
Jimmy was busy doing his own assessment of their new victim and smiled cruelly when his compatriot posed the question. "Oh, I'd say so, Max. She's gon' have to do a good bit of earnin' 'fore she gets outta here." Both men moved in on her simultaneously, each grabbing an arm and pulling them apart before pulling the coat open to reveal the corset beneath. "Good GAWD! It mus' be ma birthday. Ain't she jus' the prettiest little thang you eve... HRK!"
Turns out, things like talking and breathing get a lot more difficult with a crushed windpipe, which Jimmy was now sporting rather fashionably. He hadn't even seen the kick coming and the first he knew of it was the painful sensation of being unable to breath. Max lasted only seconds longer, as when Jimmy released her arm the small fist came barreling into his chin with enough force to crack his jaw out of its socket. He was lucky she was holding back.
Both men toppled to the ground, one dying and the other unconscious, and she took off into the street beyond the alley, heading in the direction of the nearest safe house. She didn't care anymore about staying inconspicuous or trying not to leave an impression, she just ran like hell to get as far away as she could.
"It looks like we've lost the connection, proba..."
"I can see that, you moron. WHY did we lose the connection?!"
"I'm, uh... not sure. The implant is supposed to be impact resistant, but maybe a fifty-seven story fall was too much for it."
"It should have been too much for her. You and your squint buddies told us she couldn't survive that. By all rights I should rip your..."
"Relax, Kimura." The new voice belonged to a redhead in a lab coat and glasses who'd been staring silently at the monitors for the past ten minutes. "This is good news. We didn't know before how hard we could push her. Now we do."
Kimura left off harassing the monitoring technician and stormed up to the redhead instead. "And how exactly do you plan to get her back, Harkins? We can't even fucking track her anymore! This was supposed to be a low risk training operation and your goons fucked the whole thing up!"
"You conditioned her to be dependent. To always return home if she was lost or taken from us. Are you saying your conditioning was sub-standard?" He raised an eyebrow at the seething woman in front of him, clearly the kind of guy who was used to being right. Kimura opened her mouth to hurl a response, then thought better and closed it again, turning back to glare at the empty screens. Harkins smiled.
"I thought not. All we need to do is wait. She will come to us."
She pushed herself slowly off the pavement, almost whimpering as a split across the skin on her face closed itself up and the bullet was pushed out of the rapidly closing hole in her leg. Her entire body hurt. She wanted to curl up in a ball and cry until the pain went away, until she woke up in a warm bed somewhere with her mom cracking open the bedroom door to tell her it was time for school.
Except she didn't have a mom. She only knew what one was because she'd seen it on TV once. She didn't go to school either, and nobody in the world cared enough to wake her gently with nothing but a soft voice. That made her want to cry too, though she didn't know why. The life she had was the only one she'd ever known. A life filled with agonizing pain on a daily basis, pain that would never be dulled or lessened because her power just kept repairing her ravaged nerves even as their training and conditioning destroyed them. So while she wanted nothing more than to curl up and cry, she knew she couldn't do that. She had to get moving. The men on the roof, the cops that weren't cops, would be coming for her, probably expecting to find a corpse as their prize, and she was not willing to give them that victory.
She grit her teeth and pushed herself the rest of the way off the ground, getting her feet under her as the last of her wounds ceased bleeding and the bullet clinked onto the sidewalk. She had to move, had to get away before... Sirens. The real police were arriving. If she didn't move now she'd be caught inside their perimeter and forced to engage them. That meant casualties, and she'd been ordered to avoid those. Which way should she go though? The men on the roof made it clear her mission had been compromised, which meant she couldn't rely on her initial extraction plan. That could easily have been compromised as well. Though if it had, why hadn't control given her new orders? Had control been compromised too? There was no way to know, so she had no choice but to find the nearest safe house and wait to be contacted again.
All this flashed through her mind in an instant, and her legs were already moving before her mind was made up, instinct telling her the right course of action even before logic caught up. She ducked quickly into the nearest shadowed alley, glancing over her shoulder until the hotel entrance disappeared as she turned a corner. She had to stay ahead of the cops, but more importantly she had to stay ahead of those men and whoever they were working with. They wouldn't be alone.
Her suspicion was confirmed when two large shadows loomed in the alley ahead, both seeming to materialize out of the darkness itself. The fact that they had been able to conceal themselves from her, even momentarily, meant they were either extremely good at this or a normal part of the scenery. She slowed her pace considerably when she saw them, pulling her knees together to turn her confident stride into that of a scared young woman all alone in the dark alleys of New York. She crossed her arms, pulled her coat tight, and hunched her shoulders as if fighting off the cold, hoping she was wrong and they were just random hoodlums that wouldn't notice the blood on her clothes and skin.
She made it to within ten feet before the catcalls started. The one on the right whistled loudly as he stepped directly into her path.
"Well well, whadda we got ourselves here." His eyes ran up and down her body, taking in what he could of her figure with the coat wrapped around it and no doubt imagining the rest. "Look at the legs on this one, Jimmy." Another lewd whistle. "Y'know, I think she's a workin' girl. Gotta be. Ain't no girl gonna come down here that ain't willin' to earn her way through. Am I right Jimmy?"
Jimmy was busy doing his own assessment of their new victim and smiled cruelly when his compatriot posed the question. "Oh, I'd say so, Max. She's gon' have to do a good bit of earnin' 'fore she gets outta here." Both men moved in on her simultaneously, each grabbing an arm and pulling them apart before pulling the coat open to reveal the corset beneath. "Good GAWD! It mus' be ma birthday. Ain't she jus' the prettiest little thang you eve... HRK!"
Turns out, things like talking and breathing get a lot more difficult with a crushed windpipe, which Jimmy was now sporting rather fashionably. He hadn't even seen the kick coming and the first he knew of it was the painful sensation of being unable to breath. Max lasted only seconds longer, as when Jimmy released her arm the small fist came barreling into his chin with enough force to crack his jaw out of its socket. He was lucky she was holding back.
Both men toppled to the ground, one dying and the other unconscious, and she took off into the street beyond the alley, heading in the direction of the nearest safe house. She didn't care anymore about staying inconspicuous or trying not to leave an impression, she just ran like hell to get as far away as she could.
Mind if I drop a character in? Arthur Greystoke sans armor would be great for this.
"Weeeeeeeeee're off to kill the wizard..." Arty pushed off the pillar and followed Clockwork Man down the stairs into the lower levels of the tower, twirling his sword a couple times before sliding it back into place on his back. "...the wonderful wizard of, uh... damn. Shoulda thought that one through more." Unfortunately for his lyrical stylings, however, his thoughts were engaged elsewhere. Mostly on what this omnicron thing might be and what it could do. Funny how being a sociopath made it okay to sing songs from children's movies while dressed in flat black battle armor and marching out to face certain death. Not his own death, mind you, but a certain one nonetheless. As he walked, he pulled out first the pistol on his right hip to check the chamber, making sure a round was ready to fire, then the pistol on his left hip to repeat the process, twirling them back into the holsters when he was finished. They made it one level down before a little blue light came on in the edge of his vision. Damn. He hadn't realized it had been that long since they got here.
"Hey CM, how long do you think until there's goons to kill? I didn't get to do anything in that last fight, and when I've got the armor on I build up energy a lot faster than normal." He needed a discharge, an opponent on whom he could unleash all the excess energy building up in his brain. Already his thoughts had begun to race as the buildup filled his suit's capacitors and began to feed back into his body. His hands began to twitch slightly and his speech increased in speed. "When it fills the batteries and starts feeding back into my body I get kind of... hyperactive a bit. Like ADHD on steroids, after drinking two dozen double espressos and getting hit by lightning. Not a fun time. I gotta zap something or I'm gonna lose it pretty soon."
"Hey CM, how long do you think until there's goons to kill? I didn't get to do anything in that last fight, and when I've got the armor on I build up energy a lot faster than normal." He needed a discharge, an opponent on whom he could unleash all the excess energy building up in his brain. Already his thoughts had begun to race as the buildup filled his suit's capacitors and began to feed back into his body. His hands began to twitch slightly and his speech increased in speed. "When it fills the batteries and starts feeding back into my body I get kind of... hyperactive a bit. Like ADHD on steroids, after drinking two dozen double espressos and getting hit by lightning. Not a fun time. I gotta zap something or I'm gonna lose it pretty soon."
Excellent. Glad you're back. :) I was starting to wonder if I'd ever actually get to fight anyone in the multiverse... Lol.
His eyes narrowed and his breath caught as the new orb manifested, his body tensing and preparing for an attack that didn't come. He floated down to the roof that the other man now stood upon, landing softly in spite of his mass. "Their lives may be safe from your orbs." The man spoke the truth about that much, at least. James' senses told him there had been no loss of life below, so far at least. "But what of their livelihoods? How are they to live when your orbs have eaten away their homes and jobs? You may be powerful, but I doubt even you can predict every eventuality, every building that will collapse due to your meddling and crush the innocent beneath a mountain of debris. There must be an end to this."
Without any further ado, James burst forward too fast for any human eye to follow, gripping a protruding antenna not more than two meters from where he first stood and hurling it directly toward the other man's shoulder, the one that connected the arm holding the orb to the rest of his body, with all the speed of a sniper's bullet. The man had to be stopped, but James was not yet willing to kill him.
Without any further ado, James burst forward too fast for any human eye to follow, gripping a protruding antenna not more than two meters from where he first stood and hurling it directly toward the other man's shoulder, the one that connected the arm holding the orb to the rest of his body, with all the speed of a sniper's bullet. The man had to be stopped, but James was not yet willing to kill him.
That's fine. Tone is always really hard to read in text, even with hints like emoticons.
Oh I know. It wasn't a serious question. The winky face was meant to convey that I was joking and totally caught the reference...
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