Reeling from decimated dreams [BK6 - F&I / Rescue]

[Bobby Drake]

> " Anybody’d think they were trying to take over the world or something "

Bob nods, conceding the point. "Right. Them. Sorry… it’s just all this is pretty sudden, y’know?" He’s a little startled to realize that, while it was exactly the right thing to say to keep up the role of love-struck rescuee (if that’s even a word), that was because he’d been sincere when he said it. He shakes his head as if to clear it, then reels dizzily from the sudden motion. Keep your head in the game, Drake. He wants you to trust him.

Well, of course he does, but is it really so impossible that he’s really had a change of – Yes, dammit! It’s exactly that impossible. This is… I don’t know exactly, but it’s some kind of trick. It has to be.


John (…) seems just as startled as he is by the commotion upstairs, which is probably a good sign. Maybe there’s some kind of Brotherhood civil war going on, and he’ll be able to escape through the middle of it… who knows? But for the first time he’s starting to think he can maybe get out.

It takes him a while to work out how to load the machine-pistol, and a while longer to find the safety and flip it off… at least, he’s pretty sure that’s “off”. For a moment while he’s doing that he almost feels a familiar touch on his mind… Josh? But it’s gone before it’s hardly started, and Bob figures he probably imagined it.

He’s not sure whether to use his injured right hand or his non-dominant left to hold the gun… either way his accuracy won’t be worth much, especially since he’s never fired a machine pistol in his life. Eventually he splits the difference by loading a second pistol and gestures John to the door.

"All right… you said ‘up’, right? So, where are the best stairs?"

[Pyro]

< it’s just all this is pretty sudden, y’know ?
”Believe me, I know” He’s satisfied, or near enough to it to tolerate, with the flame spurts from the igniters, and turns his attention back to Bobby… Yeah, having the Brotherhood as enemies rather than (allies? Friends? Family? – something else for the *don’t think about it* list) being on the same team is going to take some time to get used to, though the fact that they’ve shot him makes it easier to accept and harder to forget… sort of. It’s going to sting later, when he’s got headspace enough to realise what walking out of here means (because if he’s not with them then what the hell is he?), but right now it’s just another annoying and confusing facet of this whole debacle. ”No time to get used to it, though. They’ve accepted that I’m the enemy all over again.” – and no, fuck it, that’s not regret there. It’s not. He hates them… and is prepared to ignore how annoyingly childish the voice protesting that sounds, because it’ll do for now until he can work out a decent response to that question.

< So, where are the best stairs?
The spike of relief at having Bobby take charge is also irritatingly childlike… but whatever. He’ll blame that on the blood loss and shock making his head spin (though neither are really having anywhere near that dramatic affect yet, both cancelled out by the magical power of adrenaline).

Right. Focus. Think stairs ”Out, right, straight on” It’s best to think of it like that, a series of simple objectives, small manageable steps instead of a massive assault on a heavily-armed elite terrorist unit. Yep. Easy. Nothing to worry about, except maybe… ”Can you even lift those canons you’re carrying?” It comes out simultaneously harsher and more cliché laden than he’d ordinarily have liked, but he can cope with that, because it’s a valid question, right? ”If you’re planning on using them for anything other than looking more dangerous than you are it… changes things” (… yeah. That would be why Bobby was better off running strategy). ”Taking it that you’ve got a plan, of course… something beyond run, shoot, don't die because that's about as far as I've got worked through”

[Bobby Drake]

> "No time to get used to it, though. They’ve accepted that I’m the enemy all over again."

Bobby looks up from trying to load the machine-pistols at that, blindsided by the combination of regret and anger and petulance in John's voice. He's prepared to believe John capable of a lot, but there are limits. He's not lying.

A realization that, in its own way, is as disorienting as smashing his shoulder into the wall had been. Because if John isn't lying about leaving the Brotherhood, then... well, that means this really is an escape attempt, right? And John really did just get himself shot trying to protect him, and... Jesus, they could be killed here! (Which, oddly, still feels like a secondary concern compared to figuring out what's really going on with John.)

So why the hell did he dose me with that damned syringe, then? He doesn't really have an answer for that. He vaguely remembers John's hurried explanation, something about Magneto knowing about them and not approving. Which Magneto'd also said something about while trying to rip Bobby open like a wishbone. Could all that have been serious?

The idea that Magneto, of all people, is basing his strategy on moral judgements about Bobby's sex life, of all things, is ridiculous bordering on disgusting. The idea that John would therefore ambush Bobby and drag him to Brotherhood HQ to be tortured is simply absurd. But now that he thinks about it... well, it's no more absurd than Magneto declaring his enemies to be "traitors" or John deciding to follow the guy in the first place.

Could this actually be happening?

> "Taking it that you’ve got a plan, of course… something beyond run, shoot, don't die because that's about as far as I've got worked through."

John's question drag him back to the here and now. If this really is a breakout and not a set piece, he has to stop treating it like a video game and start thinking about the big picture. (It doesn't even occur to him to challenge the assumption that he should be the one with the plan, never mind that ten minutes ago he'd been huddled up in chains unable to get it up enough to snap his shoulder back in. That's just the way it works with him and John, and he's gotten accustomed to it.)

Getting out of the building is all well and good, but that just puts them outside, who-knows-where, chased by a small army. So... "We have to contact the Institute, get them to pick us up. You know where we are, right? You can give them directions? We just need to find a -- "

> <Bobby, we’re here! We’ll get to you as soon as we can, but they’ve got machine guns…>

What in the -- Bobby shakes his head, bewildered. How did they find this place? This was growing increasingly implausible, but Josh's mental "voice" was unmistakable. Maybe this whole thing was just a dream, or some kind of telepathically induced hallucination or something, like that Hellfire Club guy did on Holloween? Well, doesn't matter... he's come this far, he's got to try and finish.

Josh! Yeah, noticed the guns. We're on our way up... clear the stairs, will you? Bobby isn't at all sure they're anywhere near the same stairs, but without a floorplan he's just going to have to take his chances.

" -- no, never mind... they're already here. Stairs, then. 'Out, right, straight on'... got it. You've got that bulletproof shield thing going on... you take point."

[Pyro]

Now isn't really the right time to grin, but that doesn't stop the glimmer of one coming through. Bob's back, it seems; whatever else in him has changed, nothing's broken. He's still him, and that's a good sign, right? Because even if it's too soon to say whether they still work as John and Bobby (and it is... or at least, it's easier to think of it that way rather than say they've stopped working) some part, at least, of their twisted pair dynamic remains in place - John heads out in front, but it's alwaus Bobby who's really leading, and though neither will admit to it both have pretty much accepted it... All of that's a little deep for right now, of course, or at least a little deep to put into words when headspace is at such a premium, but the general point remains - it's a glass half full sort of moment. Or something.

A sharp spike somewhere in the back of his brain distracts him from figuring out , as if a radio has slipped between stations - that squeal before it trails back to static proper - and it's... headspinning, and disorientating and... totally random. He's got no idea what it means, or even if it is anything *real*, and shrugs it off as another thing not worth thinking about....

"Okay, who's here now?" Bob's orders are somewhat more worthy of attention, so he shakes off the weird feeling in order to concentrate and try to keep track of what the hell is going on here… and when that fails to get the general gist and follow the directions he’s been given. "Never mind. Um... point, right. Stairs. Got it" John gives a quick thumbs up and a half salute, goes to head to the door… and turns back for a moment. Again the timing is hideously off, and it’s horrifically clichéd, but with things shifting a gear, and the distinct possibility that he won’t get a chance to say anything later (whether because he might not get out – which is the meaning he’s going to latch on to if it needs justification – or because Bobby won’t let him say it), he can’t not.

”If anything… happens, y’know.. erm..” – fuck. He’s never been good at these things (though that’s a vague thought, really, because he’s never done ‘these things’ – ”then… I need y’to know I’m sorry, and” – dammit, it’s just three little words… which refuse to come. And in many ways the one he settles for is more fitting - ”thanks, I guess.” He doesn’t add for everything or any of the other lines rolling around about having known something great yada yada because there are limits and they’d just sound false… but he trusts that Bob will know. Because he will. Obviously. He’ll understand.

“Now let’s roll. Right, straight, up.” Another fist-clenched rock on sort of gesture, and he, erm, rolls. Straight out the door. That much is easy.

Right… It’s odd that there are no dupe corpses, no guns lying around. The whole thing has the air of a first person shooter, all somehow unreal and sanitized and totally different to the battles he’s used to fighting, which is all good… but at the same time it would be nice to have some sign that these fucking things are killable, because they just keep coming and what with them all looking the same it’s sort of hard to tell whether they’re new ones or just the old ones getting back up…

Straight… Speaking of *keeping coming*… it’s unnaturally calm down here. No dupes to be seen. Which is… freaky as all hell. He keeps expecting them to pour out of the very walls and turn this into a bloodbath, but… nothing. Possibly they’re all busy upstairs… He still has no idea what’s going on up there, though Bobby’s words hint at some sort of Institute action. How the hell have they found this place, then? Doesn’t really make much sense…

U.. Oh, no. Not up John wheels back around at the dull click behind them… Lots of Madri. With guns. And it’s weirdly amusing thinking why the hell do they wait before shooting? Maybe it’s one of these villain rules, like how you have to spill the plan to the hero once they’re at your mercy rather than just killing them so that when they make their improbable escape they can foil said plan… which may have been why things never sat well with the Brotherhood, because such rules were obviously idiotic (hee… maybe the smoke and the blood loss are starting to get to him after all, if he’s thinking like that). Obviously it’s much, much better to just torch the bastards without nodding to traditions, without a second thought, and without mercy. The one concession he does make to the villainous stereotype is the small smirk and half-laugh. (Is it wrong that this should be fun? Probably, now he’s sort of a good guy again. Funny how it never felt good when he was, erm, bad… something to do with how it’s now *the right thing to do*? Whatever) It may be that which above all freaks out the Madri-Quads who appear at the top of the stairs – the way with the smile and the blackening and the trailing sparks he looks just a little, well, crazy. Could be. That, and the scent of charred flesh, and the general carnage…

Not that it matters, because they don’t much time to be scared – another burst of flame cuts them short.

Up into the foyer… John blinks, the light and the noise and everything just a little overwhelming after the relative darkness and small scale engagements of the basement; this is a whole different ball-game, because there’s blood and screaming and the dead still look like people and not like meat… and the fact they’re recognizably people makes the fact that the way they’re broken is a way human flesh isn’t meant to be just stab straight to the gut. But he hasn’t got time to drink any of that in… they’re still in the middle of this battle, after all, as the fact that there’s a blur of leathers and feathers streaking towards him drives home. He half considers sparking up in the half-second he has to think, but since it’s not ostensibly a Madrox, and he’s fairly sure torching one of Bobby’s teammates would be a mistake he couldn’t back away from (because, y’know, the rest of them have been trivial by comparison… heh. Whatever.), he instead darts back, flattening himself against the wall in the stairwell and swatting one arm out in an attempt to drag Bob – who, being behind him, is next in line – back as well… Slamming back into the wall hurts, and it takes a lot to bite that back from being a full yell into just a wince, but he’s ignoring that as he shoots a side-glance at Bobby ”You think maybe you could tell your lot not to kill me?”

Runs into ”Buckle Up, Kids”