Invasion: Who Invited You?

[Magneto]

The two story ramshackle manor the Brotherhood had been using for the hideout for the past several months now burned with a bright orange red flame, bullet holes peppered the outside walls and tore up the already dishelved interior. The sun was just now starting to break over the horizon and the Strikeback team was quickly gaining the upper hand, no surprise there though considering that their prey were mostly sleeping when they decided to attack. Troops dashed across the sparse dead open area in front of the manor, their heavy convoy trucks sticking way back in the backfield, thinking what they thought was a safe distance from Magneto's reach. The troops themselves were outfitted with ceramic armor and plastic guns, some loaded with glass bullets and others with tranquilizer darts, after all, mutants did make excellent science experiments.

A front line was set up before any action could be taken by the Brotherhood and a very impressive offense put into effect. The front of the manor was covered, no one would be escaping this way and with the lake off to the right, it would be impossible for anyone to escape that way either. Large gunships were in the air covering the right side of the manor and the large forest surrounding...well....all contact with the troops stationed there had been severed several minutes ago...no doubt falling prey to the one known as Black Tom Cassiday. The first wave was a success and now with the primary ground force established, it was time to get serious...or so Strikeback thought. You see, Magneto had been watching and waiting patiently, letting the other team set up their pieces on the chess board...a reckless action seen by some of the lesser members of the Brotherhood, but one that so far remained unquestioned.

"Erik Lehnsherr....we have you and your Brotherhood surrounded. Come out know and surrender," a rather gruff male voice announced over the crude P.A. system set up just behind the front line ground troops. In the backfield, a Strikeback commander stood with his main team, microphone in hand and binoculars focused on the manor. The man licked his dry lips in a bit of nervousness, for eh, just because he was a soldier didn't mean he wasn't without fear. Magneto was one of the most wanted mutants in the world and considering the number of mutants there was...well...that was a feat worthy of some recognition.

A few minutes of nothing passed, the fire burning in various parts of the manor spreading now and the black smoke rising into the early morning sky. The troops on the front line all looked to each other nervously, curious as to if they all would live through this moment, for everyone here knew the Brotherhood wasn't about to go down with a fight. The sound of breaking glass and splintering wood only confirmed this silent fact as numerous metallic spikes sped through the air, each one moving like a bullet, finding targets here and there. Several soldiers fell, some wounded and some dead, a clear message certainly established...Magneto was not going out peacefully and certainly not handing himself over to some homo sapien.

Screams from wounded soldiers set in motion an act that would be remembered for a long time, one of much death and bloodshed, an act which would remind those foolish enough to challenge Erik Lehnsherr of just who they were dealing with. "Bring him down...now!," came the scream over the intercom system, followed by a hail of gunfire and explosions. Strikeback would find the Brotherhood would not be as easily assaulted as the Institute...a fatal mistake on someone's part. As the assault commenced, one couldn't help but question.....just where was Magneto right now. His ability was certainly documented and the stunt he just pulled could have been orchestrated from anywhere.

[Sherridan Kaine]

((I know it is a bit god-mode-y at a few points, and I hope for forgiveness about that. If not, just tell me and I shall change it to the best of my ability.))

In the darkness of the hallway, a row of pure white fangs flashes lightly upon catching the glint of moonlight through a nearby window as Sherridan progresses through the mansion, his final destination the dead end that the hallway provided, one which was decorated by a window. His lips pull back over the teeth, preventing any part of him from being revealed in the darkness to an accidental on-looker.

To him, this must be just another chess game... the cat-man marvels at his leader's genius as his hand slides over the right side of the window's ancient wooden frame. But what, or rather, who, will be the pawns this time? Or is it a game so easy that he had decided to play without them? he goes on wondering, moving back towards the stairs which led down, into the basement.

He is to remain away from the main line, his territory this time being the mansion's backyard, a place where he is about to go and play. Why I am not allowed to participate in the best part, I shall never know... the thought has been worming in his mind ever since the leader had sent him a note of scarce few words. Sherridan himself has not seen Magneto in over two months, and he prefers it that way.

Still, a little backyard hide-and-seek game is not too bad of a prize in itself. The cat does not remain in the basement for long, and soon a glimpse of a black tail swishes from a small window, one which a normal human could not fit through. It seems I have found a use for this feline trait after all. he thinks contently as he sneaks towards the sparse trees, crouching behind some bushes and waiting for his first victim.

He was wide awake ever since the "invasion" began, having taking a rather long catnap earlier in the day out of sheer boredom, which seemed to be a small token Destiny had decided to hand him. Even though short, those naps held lots of energy for Sherridan.

And so here he is, in the bushes, waiting for his prey, the foolish humans who seem to think that there is a back entrance which is less well-defended than the front. His clothing this time holds no style, or flashy showmanship to it. It is consisted out of a simple pair of black shorts. When hunting, Sherridan prefers being weighed down by the least amount of clothing possible, and this is, for him, just another fun hunt. His black fur alone provides enough decency, which is not, in all honesty, his primary concern at the point.

And then, the shooting starts a few moments after the call to surrender. A few soldiers appear at the back, and start shooting, revealing their positions to the mutant who already has perfect vision in the darkest of nights in an extremely clear, billboard-like way. It takes only a minute for the first to fall down, unnoticed in the noise the guns are creating.

[Primer]

“Squad four approaching target, first floor, third room from the stairs, threat level unknown.” the words are breathed into the intercom in so soft a tone that the soldier- one Andrew Grisham, just Grisham to the boys and one woman (because no one is crazy enough to refer to Lena Calados as a ‘girl’ even in the silence of their minds) of squad four- sounds breathless though he and those under his command are moving at a pace far slower than their capabilities, the price of stealth.

“Permission to proceed.”[/b] Grisham smiles and holds one hand up in the air, feeling rather than hearing his comrades halt behind him with adrenaline-heightened awareness of the space around him. Two more brief flicks of his hand are enough to send the huddled group scattering silently into formation around the doorway and he can’t resist a smile of proud satisfaction. We were sent out too soon, too damn soon, but my squad is ready. They’re damn good soldiers. With this thought swelling up in him, mixing with the sweet-sour adrenaline in his blood stream, he raises his index finger and points it like a knight’s lance, like the hand of God, at the door. It folds like cardboard under a soldier's boot and before he can even complete the thought about the challenge of defeating mutant terrorists who can’t even defend the doors to their bedrooms his soldiers are inside with their guns raised and their sights trained on the chamber’s occupant.

The hell? Grisham thinks, pulling up a pace inside the door as he catches a good look at the mutant they’ve surrounded, a small, neatly compact man in his thirties. Nice clothes, clean cut features, screams out rich metro-sexual trying for man’s man, nothing unremarkable except that as he’s targeted by four guns he is calmly shaving the area just under his chin.

“Let me just finish this please. I despise going out unshaved. I’m sure most of you understand. If you’d just wait over by the window please?”

Arrogant son of a- Grisham shakes his head, you had to admire the sheer audacity even if it was completely insane to expect trained military operatives to fall neatly into line. Audacity or…something else… he narrows his eyes suspiciously as he suddenly realizes the full impact of the situation, wonders how he could have been so certain of success a second ago when now fear and a deep respect for the formidable man in front of them have permeated bone-deep. “We’d better do as he says. Guns at the ready though.” he paces towards the far wall and his squad follows, even Calados, which surprises him in some distant corner of his mind that isn’t currently waging the war to keep his limbs steady and his gaze level.

There they wait, watching the mutant warily as he finishes shaving and dabs a towel that looks luxuriantly soft even to Grisham’s decidedly unprofessional eye in a ceramic bowl of water on the stand near the mirror. With the towel he wipes the lather from his face then dries it, then moves carefully to the razor, cleaning it and packing it away in a shaving kit with calm precision infecting every movement. He finishes, smoothes away some wrinkles on the simple pants and long sleeved shirt he is wearing and turns to face the squad, a look of irritation that, though mild, sends tremors down Grisham’s spine.

“Now then…how best to deal with this little wake-up party?” the mutant smiles and Grisham feels his mouth stretch into a smile as well. It’s funny really- their thinking they could just waltz in like this when Magneto clearly has such extremely admirable, capable, people on his side. What was I thinking even pointing a gun at him? There’s no point to this. We’ve been defeated sure enough. He lowers his weapon, puts the safety on, and drops it to the carpet. The soft thud it makes is echoed three times and the mutant smiles his approval. “Good. Very good. Now just stand still and stay calm and we’ll sort this all out in an orderly fashion.” It’s good advice. This one’s a decent victor, merciful, proud, striding towards them with an aloofly controlled cast to his features. Everything Grisham entered the army to be. He feels another surge of admiration for the man who has brought his squad down, almost a sense of gratitude.

“Hmm… can’t have blood on the carpet. Don’t want you in the fight later though either. Ah.” He steps forward towards Calados who is standing on the opposite end of the line they’ve formed against the wall and lays a hand on her cheek. “Would that I had more time for you my dear.” he says softly, tracing her high cheekbones with his index finger and looking up into her eyes with regretful resignation. “Unfortunately business must come before pleasure.” He places his other hand against the other side of her head and twists hard. Wrong position for a break. Grisham thinks sympathetically, easy mistake to make. Must have a lot on his mind.

“That hurts sir.” Calados says calmly, placidly, rubbing her neck softly with one hand.
“I’ll try again then.”

He gets it right this time. Calados drops to the floor followed by the other two subordinate members of squad four, their faces craned towards Grisham at an unnatural angle as if watching the scene. “Your turn now.” the man says and Grisham smiles brilliantly as the man’s attention is turned solely on him, basking in it like a sunbeam. “Yes sir. Thank you sir.” he says as he feels hands on his face, cradling his skull with the odd mixture of delicacy and boldness he hasn’t felt another hand explore him with since his wife ran her fingers over his shorn head on their wedding night. ”I’m memorizing you.” she’d said with a laugh, ”One of those romantic things I always wanted to do. Now that we’re married you can’t laugh, I’d have the rest of our lives to get even.” He thinks of her face as the hands tighten, he can almost hear how she will laugh when she hears how- snap.

------

Primer steps out into the hallway and raises his arms to stretch luxuriantly. Taking out the four soldiers had relieved his irritation at being woken up and calmed his fury at more humans with their guns but he’s sure they aren’t the only guests he’ll have to entertain this morning, and probably without time to have any more enjoyment out of it. Terrorism, sounds exciting, but really just as dull as paperwork when you get down to it- one check mark after another. The firefight outside distracts him from his exasperation and he hefts the gun he’s lifted from one of the dead soldiers, the pretty black haired woman, and sets out briskly towards Magneto’s room, keeping a careful lookout as he goes. With a small group taken unawares he can work wonders, but taken by surprise he’s just as susceptible to a bullet as anyone and much more susceptible, he suspects, than some in his present company. Getting shot once was quite enough he decides with a smile and continues on towards where he hopes to find the leader- or at least someone who can fill him in on the plan.

[[assuming he'll reach Magneto if he's in his room and recieve orders from there but if anyone wants to run into the novice neck-snapper on the way more's merrier]]

[Magneto]

Elliot frantically ran down the long dimly lit underground hallway, a look of terror on her face as she did her best to physically search for Magneto. The underground bunker was alive with activity, mutants running to and fro, taking up positions no doubt long ago assigned to them in case of such an emergency, after all, Magneto rarely left anything to chance. The old man had been through more than anyone else here and his years of experience and failure had prepared him for almost every scenario that could be thought of....well...maybe not every one but close enough anyway. Elliot was scared...and right so, I mean, she was still just a kid and while she like most others here had had her share of bad times, this was like nothing she had ever experienced before and much like a child, she ran toward the one stable authorities figure she had....Magneto.

Magneto moved through the underground bunker, dressed as usual, cape and helmet included, pulling at the leather gloves he wore, readying himself for what he had to do. Mystique was no where in sight, but then again, any number of mutants running around could have been her, but in reality, Magneto had long sent her to secure their escape. The look on Magneto's face showed the anger which resided within the old man and the way his eyes calmly scanned over the situations before him and from the way he barked orders so precisely showed he meant business.

Elliot rounded the corner, her mind working overtime to try and do her part as she searched, but with no one to really guide her, she wasn't doing so well, perhaps the reason why she ran face first into Magneto who happened to round the same corner. "Elliot," he said rather calmly as he put both hands on the girl, taking her by the shoulders, "Boss!," she silently exclaimed, tears forming in her eyes as she threatened to break down any moment, "I...," she began but was cut short by Magneto's authoritative voice, "Focus my dear, for I want you to do exactly as I tell you," he said as he tightened his grip on her shoulders, forcing her to listen to him. "Now, head toward the helipad near the forest out back and keep these homo sapiens away from out transportation. You buy Mystique all the time she needs....okay?," he said tilting his head to the side and giving the small red haired girl a smile. Elliot couldn't help but feel relaxed, even if it was only a little, and nodded her head softly, wiping the tears from her eyes, "You got it boss," she said stepping back, letting Magneto's hands fall from her shoulders and back to his side, "Good girl," he said giving her a wink just before his little telepath bounced off past him, on her way to the helicopter.

{Mags' will be making his appearance outside shortly, just thought I give a bit of filler as to where he's at exactly and what he's doing at the moment. Don't want to bring him out too quickly because once I do I have the feeling things will begin to wind up real quick.}

[Tony Masters]

Tony Masters had been up and very much awake when the first soldiers had begun to move in towards the Brotherhood headquarters. It hadn’t interested him that much at the beginning, just listening detachedly while he meditated. Even when the first attacks had come, he hadn’t flinched.

But when a boot slammed his door open, Tony Masters awoke. Skilfully arching his back and pushing up with his legs, he soared into a backwards flip, flying over the three soldiers that had dared to trespass.

He landed gracefully next to an old coat rack and stole the startled moment to brush off his khaki pants. Today was supposed to be the day he lingered in his room and ignored the world around him. He hadn’t even bothered to change into his combat gear, which explained why his face was completely exposed to the invaders.

“An invasion force.” He mutters, unimpressed. “You guys are adorable.” Tony watches, his eyes absorbing everything from his hostile environment. The lead soldier raises his weapon, his hand twitching on the grip. Tony knew enough from experience that the subtle movements in the leader’s fingers implied—

Yep, gunfire.

The area where he had been standing explodes into splinters as Tony dodges to the left, narrowly avoiding a shot to the side. Reaching the wall, he’s suddenly very glad that despite anticipating a relaxation day, he’s still wearing a suitable pair of sneakers. He presses his sole into the peeling wallpaper and surges upward, running up the wall three steps. Reaching a suitable height, he shoves off and sail across his small room.

This time he lands in a much more beneficial location, and draws his two desert eagles from his chair slung holster. In a plit second, Tony is able to determine that they’re wearing body armour, so he aims for the assumed unprotected areas.

There’s a loud groan and hiss of pain as one bullet rips through a kneecap. Another yells as he shoots out a thigh, reducing the thick muscle to pulverized meat with three rounds. The last soldier, who is much more quick and nimble, exceeds Tony’s patience and receives a full clip to the chest.

Satisfied, Tony secures the weapons, straps on his holster harness, and pulls on his mask. If he had more time, he’d get into his battle clothing, but he doesn’t.

Cracking the butt of his pistol over the heads of the two still-conscious soldiers, Taskmaster leaves his room and enters out into the hall, guns ready. The computer built into mask immediately begins analyzing the sights and sounds around him, projecting information onto the yellow lens covering his eye.

His anger spiked and the adrenaline pumping like crazy, Taskmaster looks up and down the hall.

”Bring it, bitches.”

[Manslaughter]

Roger is not afraid.

He had watched some of the soldiers from the tiny attic window, tracing circles around his prey in the grime on the windows, singing head, shoulders, knees and toes in little more than a whisper as they fell down. One or two had writhed beneath his mental attack until all they knew was the sweet bliss of unconsciousness. He drew a frown in the circle for those--a tongue dangling from the corner, dashing two X's for eyes. "Good night..," he had sighed to them, even blowing a kiss and giving a wave that they would never see. And now Roger is waiting.

The door crashes inward easily from an unseen force beyond, but Roger does not move from his place on the window sill, curled up in the frame like a kitten. Gunfire rains into the attic, punctuated by a scream and the sickening splat of blood splots on the wall. Stab. A soldier's arm had spasmed upward with a finger on the trigger. His sergeant is dead. And the momentary shock is just long enough for Roger to disappear silently into the shadows.

----

In the darkness the one remaining exchanges wordless glances to the other that never meet. It's just a fucking kid! Pierce growls in his head, avoiding the sight of his dead comrade and whipping the endpoint of his gun across the room as a shapeless amoeba moves in the darkness with a scuttling noise, and he fires several times. The noises stop. His hands are shaking, gripping the firearm tightly and he keeps looking back to his buddy on the floor, a hole in his head where there hadn't been before. Pierce can't even reach for his comm. device to confirm Sgt. Andrews' death. He turns on his heel and rushes out of the attic.

He and Andrews had been on-and-off buddies, with late night poker games and even later night drinking. And in the end he'd killed him. His chest is shuddering to rise and fall in between heaves and gulps of air, and the aftershock settles in. He killed him..! He fucking killed hi--stab. Pierce's right foot never makes it to the top step as his left leg crumbles in a spark of agony, unbalancing his weight and making him tumble down the stairs with loud thuds and crunches. He rolls to a stop in an akward position on his back.

And then he can't move.

The boy suddenly appears in the doorway, wordlessly, splatters of blood decorating his pale skin and his hands in wet and dry patches. Pierce twitches in silent agony as his body feels like its on fire, like his skin is being burned away, he rasps angrily in the back of his throat. "...y-you..." Roger only stares and arches his eyebrows. Silently, he descends the stairs with a clumsy grace, edging forward and staring down at Pierce. He crouches low to the ground, resting his hands on his knees and letting his eyes look deep within the once-proud and boisterous soldier, now helpless and hurting.

Pierce shudders beneath the gaze.. empty, haunting..

Then Roger is sitting on Pierce's chest, knees pressed into his shoulders, hands on his sternum. For a long time he just stares, like a cat does its prey as it has it pinned beneath a paw. Then he lowers his head near Pierce's ear, whispering,"I guess I'll just have to kill you now.."

Pierce's lungs feel like they are rupturing, spasming beneath an invisible vice as he chokes and fights for air, able to raise his hand enough to grab the boy by the front of the shirt but no more. His vision is getting fuzzy around the edges and he hisses between his teeth, wheezing, gasping. Surprisingly, the boy smiles--slowly--a Cheshire Cat grin that stretches his expression in the most uncomfortable of ways.

"Bye-bye.."

-------------

Roger sits on Pierce's chest for a long while even after the soldier has stopped breathing completely. Shivers are rolling down his spine, but it excites him in ways that he has never known before. Licking his lips in anticipation, Roger slowly stands up, glancing at the gun still gripped in Pierce's hand. He shakes it from the soldier's grip, gazing at it's complexity. With a shrug he starts down the hallway, dragging the gun away with him.

[Nikkolas Blagetovich]

Humans, or homo sapiens as they're called thought so highly of themselves, they actually believed that they were the dominant species. Did they really think that they would capture the most wanted mutant in the world so easily? That they would waltz in and just take what they wanted? No, it wasn't so simple, not only would they be unsuccessful with their task, a good lot of them would die in the process.

Too bad for the intruders that Magneto was 3 steps ahead of them. As if Magneto wouldn't know of their presence, especially with his faithful psychic Rasputin was by his side. Unfortunately for the troops, Rasputin felt their gathering far before they were even ready. It wasn't pre-cog that allowed him to do this, it was their thoughts, feelings that stunk of nervousness and let their positions known. Not only did their thoughts give them away, but Magneto had his methods of always knowing what was going on in his domain.

Rasputin was down in the bunker with Magneto, carrying out any orders that the boss gave to him. Rasputin was by Magneto's side, ready and waiting for anything he might need. At the moment, Rasputin was listening to some of the solders thoughts, seeing if they were plotting anything else. Humans were sneaky little things, and always had an unpleasant surprise up their sleeves. The Brotherhood would be ready though, no matter what they could muster.

Damn, these mutants were prepared. I've already lost most of my unit, and my ammos running low. The thoughts of one of the captains echoed in Rasputin's head. This man was suffering greatly, not only was fear besting him, but he was wounded by a little shard of metal. "Captain, are you alright? The perimeter is secure, we're ready to advance." One of the captain's solders Mutant scum, I can't wait until we find this Bucket Head. One of the captain's subordinates thoughts now could be heard. Rasputin would not let such an insult be dealt to Magneto and the mutants. They were not scum. Rasputin quickly melded with the captain, he didn't put up much of a fight. The captain was under Rasputin's control momentarily, and he forced the man to talk. "Solider, give me a grenade, and face forward." The possessed captain ordered, and the solider quickly followed orders. The solider turned and the possessed captain limply took the pin out of the grenade and shoved it in his bullet-proof vest. Rasputin ended the meld, only to feel the house above them rock with an explosion. A sadistic smile rolled over his face, and he awaited further orders.

[Primer]

[[The Brotherhood members need to learn to be team players oh my brothers in evilness. Taskmaster and I are going to team up and kick ass. Anyone else want to come? ]]

”Bring it, bitches.”

As if in a particularly anti-climactic response to his invitation Primer ambles around the corner, gun warily pointed ahead of him. He pulls up short, recognizing his rather foul mouthed brother in terrorism from glimpses during their daily traversing of the house and arches his eyebrows, lowering the rifle. “Sorry, just me. Haven’t met any of our guests since they stormed my room.” he says, looking rather more exasperated than anything else at the memory.

Primer had reached Magneto’s quarters a few minutes ago only to find them empty and had been at a loss as to what to do after making this discovery- engage? Go back to his room and wait for orders? Start breakfast since he was awake anyway? It was, all in all, rather exasperating making the option of engaging the enemy much more appealing, especially now that he’d found another member of the Brotherhood whose mask might just serve a useful purpose.

“I’m Primer, I don’t believe we’ve been formally introduced… and by the way that lovely mask you’re wearing wouldn’t happen to feature a toxin filter would it?” he grins, a plan starting to formulate in his mind. Time to clean house.

[Manslaughter]

(Why not? I'll join in. Everybody loves them some Roger.)

I’m Primer, I don’t believe we’ve been formally introduced… and by the way that lovely mask you’re wearing wouldn’t happen to feature a toxin filter would it?

He appears around the opposite corner in silence, obviously tugging and dragging the firearm he has grasped in one hand with some difficulty. Noticeably, he is splattered with blood, and even Roger's hair is blood flecked, some of the short, spiky strands stuck together like paint and bristles. His eyes rove carefully from Taskmaster to Primer, having met both of them before on completely different occasions in relatively opposite locations. "....they got in the attic," Roger announces suddenly, letting his brows rise slightly.

Still dragging the gun--endpoint down--he carefully nears the two, his peripheral influence dampening the sound of the gun scraping across rug and wood. "I found a gun," Roger says, almost proudly, as though he had looked long and for it, when in actuality, he had only exerted the minimum amount of effort it required, albeit it had killed a man in the process.

"He made me do it..," he adds softly, as though the two would know exactly what he was talking about it while he shifts the gun around in the palm of his hand. "He could have run away.. but he didn't."

[Sherridan Kaine]

In the silence, the one left soldier turns frantically, searching for the invisible killer, the one who is responsible for the death of five other members of his small team. It was supposed to be an easy surprise attack, from the rear, where no one expected them. But now, he thought that their attack was extremely obvious. After all, were not all sieges based on the concept of the "back-door attack"?

He hears a rustle, and turns around, his finger letting loose a barrage, hoping that he kills his enemy. As the gunfire subsides, he tries to see if there is a still body on the ground. By the time he realizes it, it is too late. There is a hand whose fingers end in five deadly claws around his neck. A voice, one sounding very sophisticated, that of an intellectual, says, "You need to be careful when hunting for a nocturnal hunter in the middle of the night, my friend. He might just turn up behind you." and then the claws are gone.

With one move of surgical precision, a trail of blood appears on the soldier's throat as he collapses onto the ground, joining his teammates in eternal heroic slumber. The backyard of the mansion suddenly is covered in a veil of ominous silence, a thick sheet of death and utter absence of sound which serves as a blanket to the six fallen men, the only humanoids, alive or dead, remaining in that area.

---

Just as Roger finishes his explanation of how the soldier could have run away, steps from behind them announce the presence of another. The steps are leisurely, but loud, perhaps due to the fact that the feet which are making them are in brand new black shoes.

"Good to see that the leader chose competent individuals as his followers." Sherridan says, adjusting the black tie, which goes along with the black button-up shirt and black Armani suit. His golden blond hair is well combed, and sparkling clean, and there is not a single trace of blood on any part of his skin, or, rather, fur, which is now presenting his favorite pattern- white tiger.

He smiles lightly, obviously quite happy that the brotherhood is under invasion. After all, it is a rare opportunity for the cat-man to further exact his revenge on the humans. His slitted blue eyes radiate an emotion rarely seen- a bloodlust and sadistic glee at the imminent demise of those who thought they could win over the brotherhood so easily.

He nods curtly to Taskmaster and Roger, and then turns to Primer, whom he has not yet met, but knows allot about, if not from the other's own fame, than from his research. Sherridan's free time has always been spent looking up and researching the most obscure of details on those around him.

His smile widens a small portion, revealing a row of pearly white fangs. "It is a pleasure to meet you finally, Primer. I must say that the work you have done as Sean Garrison is quite remarkable. My name is Ferus, and the name I use when interacting with humans on friendly occasions would be Sherridan Kaine." he introduces himself, but offers no hand to shake.

[Tony Masters]

Things certainly could be worse...much worse. Taskmaster (or Tony, but that's a name that, so far, only he knows of) could be without his mask, his guns, and maybe naked. And stuck on a desert island with lack of said items and clothing. And with Screech from Saved by the Bell. God, he hated that show.

But things were still bad. There he was with only his mask, two desert eagles with two extra clips, his khaki pants, a blue knitted shirt, and a pair of sneakers to his name. No body armour, no katana, no combat clothing, and it felt like he only had half of his dignity left. But latter would easily be topped off after he'd thrown a few skulls into a few walls.

His mask blinks at him insistently, warning of a slow approaching heat signature. Whirling around with both pistols training on the bend in the hall, Taskmaster breathes slow and careful, slowing his heart rate so that he isn't so jumpy. He squints as the toe of a shoe pokes around the corner, then a military rifle and then--

Well, those certainly are not battle-worthy combats...

“Sorry, just me. Haven’t met any of our guests since they stormed my room.” Taskmaster hasn't really met the older man, but he had seen him and knew of him. Business-type, controlled people through the use of pheromones, and by the way he holds his acquired weapon, definitely not someone used to a battle situation. Yep, definitely could still be worse...

"I suppose that's a bonus. Had three try to get me," Then with a smirk behind his mask, "Bad aim though. Speaking of which, aim from the shoulder, not from the...uh," He has no idea exactly what the man was trying to accomplish by holding his gun there. "You'll be more accurate that way." Taskmaster was good, but he wasn't good enough to take out an entire army alone. He'd have to take all the Brotherhood junkies where he could get them, no matter how untrained they were in the use of basic weaponry. "How many shots do you have left?" After a pause, he makes sure to add a quick "Counter's above your right hand." The glowing display shouldn't be that hard to find, even for the untrained eye.

“I’m Primer, I don’t believe we’ve been formally introduced… and by the way that lovely mask you’re wearing wouldn’t happen to feature a toxin filter would it?”

"Taskmaster, and if the situation were any friendlier, I'd say it's nice to meet you. And yes, in fact, it does. I sound like Darth Vader when it's on though, just in case heavy breathing annoys you." No matter the scenario, some level of comedy could always be had. "Looks like you've got a plan," And no doubt, Taskmaster was thinking precisely the same thing. He truly did enjoy intelligent company, something that was hard to come by in the Brotherhood.

"....they got in the attic," He'd seen the additional presence of the teen in his mask's infrared scanner long before he'd spoken.

"You alright, kid? None of that blood is yours...right?" And he almost adds a 'Woah! Watch where you're pointing that bloody thing!' as the muzzle swings over his foot.

"I found a gun,"

"Right, and you're gonna want to hold it like this." Ensuring that the safety's on, Taskmaster reaches out and pulls the barrel upwards, readjusting the rifle in Roger's hands. "And just don't shoot anyone that looks like a friendly." Oh god...he does know what a 'friendly' is right?

"He could have run away.. but he didn't." Death did not settle well with him, but in the case of Roger, it was completely understandable.

"No worries, kid. We all have to do it eventually."

"Good to see that the leader chose competent individuals as his followers."
Yeah, and you wouldn't be one of them. He'd better not get blood on my pants. I like these pants. Taskmaster waits with reasonable patience as Sherridan introduces himself.

"Hate to break up the party, folks, but there's about three hundred soldiers out there wanting to turn us into those nice little sandwich-sized slices of swiss cheese. So if you don't mind, I'd like to get out of here reasonably soon, because, you know, I like my ass the way it looks now. Bullet holes just don't go with khaki. I'm sure you understand." Frantic isn't in his vocabulary, so Taskmaster instead comes off as even and steady. Perhaps a touch of annoyance towards Sherridan, but otherwise he's smooth and calm. With a nod of a desert eagle toward the far end of the hall, he sets off and leads the way.

[Magneto]

The assault on the Brotherhood wasn't exactly falling into place for the Strikeback ground troops, but then again, this was the Brotherhood they were attacking. The mutants here gave a crap about homo sapien lives and if the black-ops faction wished to gain any leverage and foothold in this battle, then more fitting soldiers would be needed...lucky for Strikeback, that alpha team was just that sort of bunch. The small genetically enhanced group didn't look like much, but believe me, the Brotherhood might actually be forced to put forth some effort now. Brick, a rather large man with arms the size of tree trunks and a chest as big as a VW Beetle, stood in front of three others, each different in their own way. Speed, a young woman who stood a little over five feet tall, twitched anxiously just behind Brick, darting from left to right in the blink of an eye, eager to get out onto the battlefield and show these mutant freaks just who was better equipped for this shit; Lumno, a middle aged man with silver short hair and white glowing eyes, whose skin emitted some sort of silver white glow (a mutation which had something to do with manipulating light waves no doubt); and Sydney, a small girl in her teens who seemed to project her aura into a some strange form of body armor around her. All these "new mutants" as some of the other soldiers called them, had under went a process involving a serum which seemed to active dormant mutant genes in homo sapiens and were also the pride and joy of project: Strikeback.

Brick chewed on cigar stub and smiled as he tapped the large ear receiver in his right ear. He had just gotten word to move in and clean up the mutant threat, news which he quickly relayed to the others with a short series of hand signals, before spitting the cigar stub on the ground.

(Okay, these four will be the main threat for the Brotherhood. See fit to rp them at will but remember they will be tough, so make it good and if you want, feel free to kill them.....if story and time permits.)

[Primer]

"I suppose that's a bonus. Had three try to get me,"

“I got four myself. Wonder if I should be flattered?” Primer muses looking rather wryly amused. Truthfully he wasn’t all that blasé about armed soldiers storming his room, it wasn’t something you got used to in the world of a self-help mogul no matter how demented fans, or even clients, could occasionally be. Still, his livelihood for many years had depended on his ability to keep his emotions under control and to project convincingly both in terms of pheromone and appearance.

"Bad aim though. Speaking of which, aim from the shoulder, not from the...uh… You'll be more accurate that way. How many shots do you have left? …Counter's above your right hand."

The gun is switched somewhat hesitantly to the suggested position, fingers skittering a bit on the plastic and then readjusting their grip. “There, should be good enough not to hit you or myself at least.” he decides ruefully, perfectly willing to admit he has no idea how to manage a gun with any sort of finesse. He has his own special talents after all. “It’s fully loaded. She didn’t get off any shots.” he adds quietly.

"Taskmaster, and if the situation were any friendlier, I'd say it's nice to meet you. And yes, in fact, it does. I sound like Darth Vader when it's on though, just in case heavy breathing annoys you. Looks like you've got a plan,"

He smiles both at the jokes and the other mutant’s calmly capable air even under stress, feeling pretty good about his decision to look for other members of the brotherhood now. His mouth is starting to open to go over the sketches of a plan that are forming in his mind when he sees Taskmaster react to a noise that he himself, less aware than the trained fighter, hasn’t picked up on yet, his mouth closes slowly and he turns to see Manslaughter shuffling towards them looking just as dreamily sociopathic as ever, with the rather disquieting addition of a gun.

"....they got in the attic…I found a gun…He made me do it…He could have run away.. but he didn't."

The childish tones sing-songing breathily about the deaths he’s just caused would unnerve people, and some part of Primer is rather unnerved but most of him is amused. Against his better judgment and despite his usual distaste for anyone younger than twenty he’s rather fond of the little psycho, he brings a much needed sense of comedy to the terrorist organization, though it seems Taskmaster may be helpful in that area if initial impressions are anything to go by. He raises his eyebrows at Taskmaster over the boy’s head as the masked-man gives part two of his preliminary weapons speech to the young mutant. “Hello Manslaughter. Come out to play with us?” he adds as his own greeting, giving the boy a friendly smile. Again he gets ready to head out, but again more footsteps interrupt their progress as a vaguely familiar and- Primer notes with approval- meticulously groomed and expensively dressed man with obviously feline aspects strolls down the hallway towards them.

"It is a pleasure to meet you finally, Primer. I must say that the work you have done as Sean Garrison is quite remarkable. My name is Ferus, and the name I use when interacting with humans on friendly occasions would be Sherridan Kaine."

The flattery from a fellow mutant and, as he knows after he hears the name, fellow business man, is obviously not unappreciated and Primer grins broadly. “Ah, your reputation precedes you, though I’d no idea you’d been associating with Magneto. I’ll return the compliment by hoping that you take care of yourself tonight, your company’s stock is doing wonders for my portfolio.” he says lightly.

"Hate to break up the party, folks, but there's about three hundred soldiers out there wanting to turn us into those nice little sandwich-sized slices of swiss cheese. So if you don't mind, I'd like to get out of here reasonably soon, because, you know, I like my ass the way it looks now. Bullet holes just don't go with khaki. I'm sure you understand."

Primer snickers appreciatively and swings into a loping walk behind Taskmaster, calling over his shoulder to the other two mutants-

“He’s immune to my pheromones with that mask but you two aren’t. Stay back and pick off targets from a distance or just stay as far away from me as you can. If you start feeling strangely don’t assume it’s the fight- yell at me and drop back.”

---
The Brotherhood invasion was not going as well as had been hoped. Fury, their best commander, was with the Institute team and the soldiers had been deployed too early, they’d counted on more time to train. Pierce, Grisham, and their squads were confirmed down, two more teams were MIA. They’d made some hits but to seriously weaken the Brotherhood more would be needed.

Thank Heaven for MGH Peter Sullivan thinks as he pounds up the stairs, feeling much more secure than on his first sweep of the building with Brick, Speed, Lumno, and Sydney right behind him. One kickass security blanket. He’s volunteered to go back in for this second sweep after his squad was scattered as a scout and rear-guard for the MGH team, stand behind them and yell if any mutants try to sneak up on the battle from behind. Mostly it’s just an excuse to see the infamous four in action. Who says Air Force gets the best toys? He swings around the corner and spots a group of four heading through the halls towards them.

“Enemy ahead!” he yells, ducking down and back to make way for the MGH team who go barreling past him to engage…

[Manslaughter]

Right, and you're gonna want to hold it like this. And just don't shoot anyone that looks like a friendly. The boy's body moves fluidly with Taskmaster's aid, and Roger's body sags beneath the weapon, obviously not used to carrying much more than his own body weight. He says nothing, but lets his eyes follow Taskmaster's nimble fingers and seemingly appears to listen to his instructions.

Roger marvels over the gun again, attracted by the bits of metal that glint in the light or blinking buttons. Hello Manslaughter. Come out to play with us? He lets his eyes travel up from the gun to Primer's face, tilting his head to one side. His facial muscles slowly pull back into a maniac grin. "Yes.. Manslaughter has come out to play now..," he almost purrs with satisfaction, a glint in his eye revealing that a connection between the pleasure of causing these soldiers pain and having the free will to do so are making a link between themselves.

Quietly, he stands and listens to the others, offering no input that might have or might not have been helpful. When they start to move, he follows.

He follows in suit after the other three, lagging behind slightly as the gun causes him to almost topple off balance, pressing down on his shoulder like a cement block. Roger blinks slowly as feelings of racing heartbeats pulse around him, and he's suddenly vaguely aware of some more being added to the fray. Enemy ahead! His gaze snaps up and his body stiffens at the sound of the soldier yelling, watching as four people come rushing at them. But this is not where his eyes travel first.. they first travel to the soldier, watching as he ducks out of the way.

"Not nice to leave the game early..," Roger says in a chiding tone under his breath, his mind searching for the soldier's psyche and almost casually reaching out to stab his knee and forehead, respectively, several times. Then his jaw goes slack slightly at the matter at hand, stumbling into the wall as he forgets the weight of the gun.

[Nikkolas Blagetovich]

There is all sorts of action going on up stairs. The brother hood was proving to be quite a force to be reckoned with, they wouldn't lay down as this happened. The Strikeback team would loose huge numbers before they even reached Magneto.

Rasputin was keeping a very close watch, well 'mind', on the action going on up stairs. He tried his hardest from bellow to foil the solders' from harming his 'brothers', though he was doing very little. They took on the troops with utmost ease, Primer, Manslaughter, Ferus, and Taskmaster were kicking ass.

Rasputin also kept Magneto informed of any action that was important. The old man was always thinking, and Rasputin was sure he was formulating a plan. It was just a matter of time before he gave Rasputin an order, or something to tell the brothers above.

He felt the four brothers gathering above, they were teaming up now to prepare for the solders' next wave of attack. Four 'super' solders were coming, and he would inform them of it. He attempted to link his mind enough to the brother hood members above.

<Do not be alarmed, I am Rasputin. I am below with Magneto, I've been trying to help you as much as I can down here. There are four 'super' solders infiltrating the house as I speak. Be prepared, they are different. Just let me know if there is some way I can assist you, I've been taking some of the solders' minds and forcing them to kill each other.> His strong Russian accent was very noticeable even through his telepathy.