1963-06-12 - Mutant Massacre
Summary: A group of protesters of all colors and creed come to speak out against the death of Linda McVie.
Related: If there are no related logs, put 'None', — please don't leave blank!
Theme Song: None
amara bucky darwin ford gambit erik raven warren nightcrawler simon 

"History repeats itself. First as tragedy, second as farce." — Karl Marx

7:37 PM

It's that sticky sort of hot that only seems to happen in this city, at this time of the year, when no one is really ready for the onslaught of the season, the full force of summer. To move down the sidewalk is to feel like wading through water; a continual push upstream with no end in sight and no victory readily attainable no matter which way you push.

Pardon the heavy handedness, but tempers are rising with the temperature as well.

Sticky young people in their plain white t-shirts and denim, some with military style coats one only sees in the village or the streets of Prague, others wearing beatnik styles with horizontal stripes or plain black, pound away at bongos as the people chant chant chant.

Some of them are mutants, readily visible by their noticeable mutations. Some look like animals, others look like monstrosities and they are all the ones your mother may have warned you about. The ones who stick to their part of the city because it's more socially acceptable to do so, and more comfortable.

The crowd is being held back by white barricades with orange diagonal stripes painted across. Police with batons in their hands and guns in their holsters look intimidating as they block the wide steps into the precinct.

The crowd is upset, and who could blame them? Another mutant dead, this one a 15 year old little girl. Linda McVie deserved better than that, no matter what she was accused with, and so did the countless other mutants, blacks, hispanics, gays, communists, and any other victims who have been gotten rid of because they were different.

The officer, Joseph Gates, is on administrative duty until the investigation is complete, but the crowd has heard this one before. And before that, and before that, and before that. The way this tends to go is the police quiet the masses down with talk about justice being served and a few weeks later there's a small snippet on the back page that announces the officer has been cleared.

It's not good enough for the hundreds of protesters anymore either.


Ford checked his equipment in the alley way towards the far side of the block the precinct was located on. His motorcycle leaned against the alley wall, keys in the ignition, ready to be driven off at a moments notice. He knew today would see one less cop walking the streets. One less bit of corruption removed from the city.

It was nothing new. He'd done this before.

But this… this was daring. Almost to the point of stupidity. But the police needed to see just how unsafe they were when not abiding by their own laws. The little girl… Ford's adoptive father… this had to end. And Ford planned to prove it. The task was simple; bust into the police station, somehow, find the officer responsible, shoot him, and hightail it to safety. Of course, an easier task said than done. After all, he was /breaking into a police station/ and planning to commit homicide. Or, rather, "The Ego" was about to. Slipping his mask over his head, he had to chuckle internally at what he'd become. Some would call it a bad guy. After all, he was killing police and city officials.

He'd let the crowd gathered out front decide that when he was finished. Checking all of his gadgets one more time, Ford raising his grappling hook and launched it quietly to the roof several stories above him, the device retracting quickly and pulling him up the side. This was it… no going back now.


If only a gathering like this wasn't mounted in tragedy. Raven looks on to the mounting protesting crowd with a slight bit of awe and the rest reservation. You pile anyone into groups, coupled with the summers heat and lack of water and attention and things can get bad. Really fast.

Raven, however, wasn't Raven. She wasn't out there letting her freak flag fly. In fact, she took up the name of Babs Rute who was seventy years young. And a little bit rotund. Perhaps she over did it, chocolate brown skin with stark white hair, basket in hand to hand out little cups of ice cold water to those who were near. Wrapped sandwiches and baggies filled with fried chips. This was the extent of her humanitarian ways. Giving food and water to the young to cool the tempers, all the while scanning the crowd to ensure that there is peace, and to be the first one there just in case it jumps off.

"Now now child. Granny's here. Eat this peanut butter sammich and go sit yo' tail down somewhere.." 'Babs' rolls her eyes playfully at a youngin', then keeps moving through the crowd. If it wasn't for her big ol' kaboose knocking folks over as she squeezes through, most people wouldn't even notice her.


Its hot. Terribly hot. Hot enough to warrant the addition of a straw hat to shade his face. Erik Lensherr did not come here alone, and with sweat dripping down his neck not entirely from the soupy heat, he glances toward the young man and woman who came with him.

"We stick together, no matter what." Behind his sunglasses, there's a pensive expression that is turned back toward the massing crowd of protestors. "Pray that the situation doesn't grow out of hand, but if it does, remember this; if you use your powers, you will become a target. Not everyone here is of likeminded intent."

With a motion of his hand, Erik directs Amara and Warren toward a crosswalk. There, on the other side of the street, they are able to get a better view of the police building and whatever may take place at the front lines.

Parking the car nearby had proven impossible. If it comes to it, they will simply have to escape on foot.


The run-in with the police officer/blue woman/blonde woman certainly scared him enough to lay low. No more exploring New York. Not in the daylight. Instead, Kurt Wagner has taken to doing most of his exploration at night. As recommended. When he heard about the protest, however, he thought it might be a good idea to check it out. He's keeping away from the crowds, however, and is perched, much like a gargoyle, on the precipice of one of the nearby buildings.

It's a good thing he isn't in the crowds — wearing his trench coat and hat in this heat could be dangerous and at the very least unocomfortable.


Among the obvious mutations is a tall, thin presence of greyish skin, and overlong arms that seem out of place. White, featureless eyes. Armando Munoz- also known as Darwin, the Evolving Boy- a mutant who is known at least among the scientific communities of the world, and more recently the Librarians of New York City stands quiet. He's well dressed- button-up shirt, a belt, slacks, and Oxfords without brogue- classic clothing. At 6'4" he stands taller than so many of the less obvious mutants, and normal humans. He comes simply for solidarity- a peaceful young man at heart. "We can only hope that the will of the people impresses upon those in power that we are not a danger or a threat to anyone." he says- more to himself, than any one in particular. Unlike so many- he didn't sweat. He seemed comfortable, dry- perfectly comfortable in the sweltering heat- a result of his body being in a constant state of reactive evolution.


Since she left Nova Roma, Amara has been staying at the school in Westchester. She needed to get a handle on her powers, to make sure she could be at least mostly in control, before she could try to venture into New York. Erik's warning gets a concerned look from the young Nova Roman, but she nods her understanding. She certainly doesn't stand out at the moment, except maybe for the tunic dress that doesn't exactly conform to modern fashion.

"Who are the police meant to be responsible to?" she asks as she follows, a genuine question. "Is there not a council or a senate of some sort to whom they answer?"


Warren is dressed down today, trying to draw as little attention to himself as possible. Even with as hot as it is, he wears a leather jacket over his college lacrosse t-shirt. Otherwise a pair of flared blue jeans and aviator sunglasses top off his current ensemble. While there is a little wince and a crane of his neck in discomfort, he carries on.

"Understood," he speaks in response to Erik, glancing in his direction briefly before lifting a hand to wipe some sweat off his brow. "Damn I can't wait for Fall." This is more offhanded, of course, but he does cocentrate on what's at hand and moves in the prescribed direction.

Looking back to Amara, the tall blond man gives her his most charming smile. That good ol' Worthington smile. "It'll be alright," he reassures. "Just keep your cool and watch." Another glance is given to Erik then that isn't quite as confident.


High above and on the rooftops, Ford can feel the breeze that breaks the heat from down below, providing some sense of clarity. Whether or not he chooses to change his mind as he looks down at the protesters, well, that's his decision. However, no one seems to notice him.

All eyeballs seem to be focused on the people down below, and on one man in particular who seems to be leading this parade. He stands on the barricade and every time he loses his balance, people reach up to keep him standing. He's yelling into a megaphone about the need to stand up against hypocrisy.

As 'Granny' slides her ass against Remy LeBeau, the latter can't help but grin and give her an upwards nod. "Raven, ole Remy be lookin' at your rump just the other day, and sure as I live it seemed three bits smaller. Y'all been eatin' too much cake." He gives her a wink, not bothering to wear glasses to hide his red and black eyes.

Erik, Warren, and Amara will be somewhat frustrated in his attempt to get close. People started coming two hours before the posted time on the leaflets that were passed out, so there are a ton of people pressed up, chanting and yelling.

Nightcrawler happens to be watching the scenes below on the same building that the Ego is now moving towards the end of. If the mutant is careful and quiet, he may just hear someone coming.

"Hell yeah," says one beatnik standing next to Darwin. "And if they don't, then fuck em." The man with a wide mustache and hint of a goatee nods under his painter's hat and goes back to screaming about oppression.

Finally, someone comes out of the precinct. An official wearing a suit, but a badge over his lapel. Immediately the crowd begins booing their heads off. He raises his hands, trying at length to shout his response, but people are drowning him out.


Ford moved carefully across the roof, appreciating the cool wind and trying to stay focused on what he had to do. This wasn't something he had rationalized or argued with himself on. It was revenge, pure and simple. He had no illusions of "standing up for the little guy" or "being a champion for true justice". He was just some asshole with a lot of brains and no survival instinct.

Ford inspected the top of the precinct, checking to see for any windows he could slip in through. Once a target was found, he'd hook his grapple onto the side of the roof edge and clamber down and inside… assuming he could. After all, it was a police station… they surely had some form of security waiting for him.

And lord knows a guy trying to climb into a police station window had to draw the attention of /someone/…


There's a figure in the air, a tall man with blue-black air, a red coat and red sunglasses. A person, flying! The figure circles over the crowd and then tries to find a place to land near the precinct. Rather than speak to the official, though, he looks to the crowd. "Please disperse!" Simon shouts, but if anyone hears him is questionable. He waves his hands in an attempt to get the protesters' attention. "Please disperse!"


The last of the cold drinks were handed out as well as the peanut butter sandwiches. The basket remained empty of food, clear and free for the two kongsberg to be easily reached that lays at the bottom. Nevermind the MK III's that rest against the side. Remy's ol' croon has her stopping in her tracks, her head craning up towards him as her back hunches ever so slightly. "Now now chile'.. it ain' swell of you to comment on a lady's kaboose." She reaches back to give that extra addage of her a good ol' slap, at least to try to make him uncomfortable.

There was a benefit to being in a crowd of those who were just like you, no one notices the change as she finally fills out her natural form, the blue skinned woman soon turning towards Remy to check the basket and remove the contents in the guise of a leaned whisper and cover. "Start moving to the front." She states, drawing away to clasp his arm, her yellow eyed gaze soon scanning the crowd as she begins to push through the bodies with intent to reaching the front. It doesn't suprise her to see Erik in attendance, that alone causes her hackles to raise and those assumed defenses to rise right up. If he's here? Where's her brother?

"Remy!" She calls out, but the cacophonic boos and the arrival of Simon pretty much drowns her out.


"The police are held to the same standard of law as everyone else," Erik tells Amara. "To a higher degree, even. They are charged with upholding the law, setting an example." He looks back toward the front, frowning thoughtfully. "Unfortunately, history has proven that not every man who wears the badge truly understands the great responsibility that comes with the uniform."

Warren is gauged with a level of both appreciation and concern. Appreciation for his kind and encouraging words to Amara; concern for the man himself. One bad slip and the exposure of his God-given wings could create pandemonium.

With the commencement of booing, Erik frowns deeper still. Their vantage point here is not ideal, so he begins looking around and upward to see if there isn't a better spot from which to stage their surveillance. In that regard, he isn't looking at the crowd when Raven transforms.


"I've done a lot of reading on the methods of civil disobedience used by Mahatma Gandhi." Darwin offers to the beatnik, "If it turns to violence, we lose. We have to be above their methods, even when we're angry. Especially when we're angry." he says with a quiet smile to the mustachioed man. "Thanks for coming out, by the way. Your support means a lot to those of us who can't hide what we are." he states- eyes focused front and center. "I know its not just about us, but I've never seen so many people come out in support of mutant rights. Its.. really touching and it fills me with a lot of hope." And Darwin knows that hope saves lives. Hope, with all its promises. "Hey, who's that flying guy?" the teen mutant wonders next, looking up towards the red-coated man.


Nightcrawler wasn't expecting to hear anyone else on the roof with him and he glances around the corner to catch sight of the other figure grappling down. This…doesn't seem right. There's a flying man telling everyone to disperse, so maybe…maybe he won't be noticed. He leaps off of his perch towards the other, moving to grab him and teleport in a flash of smoke and brimstone, to the roof of the building. Away from the grapple and further away from anything bad that could happen.

He hopes.

"What are you doing?" is asked with his German accented English.


Amara frowns slightly at Erik's answer, mulling it over. "This is an angry crowd," she points out as quietly as she can, staying close to Erik and Warren as the crowd presses tighter. "I've seen this in the arena at home. They'll look for blood." The shouting, flying man gets a surprised look as she tilts her head back, brows furrowing again. "That seems…unwise."


"It's a good thing I bring at least a little credibility to you scallywags then," Warren notes offhand, looking sidelong to both Erik and Amara. A soft laugh nervous emits from his lips then. While he might try for levity, the air is heavy with tension and the crowd to get much closer is starting to feel just slightly claustrophobic. It's true. One slip of that harness and those dove white wings would draw a completely unfortunate amount of attention to the trio.

Another look is given to Erik, of course, silently communicating that perhaps he is thinking the same thing about his God-given wings. Still, he puts on a brave face for Amara and gives her a gentle incline of his head. "I hope you're wrong. Maybe they're just trying to figure out who has the loudest voice right now. Still…"

While he might have said something else, the blond man turns his aviator shades to the heavens and can't help but be envious of the flying man. He watches Simon for several moments and once more speaks quietly to Amara and Erik. "Guy's got some serious moxie, that's for sure." That envy does creep into his tone a little. Oh how he'd love for his wings to be unfettered to feel the wind rush through them. "Not much style, though."


Kurt arrives on the rooftop, just as Ford is making his exit. The Ego zips across expanse between buildings, high over the crowds, but no one seems to notice except for the German mutant. Because it's so warm, many of the windows in the building are open. Some of them have cops inside who are watching what is happening, but there are many that get him inside. The one he happens to choose is into the restroom, which is currently unoccupied. However, the Ego certainly heard the comment just before he took flight, and is sure that he's been spotted.

Simon gets little to no love from the crowd. Most don't notice him, but those who do, don't seem to pay him any heed. Worse, there's even a college age man with thick rimmed glasses and a patchy beard who even tries to spit on him!

Raven gets a nod from Remy as it's clear the young woman is not in the joking mood, she's in the commanding mood. "Always did love me a woman who gives de orders." He's doing as she asked, moving towards the front, near the barricades, slithering through between people, always with an 'scuse me' or 'pard/on/' for each person he mashes into.

As Erik begins to look for a better spot, he'll notice that there is a shift in the mood of the crowd. The young man standing upon the barricade has begun to try and help quiet the crowd in the belief that whatever the officer has to say might prove beneficial. It would be sporting at least. Eventually, more and more people begin to fall quiet.

"Aint no thing," says the beatnik to Darwin and slaps him heartily on the back. "We're all in this fight together. A few years ago I saw a mutant get lynched down in North Carolina. Some shit, man, some shit."

As Erik gets Warren and Amara to a slightly better spot, they will watch as the officer (Precinct Captain Oldenburg) is beckoning for the 'leader' to come upon the steps with him. With a little assistance, the kid in the green drab coat and glasses makes it down onto the steps without falling, and the crowd elicits a major cheer.

The young man hands the Captain the megaphone. "Listen! We know you are upset! We're upset too! We want to get to the bottom of this and figure out what happened!"

Amongst boos, the younger man takes the megaphone back and shouts so that the crowd can hear in this makeshift debate. "We've heard it all before, man. We've heard it when Sween killed, we heard it when Coen killed, and we heard it when Dearing killed. We're not gonna take it anymore."

With the megaphone again, the Captain tries to speak above the boos. "All we're asking for is a bit more time!"

Now the megaphone is wrested out of the hands of the Captain by the young man.

"Your time is all up! Proletariat of New York rise up! Mutants! Blacks! Everyone! You have nothing to lose but your chains and leashes!"

There's a loud popping sound and the front row against the barricade gets spattered full of blood. The Captain falls down the steps, wide eyed and dead, a hole just above his forehead bleeds down over the front of his face and he tumbles right into the back of the legs of his riot policemen. Behind him, a smoking pistol and the young college student.

Someone starts screaming and the crowd is stunned. For a moment.


Ford snarled, before zipping across and crashing into the unoccupied bathroom. Somebody knew he was here… dang it! No, no, keep calm. A minor setback. But at the popping shot of a gun outside, Ford blinked, before looking back out and seeing the ensuing mess as some college kid blows a hole in the captain's head. "Idiot… but I suppose this works to my advantage."

Ford quickly surveyed the empty bathroom and readied his equipment. No doubt, the station would be full of hurried cops looking to quiet the mess outside. Ford only cared about one: his target. The little brat outside wasn't solving anything by killing the captain. Whether he'd done anything corrupt or not, Ford couldn't be sure, but if he was, he hadn't acted on it. This officer - HIS officer - had. Ford grasped hold of his Pulzer and his Cryospray, making sure his Haze Maker was set and his gasmask and goggles on standby. This was going to be quick, dirty and not the fun kinds either. Taking in another breath, Ford looked through the bathroom door, before pushing out once the coast was clear.


Remy was moving. But not quite fast enough for Raven. As the boy and the Captain take to the stage, she threw all caution out of the window, using a man's shoulders to boost herself over his head, landing atop of another with a brief tap of her foot and a aerial upon the ground.

'You have nothing to lose but your chains and leashes!'

Raven cleared the barricade just in time to hear the gunshot blast, see the vacant eyes of the police Captain as he falls to the ground dead. The shock and screams do not deter her, but it changes her priority in an instant. She immediately crouches to the ground.. yes.. while out in the open, two of her pistols snapped out that she tucked upon her person as she fires two well placed shot towards the college boy's knees. Better that, than having his back and head blown off from behind. (WE HOPE!)

"COVER ME." This was about to get ugly. But she had to get the boy out of there asap. The fool.


"Damn it!" Simon shouts, but he can't do anything about the now-dead officer. What he can do, though, is give the protesters a target to shoot at until they're out of bullets. So, he moves quickly to try to snatch up the young man who may or may not be the leader of the crowd. Assuming he does, he will drift well above arms'-length of everyone - especially the riot police - and give the man a good shake.


With a sharp look toward the flying figure, Erik verbalizes his agreement. "Most unwise," he answers Amara. "Over there." He nods his head toward an outcropping, where a handful of onlookers have climbed a cement wall in order to have a better view of what's going on.

Erik is the first to go up. Once upon the outcropping, he offers a hand toward Amara and Warren, whomever should choose to climb up next.

"Bravery doesn't mean a thing if it goes with stupidity," he tells Warren. If there is a part of Erik that appreciates Simon's moxie, it does not find display here today.

The exchange between protest leader and Captain Oldberg is watched silently, with a tension along Erik's jaw that draws his teeth to grind. When the blast goes off, however, his shaded eyes are not upon the Captain, but rather fixed upon the blue woman who just leapt over the barricade. "Oh my god." His eyes go wide.

Without thinking, Erik raises his hands, stretched out toward Raven. He can feel the bullets as they rip across the landscape; a little push and he hopes they might go wide, missing their target. Regardless of the effect, a quick tug of his hands backward and an invisible force makes to rip those pistols out of Raven's hands, with a strength nearly impossible to overcome. He won't draw the pistols to himself, but rather, up into the air and far away from here.


Darwin smiles to the beatnik, nodding quietly. "Its a crazy and dangerous world right now…oh.. Oh no." Darwin's hope is dashed, and he stares in horror as he witnesses a murder. "This is bad.." he says- whispering quietly now to himself. Still- changes are afoot. The press of people would begin to panic- that rising panic, anger and fear would lead to more deaths. To more pain. He rushes forward to place himself between the police and the crowd. His back is to the police, his arms are outstretched to try and protect the cops- and keep the crowd from murdering themselves on the bullets of police. "PLEASE!" he shouts, "WE ARE BETTER THAN THIS!" He closes his eyes as he throws himself into the fray. "PLEASE! WE ARE NOT ANIMALS- WE ARE MEN. WE ARE PEOPLE. WE ARE BETTER THAN THIS!"

It May be too late. It may have gone to hell already- but Darwin wasn't willing to give up his hope. Never again could he do that. Survival means calming the crowd, right? Unfortunately, Darwin's abilities weren't concerned with the survival of others- only of himself. Nothing happens… yet.


Nightcrawler watches from his perch, frowning at the riot that seems to be beginning below. A man was shot…and not a mutant man. Retaliation? Maybe the policeman/blonde woman/shapeshifter was right…that this is no better than over in Europe.

Of course, he leans forward some as he catches sight of her in the crowd…and firing guns at the young man.

Gunfire…screams…this isn't going to be very good for his already fragile psyche.


Once they are close enough and Warren is still standing near to Erik and Amara, the blond man's eyes settle on the young man shouting into the megaphone and then the Captain. There is a look of worry in his eyes as the man is booed and things are thrown. Oh boy. This might actually get a lot uglier than he'd initially anticipated. There is a worried glance back to Amara and then he is pointedly looking to Erik. From there, things just seem to take a sharp left turn into Shit City.

The popping from the crowd causes him to start and duck down a little bit. The explosion of activity and noise? This is Warren's fears come to fruition in this particular circumstance. Immediately he gives a look to Erik that lingers there for a moment. It is a look with both expectation and a question that Erik likely knows all too well he's asking: 'Wings?' The mortification of watching someone being murdered and the worry are still present, but Warren's more immediate reaction is to what he can control.

For the moment he follows Erik, though. With a better head on his shoulders, Erik has Warren's respect enough to follow his lead in this. After making his way to the outcropping with them. "Shouldn't we be…stopping this?" he asks, even despite Erik's words on Simon's foolishness. "This doesn't seem right."

Warren only weighs one-hundred-fifty pounds. He's an easy one to pull up onto that outcropping. Once up there, he does turn his keen eyes back to the situation as it unfolds.


Amara takes Erik's hand to climb up onto the barricade, comfortable with climbing, at least. The exchange between the captain and the protestor is noted with a small frown, trying to follow the patterns of the debate. The protest. It really does seem more protest than debate. Right up until someone gets shot.

Hints of flame start to flicker in Amara's hair as she braces herself against the concrete, looking back to Erik. "Stop it how?" she asks, looking between him and Warren.


Ford pushes out the bathroom door and can see policemen and administrative assistants rushing towards the door to see what happened. This also seems to work to the Ego's advantage because no one is paying attention to him. The bad news (or good news if you are Joseph Gates) is that it's very difficult to decipher which one is actually him, given how they are all dressed the same.

Raven's shots pierce the knees of the assailant. As he screams out and falls to the ground, the murder weapon falls down the steps as well.


The police begin firing into the crowd indiscriminately and, a little more discriminately, shoot at Raven. Simon is able to pull the young man up and out of there, so he avoids the shots which would be coming his way. From up here, where Simon is, he can see people begin to fall down dead left and right as the police begin mowing them down. More and more file out of the building as well.

Somehow, as if by some miracle, the shots aimed at Raven (and there are many) manage to miss her entirely. Raven surely knows she should be dead, and knows enough about physics to know that there's someone here working in her favor. And it doesn't take too many guesses to figure out who it might be

Inside, someone is screaming to call the National Guard and the mayor. Another person is ringing the 10th and 8th precincts to get more backup.

Bullets begin to bounce off Darwin as his body reflexively becomes a bullet proof carapace. All around him, mutants are mowed down while all he can do is stand there and watch. Kurt gets a similar view, just from above. Already the pavement is stained with blood. But what Kurt can see, that the others cannot, is the rush of afraid people running away and a column of angry mutants running towards the fray.

Gambit, meanwhile, has his hands upon one of the policemen's rifles who happened to be aiming at Raven. As they struggle, the rifle begins to glow purple with energy and a moment later, explodes in the cop's hands. Amidst a scream the cop stands there with two bloody stumps where his hands used to be!!!

Warren and Amara watch as more and more protesters are mowed down. They can also see that, down the way, a group of police cars and paddy wagons is bringing more backup as this turns from a riot to a full fledged massacre.


Darwin stands- his arms outstretched - watching as people die all around him. He closes his eyes and wishes it would all go away. This is horrific. This is terrible. He can feel the bullets flatten against him. Tears run down the young man's cheeks- but he stands, arms outstretched, just hoping. Today is the day that Armando Munoz- Darwin, the Evolving Boy- learns that hope alone is not enough. He watches, in silent horror as the streets run red with blood. The throng of angry Mutants would trample Darwin- but a secondary evolution occurs. He becomes the immovable object- unable to be crushed. Unable to be shot. A tearful statue with outstretched arms who's hope is tortured yet again by hatred and mistrust.



All she wanted to do was get the kid out of the way. Good timing too, as the police officers begin to shoot, Raven raises her guns in retaliation, the trigger pulled in slow motion as she feels the tug of the metal gone up. The snatch was enough to draw her off of her feet, the tight grip soon rendered useless as she lands back down into a crouch, her eyes scanning the crowd as her teeth is bared, yellow transfixed on an old friend.

"Erik.. you muther—-.." *POP*

The smell of blood misting and nearly burning through the air was Remy's call too, and as the bullets thankfully miss her Raven jumps into action. The run was a low crouch skimper up the steps, her hand shifting towards one of the MK blades she has on her person, drawing back and -knotching- one towards the knee of the cop with the hopes that he collapses into another to cease their fire. C'moon Erik.. just give her -this- day.



"Tell them to run away!" Simon shouts at the young man in his hands, hopefully he still has his megaphone. "They need to run away!" He's really an excellent target, being clothed in red and all. "They're all going to die if they stay here!" He lands again, facing away from the police and letting the man go. "_You_ should run away!" Hopefully he'll be useful cover as the bullets keep flying. Still, he's not interfering with the policemen.


For a few painfully long seconds, Erik doesn't answer his compatriots. Instead, Warren and Amara's questions echo in his mind, while his heart begins to sink. With each second that passes, countless more are mowed down in a rapid fire bloodbath. Mutants. Humans. And there, at the center of it all, Raven Darkholme.

The grief spills over into anguish, an anguish that curls the German-born's lips into a silent snarl. His arms move even farther before him, fingers splayed out and grasping at the air. So much movement of steel and lead, ripping back and forth, like pinpricks of hatred on the cusp of his mind's eye.

Then, with an angry roar, Erik Lensherr raises his hands into the air. All across the landscape, metal objects suddenly take to the sky. Guns are ripped right out of the hands of both cops and protestors alike. Bullets soar skyward. Batons, belthooks, lighters, police radios, even the odd hip flask or two take to the skies.

"Amara, build a wall between them," he growls. "Warren… look for wounded. Take them to safety." These are his instructions, should they choose to heed his commands or not, the Master of Magnetism continues searching for every piece of metal he can find, hoping to wring it together into the mass that now builds in the air above the square.


Warren looks absolutely horrified at the massacre of people going on at the hands of the police. His eyes blink owlishly behind his aviators and his expression is flushed and mortified. His ashen face is turned to Erik for the moment, doing his best to listen to him. He's been in scrapes sure, but he has never seen police gun people down like this.

The screaming from the crowds is enough to make Warren want to do something with or without Erik's go-ahead, but he stays his hand. He wisely does so until Erik tells him to look for wounded and bring them to safety. Erik might not be his go-to for taking orders, but as he doesn't seem willing to step up to the task of tactics and orders, he listens.

As the scene continues to devolve into madness, Warren gives him a quick nod. Before partin, he places a hand gently on Amara's shoulder. "You can do this. Good luck."

As he's on top of the outcrop and there are more important things to be paying attention to, he takes his jacket off and leaves it on the ground. The harness is next in short order, loosing his broad white wings from their confines finally. The dove-white, 16-foot wingspan spreads to its full glory while not knocking his teammates over…carefully. "Good luck, Erik." This is spoken with another nod before he leaps off of the outcrops and those mighty wings beat against the air to carry him rapidly skywards. There isn't any time to enjoy it at the moment. Once he has climbed to a hundred feet or so, he spreads his wings and glides down over the field in a quick sweep to look for the wounded as Erik ordered.


Amara hesitates for just a moment at Erik's order, then nods once. As she jumps down from the barricade, the young mutant seems to burst into flame, taking on a molten form that radiates intense heat around her. Control. Control is important here. This is a city, with buildings. With bedrock.

Coming to a crouch, the lets her mind sink into the earth beneath the pavement, so different from the earth beneath Nova Roma. A slow tremble starts to travel through the ground, building to a wave of shaking enough to unsettle the unbalanced until…

"Enough!" she exclaims, as a wall of stone and molten lava erupts between the mutants and the humans, red-orange magma rapidly cooling to stone.


This…this is not what America is supposed to be! Maybe he should go back to Europe…maybe he should go hide in a monastary somewhere until the world heals itself. It might be forever. Yellow eyes widen at the sight below him, the blood and the screams, the gunshots and the press of bodies trying to escape. Nightcrawler presses his hands to his ears as if that could drown out the noise…but memories are dredged up by the sights and sounds below him. A hand moves to his eyes, but he can still see the frightened people trying to run for their lives, being mown down merely because they are different.

It's as if 1944 was yesterday.

He could teleport away, but those sounds and sights aren't going to leave him…he may be able to move out of the area, but it's not going to stop the fear. He does teleport to the roof of the building, but only because it was that or fall as he is overwhelmed by past memories.

America is a lie.


He hadn't moved during the first minutes of the rally. He hadn't shifted from his spot in the apartment during the opening speeches. When the gunfire and bedlam had broken out, he had done little more than blink in interest and shift a bit at his improvised sniping platform— a kitchen table, swept clear to allow him an unobstructed view of the battlefield.

Anyone with sufficient training can make a precision rifle shot, after all. But it takes a real master to wait for the tides of battle to shift, to listen for the popping cacophany of shots, the shift of a thin blue line among a sea of human and mutant flesh.

A gun aimed skywards, wild shots flying into the air at the swooping, flying mutants. Panic fire, badly aimed.

Winter Soldier arms the explosive device on the table, setting the tremor switch and the timer alike. He lifts the M1 Garand to one shoulder and chambers a very special bullet— lathe-turned ceramic. A specialist round. Nonferrous. The scope finds Magneto and he takes two breaths, calming his heart to a low, predictable *thump-bump*.

Between heartbeats, he pulls the trigger and sends that round flying square at the Master of Magnetism.


By now, things are starting to clear out, both because of the dead bodies and because people are putting more and more distance between themselves and the cops. Darwin stands there, with the police at his back, like a somber stone Jesus overlooking the massacre.

One of the policemen bum rushes Raven! He hopes to tackle her and bring her to the ground long enough to get the cuffs on her, but he stops mid stride as he's brained with a bo staff, courtesy of one Remy LeBeau. "'Fore we eat the bacon we need to catch the pig, Raven. But the razorbacks gettin' a lil thick up in dis place. There gettin more and we gettin' less. Bout time to hit the road, lo—What the hell?"

Remy's bo staff, a host of guns, loose change, eye glasses, tooth fillings, earrings; anything with metal begins to rise up into the air. One policeman manages to hold onto his gun as it takes him higher in the sky until his hand slips and he falls fourteen feet, shattering his shins.

One girl, with a leather strap for a necklace and a crucifix for a pendant is being choked out as she raises up into the sky.

There are plenty for Warren to pick from as he swoops down into the melee to pick up the wounded. Luckily, the policemen do not have their guns. Unluckily, they still have their batons as they try and bat at Warren as he passes!!!

The ground explodes upwards just before hot magma makes a firewall (heh) between the cops and the mutants. That large column that was coming towards the police is forced to turn back and think better of it.

Kurt can see, once he bamfs up to the rooftop, the police cruisers coming from every direction. They look like the metal arm in vice grips, getting closer and closer as things tighten all around. There's a real feeling that things are going to be very bad after this. Very bad indeed.

The gunshot from the window where Bucky is perched is barely noticeable; there's so much going on there isn't anyone likely to notice the cause. The effect, however…


This was her bread and butter. Raven was a glorious flash of blue and black as she effectively culls the first line of defense for the police officers. Crescent kick to the jaw. Open palm smack to the collarbone. Sweep kick to bruise a coccyx, snatch of the wrist and flat palm to the elbow to disrupt the natural bend of an arm and to snap it back. Elbow to the chin which bears down upon the top of a head, knocking an officer outcold. She didn't see the bum-rush, but the *BAP* of the metal has her turning ready to unleash a flurry of attacks upon Remy, but his pretty face makes her stop.

As his bo staff lifts into the air, Raven shakes her head solemnly. "We don't have time. He's about to blow." He? Raven knows who -he- is, but does she tell Remy? Of course not.

A lone cop tries to scramble past, falling upon the floor, climbing over the fallen of his crew who groan out in pain and anger. Raven follows him for a step, reaching forward to draw him back, fingers grasped within his hair to issue a smack towards his gullet but she stops cold. "It's him." The one that started it all. The one that killed the mutant. One would think that she'd twist his head off but..

..She has another idea.

"Remy, grab him." Just in time too, the great wall of fire separates them from the rest and a slight little smirk plays across her face. "Under the cover of fire we ride.." *BAP* Her hand smacks down upon the top of Officer Gates dome to knock him out cold. Whatever plan that Raven and Remy seem to have for the man?

It will not be good.


Darwin finally finds the urge to move- he can't stay here. He can't watch it any longer. Now, survival turns from 'fight' to 'flight'- the horror as turned to fear and disgust. First, Darwin vomits- a visceral reaction before he begins to run and run. Again, the Evolving Boy's body goes through changes as being the immovable object no longer becomes evolutionary advantageous. He sheds density, and his body grows more streamlined as tries to escape. To outpace the fear- to run from the hatred. He is the dropped feeling in one's throat when your whole world has been left bleeding, dying, and injured.

The press of Squad Cars and Police are nothing because Darwin is nothing- a ghost of battered and bloodied hope. A weeping, ash-pale phantom that passes through flesh and stone and metal to disappear into the chaos.


This next part will take some considerable effort. Behind his shades and beneath the straw hat, Magneto finds his focus. Magazines are ejected from firearms; barrels crushed. The crucifix is shattered, letting the woman fall back to the earth.

Erik takes a deep breath and begins to lunge. Just then, a splatter of blood sprays from his shoulder. It was fateful timing; had he not moved, the bullet would have gone straight through his heart. A shot like that doesn't just miss.

With a help of pain, Erik flinches. The mass of metal objects in the air drops, ten feet, twenty feet, then is captured once more.

There, upon the concrete outcropping, Erik has dropped to one knee. His face is contorted in pain, blood spewing from the gunshot wound to his left shoulder, but his arms remain outstretched. Even though the left hand trembles, he retains his focus just long enough to give that final heave.

The mass of metal objects explodes upward, soaring hundreds of feet into the air. "Rrraaah!" Erik cries, and then flings his arms to the east. Like a black cloud, the items soar over the island, headed for the East River.

Only then does he reach out to clutch his wound, and rolls off the platform to land on the sidewalk in an awkward stance.


Warren does pull his mask over his face while he's aloft, not wanting to give away his identity to the public. Thank heavens for the days of camera phones being a ways ahead. Long blond hair is still left to whip freely in the wind as he glides over the heads of the officers.

Rather than trying to dodge their swinging at him with the batons, Warren just gives a hard flap of his wings to stun them like prey birds under his eclipsing wingspan. The person they had been beating on is forgotten for the moment as they focus on the man with the giant wings.

Stunned as they might be, they are still a threat. There are too many people to save and only one of him, but he works as quickly as he can.

Engaging as little as possible, Warren lands himself near his target and gives a sweep of his wings upward. He pulls the 'punch', but still manages to bowl the nearby officers over. Not before he takes a couple of licks of his own.

Warren cries out in pain as one of the batons falls squarely near his hip before it's disarmed and thrown to the ground. He gains control over the cop's wrist and shoulder then, throwing him to the ground.

With the small window he has, he scoops the surviving college student up to be cradled in his arms. With a beat of wings, he takes off again and starts scanning the area for someplace safe to set the injured person down. "Too many wounded!" he tries to call out to Erik as he glides nearer to his team during his search.

When Erik is shot, Warren's face goes pale again and he starts flying faster with his passenger until he finds a nice piece of grass nearby. "Hold on, Erik. Hold on." The words are muttered to himself as he settles the wounded person down and prepares to take flight once more.


Winter Soldier is already gone and moving. Apparently killign Magneto wasn't as important as wounding him. He's a vanishing flap of a heavy trench coat out the door, leaving a live explosive behind him in the room. A kick to the table will do a great deal of damage if anyone blunders into the room, though a timer will set it off in a minute, too.

By design, only a few things will survive— a US Government-issued M1 missing from a local armory. Spotting binoculars. Those custom rounds purpose- built for killing someone like Magneto. A few scraps of paper that miraculously survived a burn bucket, stamped with FBI and Mutant Bureau signatures and letterhead. A half-smoked Lucky Strike.

Damning evidence that points towards a Federal agency with an intention to take Erik Lehnsherr, personally, out of the picture.


The wall of magma is enough to give people a chance to run instead of staying, but it's clear that the chaos here isn't going to stop soon. And now Erik's been hit. Amara looks up from the ground as the man cries out, eyes widening when she sees the wound. "We have to go," she says, summoning another wall of stone around them to protect against further shots. "This city's riddled with tunnels underground. We can go down and come back up somewhere less…dangerous." As she speaks, she's already starting to burn a hole into the pavement beside them, making an escape route.


As the backup arrives, Amara, Warren, and the injured Erik slip down through the molten pavement and escape via the sewer system. Raven, Gambit, and the police officer Joseph Gates are in an alleyway where the Cajun shoves the officer into the trunk of a car. One hotwire later, they're slipping through via a maze of alleyways and side streets.

Simon has the original assailant. Certainly the authorities will want to be speaking with him later.

Darwin escapes by foot, his hopes and dreams for a peaceful world fraying like the ashen flecks that fall off his body.

The evidence from the Winter Soldier's attack won't be found for several days, and per accident. Without Erik's body, there was never any solid evidence of an attack, and people are far more worried about the missing police officer anyways.

And all of the mayhem, with the smell now of burning, takes place in front of the young German mutant. It seems he is right, of course. America has been a lie for a very long time.


Count Nefaria sits up in bed as his phone rings his slicked hair a mess, his eyes bloodshot red, but his goatee still perfectly trimmed.

It's still light outside, but he takes to sleeping at all hours of the day or the night.

"Yes?" he says, his thick aristocratic Italian accent heavy in just the single syllable.

"It's done."

"Excellent. I trust we'll read about it in the papers?"

"That's the idea. It won't be too long now."

Amidst a sleepy moan, a raven haired woman with dark features and with still perfect makeup sits up wearily. "Luchino, baby who is?"

Another moan from the other side of the bed, this much deeper and more manly. "Tell them we're trying to sleep."

"Shhhhh," Nefaria says as he pats the phone. "The Count has just made a lot of money."


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