1963-10-12 - Burnt Offerings
Summary: A reporter gets a piece of what's coming to him from Weapon X.
Related: Missing Pieces Plot
Theme Song: None
sinjin akihiro deathstrike stryker 


"What did you say happened?" Every single doctor and nurse Sinjin has encountered asks the same question. Same answer, every time: A Very Big Dog. No need to mention the vampires or anything.

"I'd say don't do it again, but…" This doctor — ridiculously handsome, sounds like he's from Kolkata, maybe — knows what's what. "Just don't do it again any time soon. The arm's coming along nicely. See you in a few weeks, I hope."

"Thanks. I'll be back." Sinjin pulls his shirt back on so he can pay and get out. He's getting tired of the gauze and the bandages and the bleeding. And the doctors, though that one was worth the trip.

Outside, it's a crisp, gorgeous October night. The moon is just rising, there's a few brown leaves swirling along the gutter, oushed by the wind. It's nice enough that Sinjin can walk back to the Village. He stops at a bodega for more cigarettes and a coffee. The walk will give him time to go over his research, such as it is, on those sinkholes and geological disturbances that keep cropping up.

*

Akihiro slides down the fire escape he was perched on then turns from the alley into the street. "Well, here we go." he sighs quietly, fishing a cigarette from his coat pocket and placing it between his lips.

He turns a corner as Sinjin leaving from getting coffee and cigarettes. A frown creeps across his features and he pats his pockets down, "Excuse me, you got a light bub? Looks like I left mine at the house."

*

The clipped pace of a young woman in high heels echoes as Yuriko Oyama steps down the block. The familiar sound reassures her as she moves. In a way it creates its own confidence. The way her heels meet the pavement only encourages her posture. There's an oddity in her own appearance: a strange blend of femininity and authority. The pant suit, while hardly in fashion, serves as a kind of grey uniform over her slight form. Her tight ponytail makes her dark hair seem almost plastered to her head. Even her hands at her sides feel that same weight of command — a strange blend for your average 1960s woman.

Her gaze hones on the pair of men in the street, and her grey-eyes narrow with unspoken amusement. A vague pull at the edges of her lips even hints to something, perhaps, altogether pleased at the situation.

Her nose sniffs loudly, and for now, she remains behind the pair. Pleased with herself, and her trainee's approach. Perhaps today won't be as banal as she'd believed.

*

"Sure thing, mate." Sinjin hasn't adopted the full detachment of the true New Yorker yet. He does the same trick that amuses people so much at parties, a snap of his fingers that carries the flame from his cigarette to Akihiro's. To the uninitiated, it looks like sleight of hand — clever enough to keep people chattering and puzzling all night but not alarming. "Have a good evening."

*

"I appreciate it." Akihiro says with a slight nod, stopping a second to get the thing going. Yuriko gets a very slight nod, before he starts moving again. He slips his hands into his pockets as he walks, his gait is slow, it seems he took the opportunity to catch the man's scent so he doesn't have to keep direct line of sight.

*

Yuriko's expression deadens. Something alerts in her mind. The change, while slight, reflects in her very eyes. Her steps increase, turning to a clip-clop horse-trot rather than the usual authoritarian sound. It takes a few beats to get her momentum, but in seconds, her hands pump furiously at her sides until she's virtually caught up to Sinjin — even going as far as surpassing Akihiro as she does so.

She launches herself at the man with little regard for being on the block, springing with two feet into a very hostile, very unpredictable assault to cream Sinjin against the pavement. Evidently she's not concerned about onlookers.

*

Sinjin has the dubious advantage of hypervigilance and he doesn't miss the sound of those steps coming. Of course, he's expecting Lilith, not Yuriko. He throws his coffee in her face as she launches but still takes both her feet in the chest and goes down flat on his back, popping stitches with the impact. The smell of fresh blood is on the air.

He should have hit her with fire but he couldn't do it. Not without knowing for sure he's setting fire to someone who deserves it. Of all the regrets to have — as he's struggling to breathe — he's got to regret not being a flat out murderer.

*

Akihiro sighs, so much for stealth. He lets the cigarette fall from his lips as he breaks into a run towards Yuriko and Sinjin. The smell of blood floods his nostrils and strengthens his resolve. At first it looks like he may help the man, but rather he goes diving past Yuriko towards him.

There's a snikt sound as the claws between his knuckles emerge, looking to bury themselves into his target. Despite the hard expression on his face, he'd rather be anywhere else, but if killing him will get him closer to his end goal, so be it.

*

The scalding feeling of hot coffee on her skin causes Yuriko to cringe. Her expression sours, her face reddens from the burn that begins to peel almost the instant it appears. In fact, in a matter of seconds, dead skin cells peel away from her cheeks in large shedding rolls. "I prefer the direct approach," she deadpans towards Akihiro.

Akihiro's moves warrant another vague upturn of her lips, and she commands flatly, "Stop." She taps her temple — a strange indication of a change. Her own hands lift, and her fingers grow into long, sharp claws. Her chin drops, "Reporter," her words drip with disdain, "you will come with us." Her eyes flit towards Akihiro, "Orders change."

*

Sinjin can't breathe, he doesn't know what the hell is happening, but he knows that there's a couple killer mutants after him because he's a reporter and — the fire from his cigarette wraps around him like a second skin, then blows outward in a white-hot sphere that leaves him alone in the centre of a ring of destruction. He struggles to his feet, drawing on the fire again, and prepares to incinerate the next thing that comes toward him.

*

Akihiro adjusts his path as Yuriko speaks, causing his claws to bury into the sidewalk next to Sinjin's head. The flames erupt past him, skin reddening and healing over instantly even as portions of his clothes ignite and smoke. A low growl rumbles in his throat and he pats the areas out.

"Easier on all of us if you listen." His gaze shifts over towards the woman giving orders, and he nods at her. "So, what's it going to be? Don't hurt my heart to get my hands dirty."

*

The flames that sear around Sinjin have Yuriko spinning backwards, away from the very on-fire reporter. "He's one of them," she deadpans as she reaches into her pocket and extracts a dart that is tossed towards Akihiro. She reaches under her coat and retrieves a gun of some sort — likely loaded with tranquilizers matching the dart.

"Come with us," Oyama states again. "The Director desires a chat." And what the director wants, the director gets.

She gives little reaction to the presence of fire, aside from a quick shake of her head; it's relatively clear that she doesn't like it. On the other hand, something motivates her far more than her dislike of flames. She shrugs once and fires into oblivion, wholly expecting this not to work, and yet…

"Wear the target down," she instructs her charge. She's seasoned at this; there's no question.

*

All bets are off. The streets cleared from the first blast of flame — New Yorkers have gotten wise to this business — and so there's nothing but property to damage. Sinjin can't outrun them, not even if he were healthy.

He smashes a white-hot wrecking ball of fire at Yukiro, hard as steel and hot enough to melt it, ten feet wide and swelling, racing to engulf her. With his other hand, he gestures, a careless sweeping motion that lashes out at Akihiro with a thick whip of flame meant to sweep him aside until Sinjin can focus on him next.

*

"Can do." Akihiro nods, dashing forward. As the whip materializes and moves towards him, he springs into a flip, training becoming obvious despite his age. In the blink of an eye he's upon Sinjin, spinning and trying to plant the reinforced tip of his boot into his jaw.

*

The heat of the flame motivates Yuriko to dive for one of the nearby buildings, and a yelp accompanies the feel of burnt flesh popping with one bubble after another. Her body leaps upwards — an impossible jump by ordinary standards — and her fingers catch the side of the building with the familiar scrape of metal against brick. Like fingernails on a chalkboard, the sound reverberates.

It's not enough, however, to leave Oyama unscathed. The second degree burn flecks off with another soft groan. She may heal fast, but it still hurts despite her best efforts.

*

Sinjin twists away at the same time as he smashes a handful of fire into Akihiro's face but Akihiro's boot connects, splitting skin and cracking bone. Sinjin spits blood, wraps the fire around Akihiro's face and shoulders with his will and his thoughts, squeezes. He staggers to come up with his back against the metal gate over a hastily closed shop. He can't see Yuriko from here, she's left his sight, so all his focus is on burning Akihiro to the bone. His mouth is full of blood and the taste of burnt flesh, he's horrified by what he's doing and he does it anyway.

*

Akihiro screams. The smell of burnt flesh and the sound of agony escape from the teenager, at first. But it quickly morphs into something else, rage. The dart tinks against the ground as he begins to actually push through it.

His face is something out of a nightmare, what little flesh that's left on his skull has blackened and started to peel away, and the bone itself has started to take on a charred color.

There's no trace of humanity in the teen's eyes anymore, it's given way to the animal that lives inside all Howlett's, and that animal is pissed. He begins his advancement once more, this time there aren't any tricks or techniques, just an all out punch aimed at Sinjin's jaw.

*

The scrape of nails against brick has Oyama sliding back down the building towards Sinjin. The smell of burnt flesh — so close to the scent of Christmas ham — fills Yuriko's senses, and she takes a lunging step towards him only… to hear the sound of emergency vehicles in the background.

Her eyes roll. The anger in AKihiro's face begs questions as to whether she will have any hope of rounding him up, but her own manner, detached, and cold, has her straightening. "We need to go," she states bluntly. It was, theoretically, going to be an easy operation. Bring the reporter in. At the time they didn't know the reporter had some kind of ability. Now they do.

"NOW." While the single punch towards Akihiro is permitted, Yuriko hardly allows it to stand. "The order was to bring him in. Not in pieces," if too much harm befalls Sinjin, it's definitely on her head…

*

Sinjin defends himself the only way he knows how, with more fire. Akihiro connects but the blowback is like a bomb going off as all of Sinjin's panic and outrage unleash at once. The force of it only lasts a fraction of a second, then he drops. The awning of the store above him burns, dripping melted plastic and clots of fire, Sinjin's clothes smoulder with it. The fire, eating at asphalt and at Akihiro's skin, loses the force of his will and now simply rages, eating at whatever fuel it can find.

A police car, lights flashing, corners at the end of the block with a screech of tires. The headlights fill up the street with white light. The sound of fire trucks is closer now — any sign of the unusual has the city on high alert since that thing opened up in Central Park.

*

ROLL: Akihiro +rolls 1d20 for a result of: 14

*

Akihiro draws his fist back once more, murder in his eyes. Before he can actually swing though awareness floods his features and he's back in the driver's seat. For the most part his face has healed back up, save for any hair. "Let's go." he demands, grabbing Sinjin and attempting to force him up and away from the police.

*

Yuriko's eyebrows lift as Akihiro draws closer to the very on fire reporter. "Put. Him. Down," she states bluntly and then motions for the street. "You have his scent. We know his name. We can and will find him again." Her eyebrows lift. "And need him alive." The woman ticks her head down the street. "Move. Now. Let the cops and paramedics deal." She's already turning on her heel to take her leave.

Away from the fire.

Away from the mess.

Away from the burnt offering that is St. John Allerdyce.

*

Akihiro growls, tossing Sinjin aside away from the immediate threat of the flames, because you can't take him alive if he's cooked. There isn't any hesitation to follow after Yuriko, but looking back over his shoulder he can't help but hate himself just a little bit more. It's not too late for a refund, is it?

*

Down the Street in a Black Van

Smoke wafts in the front seat of the vehicle, with the passenger blowing cigar smoke towards the driver. "A disaster," Stryker states gruffly before craning his neck to face the passenger in the back. "Director, this one was your call. We have numerous resources to deal with the reporter — "

Veiled in shadow, Colcord's fingers steeple ominously. His head turns to the window to watch the fire that burns brightly just blocks away. "I'd rather add him to my collection. Send a team later. Someone with a woman's touch." He lifts his hand, "That psychologist you're bragging about," his smile turns grim. "Persuade him."

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