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It started very suddenly, not long after midnight. Glass breaking was the first identifiable sound, and it came from all over Mutant Town. The mob had descended quickly on the area, armed with bats, bars, and some with guns; it was clear they hadn't come to talk even before the attacks began. Shop windows were broken, and where bars didn't prevent entry, their interiors ransacked, wares destroyed. They weren't here to steal, or loot; it was destruction, pure and simple. Breaking and entering followed by the lighting of fires, breaking into homes, cars on the street wrecked with bats, some even flipped over. Nothing here was sacred, nothing was safe. The rush of men who swept into the area first were singular in purpose, and effective in their task; wreak havoc, and let slip the dogs of war. It's chaos, and the residents of Mutant Town are quickly living in a war zone, even more than they were before. Cries of mutant hatred ring out from the attackers, all manner of vile epithets, slurs, and curses that would make even the hardest convict blush. Hate turns men into monsters, and there is so much hate here you can taste it in the air. Most of the residents of the area are simple folk, mutants with nowhere to go and little power to defend themselves, and terror has them cowering in their corners; some try to hold their ground, but most are overpowered. The rioters have numbers, planning, and a name. The Friends of Humanity.
*
The friends of humanity, there are not many groups if any on the planet that he hates more and VX is not the kind of man to let this thing go by while he huddles awaysomewhere. He cannot allow himself to sit idle while this kind of thing happens, especially not when he is part of the targetted demographic. So he makes his way out amongst all the violence and the chaos. He is dressed in his leathers and carrying his weapon. Not that he needs it. He just has to try and be careful about friendly casualties. But he can control his powers well enough that it should not be an issue. As he moves out small tendrils of some kind of white smoke start to swirl from his hands, his face is set into a grim line as he heads towards the groups.
*
Some people are subtle, passive or quiet in their resistance. Non-violence in the face of hatred was a path taken by great men. Victor Creed? He was more on the 'kinda alright I guess' end of that spectrum. Sounds of pain, destruction and death weren't new to him, but he wasn't the inflictor of it on the innocent people of mutant town. Now? He was going to return a hardy dose the the friends of humanity. There was no words, no warnings, nothing but a roar that would chill the blood of many a man and then Sabertooth comes hurtling out of the shadows, seizing and dragging one of the FoH people into the next gap between the temporary housing before the captive's screams end in a wet burst of blood.
The mutants had monsters of their own out tonight.
*
He knew there would be casualties. Tonight's demonstration, as he called it, would cost lives on both sides. And the men who joined in the fight new it too. Sure, in the moment, fear and panic would take over. They would regret their choices, but at that point it would be too late to change anything. Victor's first kill is just like that; a man who had convinced himself this was right, right up until the moment the enormous mutant had him by the throat, and then he was praying to his God for salvation which never came. But some few deaths wouldn't stop the mob. The wave of destruction continues unabated; the first wave is dozens of men. Seeing Victor kill one of their own, a group of a dozen on their own beeline for him, brandishing knives, bats, and firearms. They waste no time in attacking the huge creature, shouting insults and reeking of their own sweat and nerves. Clearly, they don't realize how outmatched they must be, but they will soon.
Others take to easy targets on the streets, some ripped from their homes, others who have come willingly in an effort to put a quick end to the violence. This isn't the first riot to break out in Mutant Town, and it won't be the last. But it's definitely one of the most well executed. Two men approach VX, one with a chain, one with a bat adorned with nails. The smoke doesn't seem to bother them, at least not at first. "Fuckin' mutant freak," one spits, and then they both launch into an attack on the man. And it's not like any of them are slow, dim-witted fighters, either the ones launching themselves at VX or those who have chosen to take on Sabretooth. These are men hand-picked for their strength and their skill. You might see signs of military or police training in how they carry themselves, and how they fight.
As the first wave takes their toll on the neighbourhood, another group appears on the outskirts of the area. These men don't move forward, though. They're not here to engage. Not yet, at least. They're watching. Supervising, even. Waiting for something specific. One man, amidst the group, seems more prominent; reddish brown hair, standing easily six inches over the tallest of the rest. A smile on his face, white teeth visible even in the dark. The man in charge, feeling safe and secure so far from the direct fighting.
*
ROLL: Victor +rolls 1d10 for a result of: 10
*
Speed, strength and skill. All things that matter in a fair fight. And all things that don't mean shit in chemical warfare. VX growls lowly under his breath but he doesn't slow down, his angry steps slow but with purpose. As the two men charge at him he concentrates for just a moment a thin yellow-green cloud swirling around him. As the men charge into it they scream loudly blisters appearing over their skin, their lungs seared to thin steaks inside their chests. Mustard gas is a nasty thing. They fall gasping desperatly for breath.
Despite the impressive show, But VX is just a man well a mutant but the point stands. He has seen the guns and heard the gunshots. He will die just like anybody else. His face twists in concentration now and a huge cloud of pure white chemcical fog envelopes him and everything within ten metres of him, effectivly making every shot at him a shot in the dark. He continues on, he has seen his target and it is the people inciting the riot. Without there support things like this fall apart, at least that is what his training says.
*
Somewhere, in the midst of the blood and wrath he's about to unleash, something catches Victor's attention, something that actually causes him to pause mid-mauling of the thugs that were charging his way and earns him a shotgun blast in the chest for doing so. Big as he is, the blast of buckshot is enough to knock him back on his feet and have him stumbling into the wall beside him, but it doesn't stop him. He snarls in a way that casts loose droplets of blood from his lips. Nothing would stop him.
The sounds of screaming and pain from the direction of a sudden 'fog'? That just makes him smirk as he 'sniffs' the faint chemical scent in the air. The mutants were fighting back? Good. They shouldn't just roll over for these cowards even if most of the people in mutant town were refugees. Vx might have decided to take the approach of cutting the head off the leader, but Victor? He'd had a bad day. He planned to cut his way through as many as he needed to until they fled, starting from the bottom up.
*
Victor and VX aren't the only ones fighting back, but they might be the only ones doing a halfway decent job of it. The men VX had subjected to the gas lie in agony on the street. The ones fighting Victor.. well, there's blood, and lots of it, and probably only a very small percentage belongs to him, even with the chest full of buckshot. But the mob has numbers on their side, even with the losses, to say nothing of the fact that the majority of the mutants are unarmed, unskilled, and terrified out of their wits.
Men and women are dragged from their homes, some down concrete steps, others kicked out through their front doors, into the street. Children are spared, at least, but it's not because of any sense of overriding morality on the part of the attackers. They want the kids to see what is happening, to remember it. Maybe it'd be more practical in the short-term to kill them, to end the mutant line. Surely some of these men agree with that way of thinking. But they have their instructions. About fifteen men and women, mutants surely, though not all are so obvious, are dragged into the street, while the group of observers move forward through the chaos. Guns are drawn, held at the ready. They're not going to let anyone get close who might be a threat, and these men are ready to throw their lives on the line to defend their leader if necessary; these aren't the same stock as the mob, who would claim righteousness until they were faced with their own mortality. These are the men who stare their deaths in the face and say 'I am still in the right'. The mutants are thrown before them, and from his vantage point amidst his defenders, the auburn-haired man speaks. His tone is a deep tenor, smooth and practiced, almost like you might hear on the radio, announcing the next hit record to be played on the air.
"Mutants. This.. Mutant Town, you scraped together, in the heart of this great city. All you do is take. We support you. We feed you. We give you a roof over your head and we give you bread to fill your bellies, you mutants. The world is in a shambles. Commies? Aliens? The real threat, which no-one but us really seems to understand, is right under our collective noses, and we're giving them handouts. This ends now, mutants. I know we can't kill you all. I know we can't get rid of you by force. But by God Almighty, we're going to make you wish we had.." The man glances around to his lieutenants, and then gives each a nod. "Make an example of them." And then he turns around, and starts to walk through the group, back toward wherever he came from.
If they weren't screaming before, they will start when the muzzles of guns are pressed against their temples. Some start to pray, others just cry. Everyone deals with their own impending death differently. Maybe some of them can be saved, but certainly not all.
*
VX most likely won't be able to save them. But he can reap an unholy amount of vengeance. His slow walk moves into a slow jog and then into a sprint. Not that many people can see him, the only people that can are the ones enveloped in his cloud and even then they only catch of hint of his leather coat slicing through the dense chemical fog. As he makes sense of what is happening he changes the chemical issuing from his body, controlling it as best he can to avoid any mutant casualties. But they have healers, better ones than the humans that can help them even if they catch the edges of it. He growls as the white fog is blown from him in an unseen wave, a clear odourless gas issueing forth instead. His namesake, and by far his deadliest weapon. His hands are just as deadly though as he does everything he can to reach the hostages, coated in a clear liquid. The cement beneath him smoking as it drips from his hands. An acid more than caustic enough to melt through a human skull.
*
Victor was of similar mindset even if he didn't know the powers of the 'foggy' mutant. He was fast, he was damn near unkillable, but he wasn't going to be able to make it in time. "For each of them, fifty of you!" he bellows, his form drenched in red and his clothing torn under blows that his body had already healed from. His claws were extended, wicked blades at his fingertips that ripped and tore their way through the lines of the hate-group. Would he stumble into the gas? Eventually, most likely. Could he survive it? Yes, but between exposure and purging from his body? It was going to hurt like a bitch. Of course, he was going to do his best to rip as many apart as he could trying to get to the mutant victims before he was forced to stop.
*
The gunshots ring out into the night, followed by the thump of the bodies as they fall lifeless to the ground. Screams follow; those from the victims are short, but the ones from those who might just survive the night last much longer. And some of those who might have been killed are spared, as the gas reaches their would-be executioners, or Victor's claws rip their throat out. But plenty of bodies litter the streets already. Were it not for the intervention of the brave mutants who stand against the Friends of Humanity, there would be corpses nailed to walls, strung up on fences, heads on posts, or worse. But with such ferocious, or toxic, men bearing down on them, those who remain aren't able to so easily go about such a task. Guns are turned on Victor, and on the travelling cloud that is VX, the chambers emptied as they try to make a retreat; mission accomplished, there is no reason to stay and die, if it can be avoided. Mutant Town is a ruin; the damage is extensive, and all of the recent efforts to improve the lives of the residents seems for naught now. The leader of the mob has left the scene, leaving whatever loose ends to his associates. He isn't the type to normally dirty his hands with even being present at the scene, but now and then it is necessary to be a visible leader.
*
VX feels a wordless cry rip from his lips as he hears the guns start to go off, innocent bodies dropping to the ground. His face twists into an ugly mask as he grips one of the executioners face in his hands, the acid coating his hands causing them to melt through his skull until they touch each other all while the man screams in agony. A couple more of them fall to the gas still issueing from his body, if they are not dead from the gas they soon will be as they feel the wrath of the mutants revenge. He stands fully again as he lets the body drop. His eyes full of wrath as he turns towards the fleeing mob.
He grunts as he catches a round from the fleeing mob, luckily it is caught in his vest. He ignores the pain. Ignores everything else except the fury that takes over his entire body clouds his mind and judgement. The cloud is technically colourless but it can be seen tearing its way from his body, the air rippling around him. He is fast and he is very fit. He catches up to the rear of the mob as they try to flee, and more bodies start to drop grasping at their chests as they try desperatly to breath their CNS shutting down as the gas severs the connections.
*
Victor actually sees VX, his shape and silhouette through the fog-like haze of chemicals and literal smoke. But he was a mutant, and he was killing the same scum as he was, that was good enough for Sabertooth. Snarling, the hunter gave chase with all his violent fury, not even bothering to defend himself from the FoH members and their desperate strikes or shots while he ripped limbs and tore flesh.
Fast as Victor was? A cloud on the air was faster. Eventually even his nerves begin to spasm as he falls to his knees. He'll heal, but the struggle between toxin and regeneration seems to have slowed him enough he'll not be able to give endless chase. Those who were spared from his claws and fangs? Unlikely they stand any better chance of outrunning the gas then he did.