Death's turkey shoot

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Brief Title:
Turkey Shoot

Gambit, Phantasm

Scene Runner/Watcher:

IC Date:
2012/12/28 22:00

Fast Bender Warehouse - Jersey

Gambit attempts to rescue a depowered Mike from the clutches of a Cadmus led cult. It doesn't work. Death gets the lives of the cult members as a consolation gift

Social or Plot:


-----==[ Jersey - RP Suite #1 ]==---------------------------------------------

Somewhere in Jersey...

From outside appearances, the Fast Bender Corp Warehouse has seen better days. But the run down appearance is to be expected, with the dwindling amount of business, the building was long since boarded up. Not to be used again until the warehouse gains more financial stability. That was years ago and the boards are still present.

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[O] - RP Suites

Somewhere in Jersey...

From outside appearances, the Fast Bender Corp Warehouse has seen better days. But the run down appearance is to be expected, with the dwindling amount of business, the building was long since boarded up. Not to be used again until the warehouse gains more financial stability. That was years ago and the boards are still present.

There is not much in terms of lighting for the area around the building, if it was not for the full moon in the night sky, there'd be close to no light at all. But fortunately for a wandering soul traversing the area, there is that omnious beacon in the dark night, shining down it's light upon the warehouse.

The street is quiet as a thin man walks quickly towards the warehouse, carrying a small bag with him as he gives a glance about him as he approaches the building. It appears that this one is not keen on the possibility of being watched. Only upon going around the corner of the building does he stop with his walking and instead works on pulling out the contents of his bag. A red robe and a small candle.

From his vantage point high atop a nearby building, Remy LeBeau checks the address he scribbled down quickly on a napkin. Just a hour or so prior, he had received a rather frantic call from Blindfold. The precog had warned him over the call that a mutual friend of theirs was in serious danger. Gambit never really considered himself much of the hero type, but he isn't about to leave a friend in harm's way.

Retrieving a pair of high powered binoculars from his bag of goodies, he begins to scan the building across from him when he notices someone approaching. If this thin man represents the threat, there doesn't seem to be any real threat at all. Remy continues to cautiously watch the man on his approach. When the man stops to pull a robe and a candle from his own bag, Remy furrows his brow. "Whatchu up to, mon ami?"

Not obstucted or finding any threats nearby, the string bean relaxes shaking out the robe, straightening it out before he starts to put it on. Tugging the hood on, he faces the wall of the building, starting to fasten it.

As the non-threat fiddles around with his attire, there's not much else going on down there. The lack of windows on that level makes for boring visual. However, there is plenty of light upon the nearby roof, shining down upon what looks to be the ledge of a skylight. A bit hard to tell, the buildings are of similar height.

Looking across divide between the two building, Remy takes note of the skylight across the way. Getting a running start, Remy silently launches himself across the large alley to land gracefully on the other rooftop. Leaning over the edge just enough, he looks to to see if his acrobatics attracted any unwanted attention. When he's satisfied that it hasn't, he moves to the skylight, peering in to see if he can get a better hold on the situation.

And what a view it is! What string bean lacked for in intimidation, it is made up in numbers. The majority of crates shifted towards the sides of the wall, there is a sizable amount of floor space in the center to which a sizable number of people in red robes are gathered. Before them, an altar which most definitely did NOT come with the building. Resting upon several crates, a heavy set table with some form of detailin- How the HELL did they get that up there? Standing at it, another robed figure stands, holding out a hand, seemingly gesturing to the moonlight falling from the sky light above.

Below the man's hand, arms and legs bound to the table, lies Mike, a little redder in color than Remy may remember him, patterned cuts dot along the musician's upper body with some lengthy but shallow cuts along the side.

And with the tape over his mouth, Mike is likely much quieter too.

Quieter, but based from the expression on Mike's face. He's pissed.

As for Stringbean, he gets his robe on and walks towards a side door.

"Merde," the Cajun mutters under his breath. Looking back down to String Bean, Gambit hatches a plan. With a flair matched only by Spider-Man, Remy flips off the top of the building, landing right behind the awkwardly shaped man. A gloved hand reaches out to tap the man on the shoulder. "Neva pays ta be late ta de soire, mon ami," he says with a smile before swinging for the man's head.

The hooded figure pauses in his walk as he feels somehing tap his shoulder, turning his head, he gets a wonderful view of some nice but oddly cut gloves before getting knocked off balance, stumbling over an outcropping of foundation and smacking the back of his head on the warehouse wall with another crack. It's quite sad. For someone who is dressed in red robes and is attending a meeting of people doing bad things. He didn't put up much of a fight.

Gambit clicks his tongue in mock disapproval. "Guess you won't be needin' dese den," he says as he begins to remove the red robe from the man. Unsure if this was the only straggler, Remy picks the man up, and does his best to hide the unconscious form from plain sight. Pulling the robes over his own clothes, he obscures his face, and makes his way towards the door. "Hope dere ain't a secret knock," he says to himself as he raps quickly at the door.

The door opens slightly, a much larger, hulking figure looks down upon Remy, expectantly. He waits.

Looking behind the man, it becomes apparent that this door leads into the office area of the warehouse. Off to one side, set upon the cleaned tops of several abandoned desks is a spread of food reminecient of a baby shower, or perhaps a wedding reception. There's even a generic store birthday cake with a toy knight riding towards an icing dragon. It's rather cute. A few other figures in red robes linger to the other side, standing near a door which, confirmed by the window looking in, leads to the main portion of the warehouse. The sounds of what is likely the man standing over Mike are faint through the door.

"Nacht über. Nacht unten. Zusammen mit der Moonlight-Leuchten."

The man at the door is still waiting.

Gambit keeps his head low, using the hood of the robe to obscure his face. Speaking with a near flawless German accent, he regurgitates the words Ruth had given him over the phone. "Den Drachen zu töten." With the words spoken, he waits silently. Within the sleeves of the robe, he prepares a single card for a charge, just in case.

The hooded figure's head tilts, but he shifts to the side, "You're late." He reaches a lighter over to light the candle in Gambit's hand while gesturing towards the others waiting at the doorway. Upon the door shutting he leads the way over to the group. "The procession is about to start."

"Leben für Leben. Blood für Blood."

The Cajun fakes a cough and nods to the larger man before following him to join the others. The smooth criminal scans the area, careful not to draw any unwanted attention to himself. He tries to take a count of how badly he is outnumbered, and tries to work his odds for getting Mike out alive. The odds don't look too good.

From the vantage point Gambit has adopted now, the crowd of red is much more noticable as a wall of red hides the crate that the table rests upon, giving the appearance of the crowd holding up the heavy piece. With a gesture, Gambit is guided into his position in the procession, near the back of the line. Quietly the first person steps forward, carrying a covered plate, the crowd parting ways to form a tight path towards the altar. It becomes quite apparent that there are people of all shapes and sizes in here, the larger ones positioned near the escape routes.

From the positioning, it is also easier to see under the hood of the man standing over Mike. Older, late 50s, and looking down to Mike with a glare. In his hand, held above Mike, an ornate dagger.

Probably should have mentioned that bit first.

Gambit goes with the flow for the time being, bidding his time until he can get a little closer. His muscles tense under the robes, prepared to make a scene if he has to in order to save Mike. The card is still held in his hand, obscured by the robe. If necessary, he's ready to send the card with a full charge at the dagger in the man's hand.

When the first person of the long procession is halfway down, the man continues, "Wie das Licht unten einblendet bereiten Sie dieses Haus für unsere Savior Sache."

Words spoken, the knife comes down violently, a sickening schlup fills the room as the blade penetrates, going into the musician's heart soon after followed by a heavily obstucted howl. The blade is soon pulled out, quickening the bleed. "Daß es kann dauern und wahr, für so lange wie nötig sein."

Merde! Time to act! The card in Gambit's hand is instantly filled with a kinetic charge. Rolling out of the line to give himself a better shot, Remy lets the card fly at the dagger in the man's hand. With the card on it's way to it's target, Remy is back on his feet peeling off the robe, and readying his telescoping bo staff. "I been ta some lousy soires before," he says, "Mais, killin' de guest o' honor always in bad taste."

Not exepecting the interruption, the man with the knife ends up on the worse end of the deal when the card explodes near the dagger, causing for him to drop it. The hood falls back, exposing Dr. Marinos's glare. Stepping back, he looks towards Remy. He sneers, moving back towards the altar.

The walls of red start to crash together, closing off the aisle way as hands from around work to grab at Gambit while the person with the plate struggles to get through the crowd to the altar. So dedicated, aren't they?

Gambit zigs, zags, flips and slides his way through the crowd of drones, barelling towards the robed figure with the plate. "Somehow, homme, I doubt you intend ta serve mon ami a 3 course meal," he says as he charges up another card and launches it at the plate. He moves with the grace of a ballerina, flowing like water amongst the group set on skinning him alive.

PING! Boom! The plate goes flying but the rag and contents flutter in the air as ash falls down upon Mike. Cadmus blinks, before giving a bit of a shrug, holding his hands over Mike, his chanting more hurried mutters than a grand presentation. Looks like it's a rush job now.

The bleeding Mike's arms pull against the chains, likely in reaction to the big pain in his chest. The hand wrenches, fingers of one hand curling towards the palm except for the centermost one. The fading glare of the eyes fixes upon Cadmus's face. "Ff-u" It's not the most eloquent, but the message is there.

Several of the larger men have abandoned their posts as they move towards the man ruining a perfectly good human sacrifice. The nerve!

A hand grabs Remy's ankle, giving a forceful tug.

The hand around Gambit's ankle tugs, sending the X-Man plummeting to the floor face first. His head hits the ground with an audible THUD. His eyes roll back in his head for the slightest moment, but that moment may be just enough for his attackers to get to him.

With Gambit upon the ground the *ahem* cult mentality of the group converges upon his location, making for a dog pile of red robes. With the threat seeminly subdued, the procession walks around the pile of people to head over to the altar, joining Cadmus in their watch of the man on the table drawing in his last breath while the table becomes a different color from the spilt blood. After making confirmation of Mike's status with a check of the pulse, the not quite all there doctor reaches over to take a vial of liquid from one of the other members, muttering more words.

A green gas begins to seep from somewhere deep in bottom of the pile of cultists, followed by a strange, dark laughter. "Vous avez fait une grosse erreur, mes ami," the voice says ominously. The smell of death starts to fill the area directly surrounding the pile of men, like an animal baking in the summer sun on the side of the road.

Not quite sure what has happened other than laughter coming from the intruder, the dog pile is still present on top of him, although the ones directly near him may start to try and pull away, the gathered mass of their cult-mates keeps them nearby to experience a less than pleasant situation. A few members nearer to the exits do find some foresight to head into the office area away from the gathering.

As for Cadmus, he nods to the processional group, dismissing them before starting to drop traces of liquid onto each of the cuts, causing for a sizzling sound that is easly covered by the shouts of some of the cultists.

The gas continues to expand outward from the mess of bodies as the man at the very bottom begins to stand, his skin black, hair white, and eyes as red as blood. "You wanted Death, mes amis," he growls through the effort to stand with so many people piled on top of him. "Den Death you shall have."

With the mass of pe- well, bodies, it is a bit of an effort. With the visual of green gas starting to waft his way, Cadmus shifts away from the body as a sense of self preservation steers him away from the body, not quite hitting the last of the wounds before he makes his way towards the door furthest from Gambit.

Gambit in his Death persona, begins to shed the lifeless husks that moments ago as he moves quickly after the fleeing Cadmus. "Not so fast, mon ami," he says as he reaches a hand out towards the man. More of the green poisonous gas seeps from his fingertips, reaching out towards the coward. "Me an you aint done playin' yet."

AIIIIEEE! It'd probably be gratifying if Cadmus said something like that but he doesn't. Instead, he moves full tilt towards the door, bottle still in his hand as he makes through the doorway, going back into the office area with the other robed figures. By now the idea that the green gas is probably bad has progressed and there's a funnel effect around the other doors. A chance of escape. But a little one.

Gambit doesn't break his stride as he continues to follow after the fleeing Cadmus. "You can't run from Death," he calls out. "Death comes for all men." As he moves into the office area, the cloud of gas surrounds him completely. Anyone not holding their breath in the room will soon be dead.

It's good being top dog it seems as the cultists actually move aside to accomodate Cadmus's run, exposing them to the gasses first. They are the first in the office to go, collapsing. As one falls down, the hood shifts, revealing the cult to be co-ed.

Accomodation is nice, but when the doors are blocked with bodies, it becomes apparent even to him that Cadmus indeed is not going to run away from this. The robed figure tosses the bottle against a group of those who have succumbed to the gas. Once in the other room, there's the sound of shattering glass. "Ihr Conduit ist bereit für Sie zu halten Ilisam." He bites out, looking towards Death, giving a deleriously pleased smile despite his fate. He gasps out the last of the line. "Forth kommen." The elder man finally collapses down.

Death looks around the room at the numerous bodies lining the floors. Walking back into the main room, he sees Mike on the altar. Death rubs at his forehead, seemingly to ease some pain there. His face shifts from a sickly smile, to a pained look and back again. There is a battle going on in his psyche for the body of Remy Lebeau. As he approaches the altar, his steps falter a bit. Still he reaches out a cold black hand to the body laying there bloodied and bruised.

The body appears a bit different than before, the middle finger is no longer extended, but other than that, prone, eyes closed. As Gambit reaches a hand towards him, the feeling of cold greets him back as there is little warmth coming from the body. The body fades, vanishing from sight. The chains, lacking something to be wrapped around, fall to the table.

Death stumbles back a step or two at the disappearance of Mike. Again clutching at temples, he turns and drops to the floor. He slumps up against the altar closing his eyes. Both battles, the one inside his head, and the one outside have taken a toll on him. Sleep would do him well. Just a little nap is all he needs.



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