Out of the Frying Pan
Roleplaying Log: Out of the Frying Pan
Participants
IC Details
Synopsis:

Sloane Albright is cordially invited to her DEATH.

Other Characters Referenced:
IC Date: February 04, 2019
IC Location:
OOC Notes & Details
Posted On: 06 Feb 2019 00:54
Rating & Warnings: Lots of violence. So much feesh violence :)
NPC & GM Credits:
Associated Plots

On a map, this place is Avenue C and 13th street, the corner of a block like any other in the greatest city in the world. But those in the know will understand that this is a part of Mutant Town, a place filled with both hope and fear and everything in between as the city ramps towards enacting a law that might change these citizen's lives forever. But today, perhaps, is a day to set that aside.

Balloons are tied to the fencing around the lot of dirt that will one day soon become a public pool for the neighborhood kids, and while the Amherst Foundation is not so prodigious as to be able to avoid much fanfare, they seem to have hired a hot dog vendor to hand out food to the kids and their parents, and further inside the construction-site-to-be is a pavilion set up to receive their guest of honor for a meet and greet after the brief ceremony.

And that is how Sloane will find this corner lot that could be any other, swamped with people enjoying themselves ahead of the pool to be dedicated in her honor, a small gathering of men and women in nice clothes waiting nearby a microphone, one of which looks at her watch as the three o'clock hour approaches and she searches for their scaled guest of honor.


When the letter first arrived in the mail, she had a feeling it was some kind of sales pitch — tossed onto a few other credit card offers and expected-spam mail, left for a few hours before she finally took to reading the letter, seeing the message, and … at first, she felt taken aback: Someone wants to honor her for something? For all those times she tried to step out, offer her hand to other metahumans?

Then, the tired, soul-worn Sloane narrowed her eyes. Nothing in her life in the last few years has ever gone this good: This had to be a trick.

But then after a little digging, it seemed to be an actual, genuine thing. Getting some clearance to leave early for the day, she spent time getting herself dressed up nice enough for the occasion, and —

— then she arrives on the scene, glancing down at the hardened SHIELD-issue phone to make sure the address is right. She's dressed decently, with a longer tan jacket over a casual black dress, dark tights, and ankle-high boots. A few silver bracelets hang from one wrist, and she's got her favorite pair of aviators on as she approaches.

Shrugging off the waxing and waning February chill with the same aplomb as many metas can, the SHIELD Agent first looks worried… but eventually relaxes, at least just a bit — as much as she's allowed to, given her training.

Trying to be prompt and polite at the same time, she'll make her way through people to that official-looking woman. "Hi— sorry— I hope I'm not late, I hurried as much as I could. Um. So — yeah, I'm Sloane Albright."


The people begin to part, because it seems they've been told exactly who to look out for even if some of them wouldn't know Sloane by sight, and as she begins to explain who she is amidst introductions and handshakes, there is other contact.

A hand snaps to Sloane's wrist.

The contact is sudden, urgent, but in the moments that follow it is clear this is no attack. The little girl holding onto her arm can't be more than ten or eleven, and like Sloane, she has scales. But hers are from head to toe, and her eyes, while almost reptilian, are a silver. She does not have hair or ears at all, and is dressed in hand me downs from a decade prior. Her other hand contains an offering, a pen and notepad, and as she smiles up at Sloane the Agent of SHIELD will see the wonder and amazement of someone looking up at their hero radiating from an ear to ear smile.

"Ms. Merrow! Ms. Merrow!! Can I have your autograph?!"

It turns eyes from those gathered, who seemingly live for moments like these. A camera flash goes off, a few other guests snapping photos with their phones, and a few other kids lining up with the brief hope of obtaining Sloane's signature as a momento of meeting an actual super hero.


Those eyes do watch Sloane's approach and even her weave through the crowded area.

They likewise continue to watch as one brave little girl asks for the coveted autograph.

A memento that surely deserves to be saved. After all, it's not like this happens everyday in M-Town.

Right behind the little silver-eyed girl is another child. Perhaps a year or two older and definitely taller, the second girl hovers protectively behind the smaller. She's dressed in something only a child could love; a bright pink t-shirt with a sequence shaped unicorn upon it and a pair of ragged blue jeans and scuffed shoes.

Her expression isn't as worshipful as her friend's. It instead holds a note of wariness and weariness. Attesting to just how much the children of this neighborhood see.

"Sorry to bother you." States the taller of the two, an apologetic shrug pushing her shoulders high up towards her ears, before they're back down and she watches with intent brown-eyes.


G R I P.

Sloane's head turns, following the small hand to the small girl and her request. "Y-Yeah, sure!" she replies — she's just not used to anything remotely like /this/, and it's a little bit jarring. Lowering herself down into a squat to sit on her heels, the inhuman's signature is her callsign, swift and legible. "Your scales are really pretty," she says, offering a small smile and returning both— even reaching out to give her a gentle boop on the nose with her finger and a wink.

The other child, taller and protective, is met with the same warm regard— right down to a hand being offered out to her for a shake. "Hey, don't worry about it. This isn't a bother at all— I just want to help out everyone I can."

She wants to call out her bosses. She wants to yell, and scream. She wants to get angry about her job, and spends nights sleepless worrying about what will happen after the deadline, but —

— but, she really does want to help everyone she can.

"I hope you two enjoy this when it's all done. It's really cool, right?"


Sloane might try to hand the notepad back, but just as she starts to speak of how cool the pool is going to be, she will find her hand sticky. Clearly, the pen has leaked. Red ink spills down along Sloane's hand, but it isn't ink at all. Instead, it is the culmination of her work, her dedication, and her tireless effort to keep the world safe.

It is blood.

Just like the word that is on the notepad, not her signature at all, but a jagged scrawl that calls her out without saying a word.

T R A I T O R

Just like that, the little girl is gone. In her place is the cold confidence of Lillian Lee, staring at Sloane with a flat intensity that bores into the soul. Her uniform is more suited to the day's actual festivities than Sloane's, red and grey and the hallmark of those who call themselves the Brotherhood, right down to the stylized M circled near her right soldier. Similarly, the older girl dissolves into the true visage of Frenzy, who towers over Lillian and Sloane both.

The others are gone, too, but not replaced. The lot behind Sloane is vacant, and so is the street. Only a few persons line the rooftops to watch, record, and carry word of what's about to happen.

"My fucking hero."

The understated quip slips free from Neutron even as the attack is launched: A short, sharp punch targeting her ribs with steel-bending force, delivered with an instep to bring her close to her target, to make sure she can look her in the eye as she delivers vengeance for an entire people. But make no mistake, she pulls her punch. She does not try to crush her bones to dust, or collapse her lung, or send her fist rocketing through flesh and bone like she might some simple bigot.

No, she wants this to take time.


The illusion is finally cast aside and all is revealed.

Frenzy stands there, dressed similarly in her Brotherhood uniform as Lillian is.

She stands tall, straight-backed and strong.

Her expression and especially her eyes hold an easily recognizable note of judgement within them. It changes slightly when Lillian throws that first punch -

It turns to satisfaction.

And while Neutron fights, Frenzy simply stands there, the judge to the smaller woman's executioner. As such, Frenzy can't quite stop herself from detailing Sloane's crimes, "You knowingly, happily, work with and for the enemy. You've made friends with them, even welcomed into your life like family, even as they try to enslave us. Kill us."

"Today is judgement day, Sloane Albright. All that you've done you must now pay for."


Liquid on her fingers leads Sloane's gaze down to see the red, smell the stink of blood, to feel it on her hand as she looks down to the page and she realizes that she has not, at all, written what she thought she did. The realization that someone is messing with her head again does not even click in that first critical second.

Rising, the girl is gone. Instead, it's that red and grey suit, that M, and her face going vacant. Her hand goes for her jacket interior—

She doesn't get far enough in the next split-second as the blow crashes into her ribs, locking eyes with Neutron before she is thrown straight off her feet, sprawling across the ground in a whirling tornado of dirt and sky before coming to a halt; sunglasses fallen from her face in the spill, and her phone clattering off to one side.

Rising to one knee, she doesn't seem nearly as winded as she probably should; constitution and one hell of an oxygen efficency system being part of the more physical changes she underwent in Terrigenesis— but her eyes flick toward the phone displaying the lock screen, then up to take in the sight of so many people surrounding her in this vacant lot.

Her hand extends, fingers fanned and palm pointing out toward the street as she gets a feel for the water flow through the area; sewage lines, fire hydrants — anything she can use for a significant amount of water in a short time— faster than trying to pull it out of the air in this weather, anyway. It'll just take a little time to build up the pressure.

"Are you fuckin' kidding me? I'm trying to get them to help us! Not have us get tagged like we're animals — I'm trying to help get them to see metahumans aren't some big threat!" she yells back at Frenzy.

Nearby, pipes bend and whine— she's starting, but the water isn't quite there yet.


In all her time in the Brotherhood, Lillian Lee's anger has always been a cold thing, icy and directed with a ruthless efficiency that has always held some small measure of her own self-hatred, amplified by a desire for redemption. It is from a time before she knew what she was, and that is why she can move past it at all. To look upon someone who knows exactly what she is and works with their enemy bends her comprehension to a burning rage. It shows in the curl of her lip, which might be a smile to anyone else.

It shows in her purposeful stalk, rumbling the very ground as she nudges that phone of Sloane's into a sidelong skid for a runner to quickly pick up and carry off. Sloane might notice that runner had green scales. Merrow's glasses suffer the full measure of Neutron's mutation, pulverized into nothing amongst the broken concrete and dirt of the lot, a pile of refuse from a long demolished building that does, in fact, have intact water pipes below.

"…says the animal, tagged, branded, and domesticated. I'm sure you are trying to get them to help us. I'm sure there's a gas chamber around here somewhere you'll helpfully wave us into. You're disgusting. That you thought anyone might actually consider you a hero is disgusting. After I'm done beating you to death, I'm going to need a fucking shower."

For someone who weighs ten times more than she appears to, she moves faster than most might expect. Her steps turn into a small leap that aims to punch for the crouching Sloane's leg, aiming to crush a kneecap, to make it harder for her to attempt evasion.


Frenzy stays stationary.

Nearly motionless except for her eyes, as they follow Lillian and Sloane's adventure.

The creak and whine of the nearby pipes is heard, but for now the woman doesn't outwardly react to it.

Instead she follows up with some choice words of her own, though (perhaps) not as colorfully said as Lillian's.

"You've made two mistakes there -"

Begins Frenzy, her tone perhaps oddly patient, "You assume they want to help us and that we, mutants, a big threat. We are and should be. It is time to stop pretending we aren't their betters in all that we are and do, and it's time for them to realize it as well."

"And you, Ms. Albright, will be the message to those mutants who wish to continue to cavort with them. There are consequences in all we do, pleasant and unpleasant."


Sucking a breath in between her teeth, Sloane can feel it — just — she needs to pull it up from the ground, blow a few mains, but — it seems like this woman is just not interested in the least in giving her time to get her bearings, to ready her 'weapons'.

Hand clutching her ribs still, trying so hard to not hiss in pain, she finds herself staring down the freight train that is Neutron. She's not so far gone that she can't react; as the powerhouse comes down with that strike, she's quick to change posture — keeping her hands up, stepping in, and going for a heavy uppercut aimed at the Brotherhood's jaw—

— but even then, there is so much weight she didn't entirely account for — and even if she can land her own blow (holy shit her knuckles), the incoming strike impacts above the knee, ratching the Agent's leg backward at a rather hard angle and sending her sprawling back across the vacant lot.

"Ugh— that's — That's NOT what they're going to do! That isn't what anyone is planning — this shouldn't be something forced on /anyone/! If anything, it should be THEIR choice!"

Sloane's hands curl against the dirt — and in the midst of the vacant lot, a pipe ruptures with a deep *pak*, water racing toward the surface…

The inhuman huffs a little hard, after the second impact, her fall, and the pain in her leg. "And you're goddamn insane!" she yells — a retort to Frenzy— but her attention is straight ahead, scrambling to get some room between herself and Neutron with bad ribs and a wobbly leg.


CRACK.

SMASH.

Blows trade, and for all the strange abilities that Mutants and Inhumans wield, most are still subject to the laws of physics. Sloane will know this as her knuckles impact the fragile looking jaw-line of Neutron, another illusion shattered, but with the sound of cracking bone. It is everything one might imagine when striking marble that can give, if only a little, not so much the simple toughness of her skin, but the mass contained within her strange body. Still, momentum jolts her head to turn it ever so slightly, the sound echoing across the lot as her blow sends Sloane sprawling.

Her head tilts back, and she cracks her neck, apparently little worse for wear from that punch. Even as her quarry scrambles, Lillian stalks, picking up discarded piece of concrete and underhanding it at Sloane's ribs with enough power to certainly break even her enhanced bone, the object wailing through the air with the force of the toss, pieces of it pealing off in mid-air.

"Shh now, debate time's over. Now it's time to die, you traitorous bitch."

And then she leaps as a followup, intending to throw another flying punch meant to land a crippling blow no matter where it hits, for such is the force of sixty or more tons aligned behind those knuckles, her ire rising until it reflects in Sloane's eyes as she sails towards her prey.


"No." Frenzy states empathically, "I am not. None of us here are." The crack of bone is heard by Frenzy and whereas others might look to their companion in concern, Frenzy doesn't. Jo knows what and how much Lillian can take, and a punch isn't something that would take the other woman down. Not unless it came from her, possibly. So, Frenzy continues to speak, "Turn and look at your life, *Agent*, and then tell me who's insane. You continue to do the same thing over and over again, and expect a different outcome and then when it's the same as before you act so surprised, but in reality it's just a way for you to pat yourself on the back. To say 'I tried'. To absolve yourself of guilt."

"No more. There is no absolution for traitors. There is no mercy. There is only judgement."

She ends her words so that it coincides with Lillian's leap towards the Agent of SHIELD.


The instant her knuckles impact, she knows: There is something horribly, horribly wrong.

Sloane's eyes go wide as she feels bones burst and scales break under the colossal pressure of Neutron's body; the hardness beyond anything she's certainly punched before, and she quite literally punched the demon N'Astirh so hard it busted his demon face and helped send him straight back to Limbo.

This is something else; she feels sharp pain from knuckle to wrist before her failed counter leads to her sprawl-out across the ground, to attempt her momentary escape on a bum leg and a bad hand. The concrete skips across the ground before crashing into the inhuman's side; the Agent's eyes go wide as the impact throws her aside anew, sprawling across the ground in a bloody mess. Their eyes look at her with contempt.

Through dirt and ginger hair, her eyes are filled more with rage; blood flecks her lips and scatters through torn fabric and blunt-force trauma at her side, her leg, and her hand. Pushing partway up on her good hand, foot scuffing against the ground to get some kind of balance, her bloody hand lifts.

No quips, no one-liners, just raw terror and desperation— she just puts everything she has into the blast of water that erupts from the ground. To call it a firehose would be an incredibly gross underestimation of the force provided; less than a spray, this is more like a powerful, concentrated /jet/ of water and dirt and anything else carried along the blast — aimed with the full intent to slam into Neutron from the side to keep that much force from coming down on her skull…

… and to give the SHIELD Agent a chance to start dragging herself toward the edge of the lot, wheezing and scared.


Perspective has given Lillian the time to become more mature in what she wants out of the world, and even how she has navigated her mutation. It has also lead her on a path of self-education, one that brings pros and cons of it's own. For instance, it has helped her understand the power behind her increased mass and in general, the kind of power like Frenzy and Pietro must exert as they push the limits of the laws of physics. But so too does it let her know what's about to happen to her when that water hits her, for of all the powers in this world, water is one of the most destructive.

"Oh Fu-"

The roar of water drowns her out as she is caught in mid-air, powered sidelong and slammed into what's left of the old, demolished building that mostly occupies this lot, her increased mass working against her to drive her through rubble, through the ground itself as the water acts as a never-ending battering ram that flattens her out.

She would be drowning by now, if she could still drown. She would be panicked by now, if not for Frenzy's ironclad training and a desire to not fail the two people who are most important to her in the whole world. She thinks of Pietro and Wanda, certainly watching.

Nearly a minute passes, and a miasma of water spray creates a cloud of mist that fills up the whole block.

Then there is a rumble. A strange feeling that extends outward, one that Sloane and Frenzy and the rest can feel rumbling across the ground. It is a shift in gravity itself, a twitching, erratic thing that is a precursor to an explosion that sends water cascading outward and a very violent mutant racing towards Sloane.

The motion stops short.

The piece of rebar in Lillian's hand does not, metal lancing through flesh to spear the scaled woman bodily, and lift her up over her head.

"I think it's time for you to go home."

Dripping wet, bleeding black blood from her nose and sporting an uncommon bruise along her jawline, Neutron shows the battle scar of tangling with Merrow's power, and has decided not to risk it further.


Dust and rubble rises even as the water continues to bubble up; the force she can muster, that she can concentrate with in this state, only goes so far — and now she's trying to make good her escape before Frenzy decides to become more than a stalwart judge, before the people watching from rooftops and street level decide to intervene.

Twisting, putting her weight on her elbow, panic spikes; her arm reaches out, but the reach of re-bar is much greater, punching through scale and soft tissue with the excessive force at Neutron's disposal. She screams, muscles seizing, grabbing at the bar as she's hefted up into the air.

Sharpened canines bared, eyes wide, she looks less like mermaid and more like infuriated dragon, extending her arm to grab at the Acolyte's face before her breathing hitches— and then she starts to slump forward, hands staying tight on Lily's arm and trying to not move even as consciousness starts to bleed out on the edges to darkness.

'Help—' she thinks to herself. Maybe someone's listening.

'Help— I— help—'

"… kill— you— …" she rasps, before passing out.


Nature is always a destructive force, especially water. Frenzy's attention whips around to that broken pipe and then at the fountain of water that spews right for Neutron.

It's here that the Behemoth of the Brotherhood allows a faint pinch of her eyebrows to telegraph her concern for Lily.

Thankfully, however, her concern isn't necessarily warranted. Not as the woman returns and with weapon in hand.

Perhaps some might see the spearing of Sloane as something gruesome, but Joanna Cargill has seen many things in her lifetime, and all that can be seen of her expression now is satisfaction. It's what causes her to finally step over to Neutron and the dangling Agent of SHIELD. It's what allows her to hear those last rasped words of the scaled woman.

"We all die in our due time." Murmurs Frenzy, "But at least we died on the path of righteousness."

Now to Neutron. "Drop this trash off to where it belongs. Then return, rest, you did good."


As Sloane claws at her face, at her arms, at the fading vision in front of her, Lillian watches with all the curiosity of someone who finally has a frog to dissect. Her head tilts, ever so slightly, teeth bared and pupils almost consuming her eyes. It should make her feel something. Feel better, or perhaps worse. Instead she feels none of the satisfaction she felt when she ripped apart the foolish humans who came to Mutant Town and played at being powerful. Nor does she feel remorse, nor even the anger she so often feels, cold and simmering and just below the surface.

There is a brief moment, a blink of her eyes that makes her look taken aback. Nothing could really express the confusion she feels in that moment, nor the panic that wells up at the emptiness that follows her victory.

But then Jo is there to give her an order, and it snaps her out of it, the ground rumbling again and debris swirling in her orbit as she slowly takes to the sky. The rebar bends, twisted around her enemy, until she is a bundle of metal and scales that she takes aim with a throw she has been practicing for weeks.

Then, from her vantage high above the buildings here, Lillian Lee launches Sloane Albright towards the Triskelion like a football, happy to deliver her back to those that she serves with all the violence a message to their oppressors deserves. Whoever finds her and has the strength to remove that bar will find the bloody note with that single word plastered to her side.

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