Law of the Concrete Jungle
Roleplaying Log: Law of the Concrete Jungle
IC Details

In which, during an anti-registration protest, Kraven the Hunter perfects a trick he first practiced on Quake.

Other Characters Referenced: David Alleyne is in this too but didn't have a wiki when I made the log. He probably does now.
IC Date: February 19, 2019
IC Location: New York
OOC Notes & Details
Posted On: 20 Feb 2019 04:48
Rating & Warnings: I kinda went overboard describing a child taking a brick to the head. My bad.
NPC & GM Credits: GM: Spider-Gwen
NPCs: nameless
Associated Plots

They've been coming in dribs and drabs to the waterfront overlooking the Statue of Liberty since eight in the morning, in all colors and shapes: people, not all of them visibly human, the first ones wearing reflective yellow vests like you might see on roadside workers, setting up folding tables to hold clipboards, pins, water dispensers, signs on long sticks. Bullhorns dangle from the backs and armpits of some few, ready for the chants that will be cried out in protest against the government. The crowds gather behind the small, essentially symbolic metal barriers (they look like displaced bike racks) the police mounted to separate protester from counterprotester, the yard-wide semicircle they form straining to hold the entire congregation by ten o'clock, when the rally finally starts. Speakers stand on overturned wooden crates, reading from the pamphlets being freely passed out to any and all comers as if they're cliff notes of their own agendas; the crowd cries back at the right moments, those who are too shy to cheer on their own bolstered by the example set by the leaders subtly inserted into the crowd to use their extroversion as a guiding light.

Rallies are both exalting and frightening to be in. The self is somewhat subsumed under the will of the group: you become part of a greater whole at the cost of burying a small piece of yourself. An apotheosis, perhaps, or a return to the simple clan mentality of humanity's cave-dwelling ancestors, in which the family is all and the only source of survival, the only chance for your life to continue or your genes to spread. You can borrow from the energy of your neighbor and share yours in turn without losing any of it, like two fires joining together. It's an intoxicating emotional experience, balancing on the edge of becoming a mob, saved only from a riot by your ability to impart your sense of justice to your neighbors.

It's a thin crack for a mind controller to exploit when he needs an animalistic mindset to work with, but Alexei Kravinoff is a patient hunter, and knows how to wait for his moment.


David was one of the first here. He's bundled against the winter weather in a parka, but it hangs open over a long-sleeved tee that is clearly custom made: it has a picture of his own registration card, all its details visible save any that would allow somebody to steal his identity. He isn't called Prodigy for nothing. Later on he's supposed to speak, to give voice to his own experience as a mutant in America. He loves days like this. For now, though, he is manning one of the tables up front, helping his fellow activists hand out signs, write slogans, greeting people, handing out water, whatever needs to be done. It's all part of helping to bring justice to the masses. Vive la revolution!


Being new in town, Nadia, also known as the Wasp. Well she wants to known as the Wasp at amy rate. Knowledge about the whole registration thing had been passed along to the brunette fron Gwen Stacy, one of the few heroes she's gotten to know since arriving. And with a potentially bad sense of curiosity has decided to see what the fuss is about. After all just because there are good points for and against registering on paper doesn't mean she should make a choice. It'll probably happen anyway if she ever gets her immigration problems sorted out.

So in the purposes of learning, Nadia is at the demonstration in her civilian wear. Orange bomber jacket, torn up and well abused skinny blue jeans, wedge heeled hiking boots. And a little necklace with stainless steel beads and a broach with what looks like wasp wings embossed into the metal around her neck.

Sure she might end up registered in the end but doesn't mean Nadia has to actually like it. She's had plenty of time living with folks using her identity as a means of controlling her. Maybe in the end it won't be as bad in America.


News of the anti-Registration protest spreads quickly and of course it attracts a number of people of all stations, some of them mutants and some not. Doubtless some are showing their powers and some are remaining incognito. One of the former has arrived through the air over the gathering place and hovers there, within earshot but out of reach.

It's a woman, a well-built one dressed in what might be thought of as a swumsuit. She looks more or less human except for the wings on her ankles, little bird things that surely cannot hold her up. She waits there, watching. Some way know her - Namora of Atlantis. This is not likely to sit well in the US State Department as this must be considered a political statement.


David's speech is scheduled to begin at the other end of the demonstration, a march along a carefully preordained path toward the Seventh Circuit courthouse, where as many as are able to fit will stand on the steps they the people have the right to stand on and shout their words, speak their voices, to the law.

Even marching is easier when you're at a rally. The energy of your fellows is contagious, and you find yourself yearning anxiously to keep up with your comrades, to not slow them down, to stay shoulder to shoulder with these people who have declared they will hold a line with you. It's more like a military bond than a lot of people in power would be comfortable admitting. The people march, a sea of human bodies whose waves are their own voices yelling in unison "PEOPLE ARE NOT WEAPONS" and "DON'T LEGISLATE ME" along with standbys like "HEY HEY, HO HO, REGISTRATION HAS GOT TO GO," and, when the smoke clears, it will feel almost inevitable that a force this powerful somehow went wrong.

It starts with a brick. Did someone throw it? If so, it arced unseen over most of the crowd to strike a small girl, ten years old, on the head as she marched past a nearby tenement. More likely it was dropped from the building's roof, maybe even by accident, but that kind of forensic analysis will be beyond most people to pick up on. Some few, maybe twenty people nearby, will see only the splash of blood, a shocking amount (head wounds are always like that), splattering the wall and the jackets nearby. The girl doesn't even get to scream as the stone bashes consciousness from her: the screams are from her parents, who immediately drop to their child and are nearly trampled for their troubles before those behind them can form a wall of their bodies to divert protesters around. At first, their cries go unheeded, and for a few merciful seconds it seems like things might be alright; but then the screams catch on.

"They killed her! They killed a little girl!"

What follows almost defies ability to tell in the chaos of the moment. The crowd surges, screaming and roaring in rage, camaraderie broken by panic and rage. Fight or flight kicks in; people scatter. Protesters become rioters, leading packs of their allies into the counterprotesters on the other side of the street, attacking viciously. Flames and other, stranger energies fly; bass impacts sound as super-strength collides with buildings; explosions sound, small for now but surely going to grow.

It's madness, like a hydra with no head, just necks and bodies lashing out in all directions.


"Oh no," David mumbles under his breath. He reaches into an inner pocket of his coat to retrieve a pair of white-rimmed, yellow-tinted goggles and slide them over his eyes, and then ducks as a hurled rock passes over his head by inches. "Kris," he says to the suddenly panicked young woman who's been working the table with him. "Get down." He pushes her under the table when she doesn't react, the deer-in-headlights look on her face telling him all he needs to know. And then he starts toward the girl.

"Let me through!" he shouts at protesters who are gearing up to fight, pushing his way through their opposite number who are fleeing from the scene. "I've got medical training! I can help the kid! Let me through!" He is not being aggressive, but telling people he's trying to help. He carries nothing even resembling a weapon. But he can feel the suddenly panicked edge in the crowd. Something is wrong beyond the accident. He's assuming accident.


There is a point, Nadia agrees that people are not and should not be weapons. Growing up in a bunker in Siberia to become exactly that does do wonders for ones opinion.

It's the screams that come from parents losing a child and the almost instant turning of the crowd that might potentially sway Wasp in the other direction.

Suddenly being bounced around the crowds, easy when you are relatively small like Nadia is. The offer to help the child is heard when Nadia herself tries to navigate the crowds.

"People please! Calm down, this isn't going to help the girl or the cause. You don't want violence, you don't want to be treated like an unexploded bomb. It'll only get more people hurt!" it may fall on deaf ears. More likely Nadia is being drowned out.


Namora had been drifting over the crowd as the tragedy with the little girl happens. Of course she didn't see what happened but the commotion about her attracts her attention, even more so the almost-doom of the parents. She ends up just above head level to see what she might be able to do. There's a cry that the girl is dead, but Namora is not so sure.

Then the crowd explodes, and a battle ensues. Though there's possibly something she could do to stop some of this from going on, she decides the little girl is more important at the moment. Strange choice, maybe, when many other people are getting injured and possibly dead.


The crowd parts from David Alleyne, partially out of stunned submission to his confidence and leadership, mostly out of fear. Many of the protesters are bolting, their eyes wide, their pores reeking with the unlovely stink of panic-sweat. Some stand in his way, glaring and growling. One, a rather small, hunched woman doubtlessly living off her pension, actually bares her teeth at him before falling back. The girl's parents are on their knees, frantically trying to tend to their daughter; the father has taken his coat off and the mother has wrapped it around the child's head like a clumsy combination of bandage and comically oversized turban. The father is screaming, seemingly have gone non-verbal with distress, emitting nothing but a series of deep hoots and howls. Nearby, the brick lies on the ground, one rounded, age-crumbled edge maroon with human blood. The girl it struck lies senseless on the ground, chest still rising with breath and left leg kicking blindly.

Inside one of the buildings, a shadowed pair of eyes watches this with interested, especially the flying fish-woman. He vaguely knows her name; Aquawoman, or something like that. One of the semi-famous superheroes. If she fell to the mob, that would be a fitting sacrifice, wouldn't it? A sign of the crowd's power that could be turned against the legislators, and all it would cost is a mermaid's life. It's not like she's even a person.

A psychic signal sweeps outward, looking for a mind it can claw its way into, shut off the faculties, wear like a suit. It finds a woman whose mutation encased her skin in yellow bone, replaced her blood with poison, turned her tendons into catapults. She'll do, and, if she still had a mind, would probably be happy to die a martyr for a greater cause, he muses as he flings her like a grenade at Namora.

Outside, on the streets, a silent woman with claws for fingers and death for eyes leaps fifty feet through the air toward her flying prey.


David is slowly picking up on an underlying theme in the crowd — most of the protesters (and, he notes inwardly, pretty much all of those he knows to be vegetarians) are running in fear, or hiding. Others are gnashing teeth, growling, screaming for blood. Predators and prey. Fight and flight. Including the girl's father, it appears, and he worries about leaving the child in her parents' care if they're going to start ripping into the next person over when he's done. He satisfies himself with pulling away the coat wrapped around her head and redressing the wound as best he can with the materials he has at hand. But he's watching, wary, to make sure nobody attacks him or the girl. The presence of Namora nearby is reassuring — she's certainly powerful enough to handle the people here. Including the parents, if necessary.


Going into costume might be a bad idea, since Nadia might become a target. But to at least get a better handle on moving she lets her wings emerge from where she keeps them shrunken on her back and start to lift the Wasp off the ground. The wings at full human size buzzing deeply.

Feet off the ground, a few meters off the ground at that, Nadia again tries to calm the crowd again before seeing a woman leaping at another, clearly in an attack motion. Physically blocking, it's too far even as fast as the Wasp can fly but she doesn't have to get up close and personal. Which might be better for the mind controlled assailant. A hand is outstretched and there's a crackle and a zapping sound as a rather hefty bolt of bioelectricity is expelled from Nadia's hands towards the superhuman clay pigeon woman.


Aquaria is too concerned with the child and the family to notice the leaping arrack from the controlled mutant. She's struck in the back, full-on with the woman's bone-like body. Still, Namora is quick, very quick and she twists like a cat to get her hands on the lady even as the impact occurs. The momentum shoots the pair a bit further in the air, spining end over end for a moment until Aquaria reestablishes control of the altitude and momentum.

"How dare you attack a scion of Atlantis?" she bellows. This is what is expected of her… well, of Namor, but she has to keep up appearances.

The woman doens't answer, instead pistoning her bladed arms into Namora's torso and leaning to bite at the blonde's shoulder with her needle teeth. Rather than a fountain of gore and a disembowled flying woman Namora just grunts in pain.

"Gahh! that hurts!" Namora cries and tosses the woman away bodily with her immense strangth… probably right into the Wasp's biolelectric blast.


A hundred and fifty pounds leaping fifty feet through the air generates enough force that it shouldn't just ram into Aquaria, it should shatter her bones… or it would if she were human, anyway. To someone who lives under entire atmospheres of pressure at the bottom of the ocean, it's more like a particularly solid sumo tackle. The woman in Aquaria's arms lashes out viciously, gracelessly, effectively, and silently. Her carapaced face is expressionless, and she's as silent as a striking spider. Beneath the airborne struggle, the girl's parent shriek and flee, father first. Her mother attacks David with wide, open-handed strikes as if she doesn't know how to make a fist, swinging wide, clumsy, heavy swipes at him to drive him away from her daughter.

Above them, Namora overcomes the brutish viciousness of the attack and throws her assailant like a shotput into Nadia's blast. At this close of a range, the electricity from Nadia's hand sounds like the world's loudest static pop, if it happened inside David and Namora's skulls. The woman screamsa particularly human sound, especially compared to everything else happeningand falls to the ground. There's a cracking sound on impact; doubtless a plate of chitin.

'That won't do at all,' thinks the mastermind, and reaches out into the crowd that's pouring up the courthouse steps, a mob maybe fifty bodies deep filled with no thought but the red rage of stampede. The guards' firearms are popping at the crowd and people are dropping to bleed on the steps, but the foreguard does not slow for bullets, and soon the guards have to retreat to barricade the doors.

It's among these that the next attackers are found. They turn with eerie, silent unison toward their newly assigned prey, and they attack: a man as black as shadow, his body hard to define as the eye strains to comprehend it; a golem of prismatic crystal; a man with lava for hands; the child whose body keeps evaporating like mist.


David is a skilled martial artist, but doesn't feel the need to defend himself against these open-handed blows. They aren't going to hurt him badly, and it's more important to take care of the girl. Once she's properly bandaged he presses her into her mother's flailing arms — this, he suspects, is motherly protective impulse, and she should run now to take her child to safety. That's what a parent in the wild would do, right?

And once the mother and child are retreating, he turns his eyes to the new problem. The guns going off, the people falling, and then these new attackers, at least two of whom appear truly dangerous. This isn't normal, isn't natural. The young man shakes his head and begins scanning the crowd and the buildings around to seek a source of the disruption, somebody who might be the cause of this mess. Could be an innocent running like the rest, somebody who can't control their powers… but he suspects not.


One down, so many more to go. Buzzing closer to Namora, arms up a moment to show she's not an agressor, Nadia nods her head with a bounce of that short brown bob cut of her's.

"Think we need to find a way to scare them off or calm them down without resorting to anything that could be lethal. I got one thing I could try but I dunno how long I can keep it up," Wasp says and scans the crowds.

"If you guys can find the solution, I can try buy you the time." A few more of her bioelectric stings are fired at One down, so many more to go. Buzzing closer to Namora, arms up a moment to show she's not an agressor, Nadia nods her head with a bounce of that short brown bob cut of hers.


Namora shakes her head to clear it, rubbbing at a pointed ear at the mini-thunderclap. After a miment she nods in gratitude at the man below patching up the bleeding girl. Before she can speak to him, her attention is also drawn by the shots on the steps nearby, though she is of course rotating in the air. Her keen eyes pick up that not everyone there is attacking the building any longer - some of them have turned to face her (David and Nadia too, of course).

Aquaria nods at the Wasp's words. Her voice is normal, if with something of a strange accent. "That may be for the best. We do not know if they are actively seeking to seek battle or if they are reacting to the situation and lashing out. I could do something drastic but the less damage we all cause the better… no doubt all recording devices in the area are trained on us up here."


The four attack. The shadow's body is at least somewhat immaterial as he chooses David as his foe; his blows land without impact, but with a chill that goes bone deep, so sudden it makes muscles contract in protest. The crystalline being stomps forward, swinging its arms in double-fisted hammer blows, nothing more sophisticated than that, roaring in a surprisingly high-pitched, silvery voice that weirdly evokes a violin. Its body must weigh at least four hundred pounds: those blows would be horrific were they to catch David squarely.

Lava-hands leaps again and again for Aquaria. His hands drip molten liquid onto the ground as he jumps, never getting more than three feet off the ground (and rarely more than two) as he tries to reach his prey, leaving scalding pockmarks in the cement around him that stink of sulfurous vapors. Only the mist-child is able to reach Aquaria; her body keeps disintegrating and reforming upward in incremental steps, like a bad special effect from a sixties scifi movie. Her hands are outstretched, fingers curled into grasping but seemingly harmless claws, though who can say for sure?


While David is further from Nadia and Namora, he's close enough to hear what's being said — but he doesn't want to draw attention to himself. And so he waves his hands over his head to get their attention, staying as close to the building as he can. The brick is indicated — the obvious weapon used to start the riot. And then a hand extends to point upward. It had to have come from that direction. And then the logical conclusion, he hopes, is obvious: whoever is causing these people to behave like animals is probably up there. But whatever the case, the two flying women are in a far better position to do anything about this than he is himself.

He leaves this in their hands now as he comes under assault from the shadow man and the crystal golem. He can dodge the golem's blows, but the shadows (dark force, he assumes) pass through him, chill him, cause his muscles to clench and cramp in response. He doesn't know if what he's going to try will work — but he has to do something, because he can't keep evading the golem while his body betrays him. He launches himself at and through the shadow man — and hopes the crystal being follows… and has SOME kind of reaction to the chill.


When your powers largely involve shrinking, sometimes people forget that it can go the other way. It's not something you want to do regularly while you aren't used to it but sometimes it's just called for.

Where once there was a somewhat petite and adorable young mad scientist girl, there's a rush of air blowing around as the space is taken up by what is now a fifty foot Nadia. One foot stepping forward to balance herself with that giant wedge heel stomping hard on the paved ground. Putting it between the smaller fight and the larger crowd as she crouches to start swatting at them and anyone else that tries to make an attack. "One warning. Those stings can hurt when I am normal sized. At this size, what do you think it could do to an entire riot?" she posits firmly, her voice booming as brown eyes watch for anyone getting the wrong idea while she plays crowd control.


Namora dodges the gobbets of lava that end up in her direction. "Cease your attacks and you will not be harmed!" she commands, but then she notices the m man who did the first aid on the girl waving his arms as if to attract her attention. She notes his pointing up and that he seems to be under sttack. She's can't have that, of course.

She swiftly flies towards David, intending to inercept the crystal beast on the far side of the shadow-person. There should be quite an impact.

The mist-girl intercepts HER, though she's not likely to stop the missile that is Namora, but as it turns out the girl's vapor isn't water mist… it's carbon dioxide. The princess suddenly begins to choke as her oxygen is cut off… still she heads for the large crystaline thing. She might not have as much control as she likes with this new development.


David can dodge the crystal person fairly easily on its own. They don't tell you that size like that slows you down quite a bit, and its blows accomplish nothing so useful as throwing off pretty rainbow auras as its movements make the light refract through its body.


David's idea is respectably mad. Diving through the shadow-attacker hurts like taking the Polar Bear Plunge, like knives of ice rammed into his body all over: he falls immediately, convulsing… but the bait worked. As shadowman reared back for a final attack, crystalthing stepped into its formless body and both screamed as the smaller one's anti-light got trapped and diffused throughout the larger one's prismatic body. Screaming, beating at each other and themselves, they lock up in self-mortification of their new shared body, an easy target for Namora but for her trouble breathing.

It seems to be a day for inhabiting other people's bodies.

Poison seeps into Namora's lungs as she shoulderchecks crystalthing from overhead. It falls down hard and does not get up. The stillness of his body seems to help the shadowman inside in his efforts to escape; without the movement of crystalthing's body to keep shifting light over shadowman, it can find a path out, and does, running, screaming into the nearest alley. Namora may not care very much about any of this, given the scouring CO2 in her lungs.

Shadowman is he the only one in retreat. The mob assaulting the courthouse can't be reasoned with any more than a pack of wolves can, but it can intimately understand size. Nadia's presence alone is enough to break them, send them scattering in opposite directions like a family of rabbits running from a pouncing bobcat.

It's been three minutes since the brick fell. Three minutes and a dozen people have died, buildings have taken damage, the courthouse has been assaulted. Further out, the riot continues, though it's losing steam, if any of the heroes have the sensory range to tell it. People are coming back to themselves.

Up on the roof, Alexei Kravinoff, no fool, has begun to realize the jig is up. He's done good work today, but staying up here is to be captured. He bolts with feline speed toward the rooftop exit and bounds down the stairs like a gazelle, taking them in leaps from landing to landing, hand brushing the siderails for balance as he goes. It's a suicidal pace, but he never questions his abilities.

On the ground floor now, he bursts out of the building, disheveled and wide-eyed. "Bozhe moi!" he gasps at the assembled heroes. "This is madness! Can I help? I am strong!"


David is pained, but forcing himself to his feet. Eyes fix on Kravinoff. Well, he was going to hand the arrest to one of the others — more recognized heroes than he. But with Kravinoff bursting out right in front of him (a nearby policeman provides him the knowledge he needs: this man is Alexei Kravinoff, wanted for this, powers that, considered extremely dangerous) the young man, still cramped, takes a step forward. "Sure, man. We can use all the help we can get."

And he aims a fist for the man's chin, courtesy of training with the best the X-Men have to offer - and a tae kwan do Yook Dan in the crowd supplementing David's already quality fighting skills.


The expression on Nadia's face, those dark painted lips in a flat expression as the crowd begins to disperse. Thankfully she doesn't have to use those stingers at the enlarged size. She's slow enough with all her strength going into moving. Even slowed down there's some considerable grace to each wave of her hand and adjustment of her squatted position.

Turning with that fluid style she turns to look at the others and Alexei as he makes himself known. The exclamation in Russian gets a grin from the oversized teenager but she doesn't respond in the mother tongue until after David clocks the instigator. <Dosvidanya Dumbass> she teases the villain.

"That was probably not the best moment for either side of the argument. I hope that girl is going to be okay." she says maintaining her enlarged stature a little while longer.


Aquaria claws at her own throat in a moment of panic, as if this will somehow bring her breath back. Still, she is a princess and a warrior. So, she rises from the ground despite her lack of air and shoots into the sky, hoping to leave the choking gas behind. The roof of the building, maybe? If she can only go fast enough…


David is good, but slow compared to a Kraven. He never would have landed a blow but for the element of surprise: even with his superhuman reflexes, Kraven expected no attack from this stripling boy whose body smells like a frazzle of endorphins trying to overcome pain. Kraven could destroy Prodigy with one blow…

…But Aquaria or the Wasp could do the same to him as punishment.

There's no help for it but to keep trying to play innocent and nurse his jaw. Kraven holds his right hand up in surrender while his left babies his chin. "Don't hurt me! I surrender!" he cries from the place on the ground David's uppercut deposited him. "Please! I just wanted to help stop this riot!"

Kraven is a passable actor, if a terrible dialogue writer. No one would say that unless they were lying about it.

Near the building's roof, Namora's flight seems to be helping. A little. Maybe. The girl in her lungs is still there, coating Aquaria's throat and tongue with the sour taste of overexertion. It's a strangely mundane taste to be killing her, isn't it? But flying high and fast seems to help; the slipstream seems to pull the mist-girl out a little bit, like Namora's giving herself a weird kind of solo mouth-to-mouth with the wind pressure.


"Liar," says David, knowing this man is more than human, and his own abilities aren't going to let him keep up in a fight. But he can dodge. And he can wait for the others to be ready to help. He's not backing away, but not closing, either. "You are Alexei Kravinoff. I know your powers. I know what you did here. This riot is all your doing."


With Namora still choking, Nadia moves herself into a close range of the Atlantean, seeing what she's trying to do. To help she shrinks herself down while Namora flies up, thne much like when she grew there is a rush of air, but it is inwards like a fast vaccum to draw air and gases into the once occupied space. Hopefully with Namora's ascending movements and her exhalations being forced, the two forces on the surrounding air are enough to dislodge gaseous young girls who probably don't normally like being in someone's lungs.

With feet on the ground she levels both hands at Aleksei Kravinoff. Looking at him very suspiciously. There's even a crackle of electricity at her fingers ready to zap him. When David spills the beans, Kravinoff gets the shock of his life. Both hands zapping him. <You will face justice.> she says simply in Russian. Kraven may hunt game normally, and dabble in humans but Nadia's an irate trained assassin with a target in sight now.


The air claps at Nadia's sudden decompression, a bit like a thunderclap or a very quiet sonic boom. It helps a lot. Namora's able to expel the last of the girl in one great huff; the child's body coalesces back into its literally effervescent self, seemingly unconscious now, eyelids flutttering rapidly over glazed eyes as the girl falls slowly but limply toward the ground.

Nadia's attack is not very sporting. Tazing a surrendered foe would doubtless draw the ire from the Marquess of Queensbury; but maybe it's poetic, given how little sport Kraven has shown in his entire life. A bully pushed against a bigger kid and got knocked down.

With Kraven silent, the streets are eerily quiet. The roads were shut down for the march, and the riot spread outward from this center like an explosion, taking all the noise and anger with it to the edges of its blast. If it were a movie, a discarded newspaper would blow across the street for the heroes to hear the rough scraping of paper on stone, but New York apparently has no theatrics in mind today. There are just the distant sounds of yelling and car alarms.


David is more than a little relieved when Alexei goes down. He doesn't buy for a second that the guy was really going to surrender — but the police can deal with him now. His attention turns toward Nadia. "Thanks," he says. And then, gesturing at Namora, "Is she going to be okay?"


The poor girl got huffed is left alone. It's not her fault that she endangered Namora. That goes to Kraven. Even unconsious, Nadia keeps her focus trained on him along with get stingers embedded into her nervous system. Generating so much power at the levels needed to take down a couple superhumans along with time spent as a giantess will take its toll on the Wasp but until it's clearly safe to do so, Nadia, the Russian girl with no legal name. Looking over to Namora and then the unconsious girl that was exhaled. "I think they should be fine. You might wish to further restrain Kravinoff. Don't give him a chance to wriggle free till those with the equipment to do better so arrive."


Her breath returned, Namora could stop at the edge of the rooftop, but she doesn't. She hadn't even recognized Alexei as a threat. Though the gas didn't cause her much physical damage, she needs the water. So she continues pn through the air, heading for the nearest large body of water, as quickly as she can. The headlines may not be kind to her in the next few hours.


David nods to Nadia as he sees Namora in retreat, and then utters a sigh of exhaustion. "I don't know what this idiot was doing," he says, "but he ruined everything." A pause as he glances around. People need help. "I'm going to start doing the medic thing again. I'm David Alleyne, by the way. If you ever need computer help or whatever, feel free to call me." Somehow he suspects the young woman with shrinking powers doesn't have a ton of problems with her laptop.


"Nadia, Wasp when I get in costume. I should probably get out of here. This is probably going to end up a SHIELD thing so I'd like to avoid headaches from them." That power of David's would easily be getting all of Nadia's skills and knowledge. And being where it came from could seem very incongruent when matched to the young woman. To the point that Kraven might have actually lucked out on only being stunned. "Hopefully you have good luck with getting your message across. It seems like an uphill battle, but then that's what happens when the glass is twice as big as it needs to be." she says and with a shrug of her shoulders has her wings unfurled and the Unstoppable Wasp is making her exit Jerseywards.


David waves after Nadia and waves a policeman over to take Aleksei into custody. And then goes to help out the injured.

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