i'm hardly capable of half the damage that i would like to do [open]

[rosswood]

Who: Alex Kralie, some closed starters, and YOU
Where: All around the island of Genosha
When: August 5th - August 9th
Rating: Let's say PG-13 for general violence, colorful language, and trauma
Summary: Alex Kralie is one human attempting to tear down a society built for mutants. This is sure to go well. I'll match any format, brackets or prose!
The Story:

open to mutants; but you know i'm too full of shit to think this through

A man's been following you for a the past thirty minutes to an hour. He's been crossing every street you have, passing every establishment, stayed within a good thirty-yard radius of you this whole while. He keeps his hands in his pockets, his hood up over his features, his head low. Unobtrusive, except for the whole part where he's following you.

Maybe it's nothing. He looks normal. If he's a mutant, he's not an obvious one. He hasn't said anything to draw attention to himself or to you. All in all, he's been pretty harmless. So there's no cause to worry. Right?

Only the next time you look over your shoulder, the next time you wonder where he might be, you'll find he isn't behind you anymore.

Instead, he's walking toward you at a brisk pace, his stride hard and purposeful. There's a glint of something in his hand. A gun, or a knife, or some other weapon. He brings it up rapidly, his intent clear and telegraphed.

You can run, or fight, or let it be. But this man is here to kill you, and he's not leaving until either you're dead or his advantage is lost.

[ooc: Alex is intent on killing any mutants he comes across. He shouldn't die since he's scheduled to kill someone at the end of the event, but feel free to kick his ass if you like! Or he can kill you, either way.]

open to humans; i'm but a boy just like the rest of these thieves

A grimy office set up in some basement isn't the ideal living situation for anyone, but that's inconsequential. There's stacks of files, photographs pinned to his walls, papers with lines upon lines of names. Some of them are crossed out. Most aren't.

The Resistance isn't overly inclined to work with him. Alex clicks his tongue between his teeth, annoyed. That's a laugh. No, actually, it's not. It's bullshit is what it is.

He slips outside, stumping across streets and navigating back alleyways. He's had to lay low lately. Turns out committing acts of terrorism against mutants lands you on some higher-ups' watch lists, who knew? But he's got to stay on his feet somehow, and any humans sympathetic to the Resistance and any like-minded individuals are his best bet. He's not calling for charity here; he's got money, if only a little, and he can pay them back in favors - nothing's too unsavory for him. Whatever someone might require from him as payment, he's probably done worse for far less.

You might've heard of the elusive Alex Kralie, an anti-mutant extremist who can boast such achievements as attempted assassinations and bombings of mutants and mutant establishments. Maybe he comes to you in need of food or weaponry, offering his services in exchange. He's got no moral quandaries; he'll do whatever it is you need him to do, no matter how morally corrupt or inelegant. But if you turn him aside, think his methods too brutal - well, he won't blame you. He's on your side, after all. He's a human, just like you. Maybe you don't see it yet, but he's doing this for your own good. For the good of everyone.

Just help him out this once, and he'll never come to you for a favor again.

Comments

closed to mettaton and alphys; august 6th; and i borrow phrases from dusty, faded, record sleeves

[rosswood]

Today he strikes a significant blow against the mutant society, the very highest echelons of that selective elite. The pomp and fanfare that constantly circulates around mutantkind's biggest current celebrity makes him laughably easy to track. Bland tabloids and bombastic headlines follow him wherever he treads, every performance a spectacle, every public appearance a scrambling event.

The latest file is extracted from the pile and carded through. It's stuffed to bursting with only the most critical information, reaped from every possible source, as the mutant in question (Mettaton, thinks Kralie snidely, don't make him laugh) has never exactly been careful about what personal information he releases for public consumption. It's a hilariously simple job to pin down his current location. There's a performance at one of those decked-out venues, something appropriately high-end with all the glitz and glamour and eye-catching sameness that comprises all of the mutant celebrity's performances. The backstage area is simple enough to get into - he had only to strangle a couple stagehands and bodyguards into unconsciousness, or possibly death if he didn't gauge his timing quite right, but there's a saying about omelettes and eggs, so he accepts their deaths as collateral, and stores the bodies in lockers and underneath shelves and boxes.

The pounding of drums and heavy bass vibrates beneath Kralie's feet as he navigates through greenrooms, eyes sliding past the assorted merchandise and miscellany with casual disdain.

As the performance winds to a close, Kralie positions himself by the stage exit. Mettaton will come through any moment, and then he'll take care of him as required. He removes the gun from his pocket, removes the magazine, counts out the bullets, and snaps the clip back into the place with the click of aligning locks and pins. He cocks the pistol, backs up, and prepares to take aim and fire in quick succession.

[mettatonvevo]

The sharp clicks of his heels are the only sound he makes as he walks through the backstage of the venue, metallic skin gleaming in the artificial light. It's oddly quiet here in comparison to the stage and he aches to make some noise. A quick look to his bodyguard, tall (though not as tall as him), wide and imposing, reminds him that the silence is purposeful.

He shouldn't even be going this way, as his bodyguard has mentioned dozens of times today. If he had been playing it safe, he would have listened to his entire security detail and changed up his habits; leaving out different exits, not talking to fans, keeping his distance. But Mettaton doesn't play it safe. You never make an impression if you don't put yourself into some danger, and he always refuses to be cowed, recent attacks in the news be damned.

At the begging of his sponsors and crew, he at least doesn't go anywhere alone now. Hence the presence of Eric, a mutant with enhanced strength who is escorting him out to his bus to begin their journey to the next arena in Genosha, continuing his island-wide tour.

"Pull up your collar," Eric says gruffly, adjusting the microphone in his ear. "You can't let anyone see your face."

Mettaton rolls his eyes, even as he fluffs up the collar on his trench coat and dips the lip of his hat to cover his face. The dim shimmer from his skin dissipates. "This is the real travesty here. Denying the public my face. They deserve better."

Eric responds with a grunt, putting out his hand to Mettaton's chest and stopping him from walking right out the stage exit. "Me first, remember? Then you follow." The star huffs irritably but complies, hovering backwards as his bodyguard opens the door and steps out into the dark. He only gives it a brief second before he too steps outside.

[rosswood]

Voices. Alex adjusts his grip on the gun, draws back a few steps. An exchange, a conversation spiraling his way. Of course. Of course the favored celebrity wouldn't be without a bodyguard of some sort. He'll have to move quickly.

The fingers of his free hand flex, an unconscious, anxious tic.

"Me first, remember? Then you follow." The voice is too low and gruff to belong to the star himself. There's no way of stepping around it, so Alex doesn't afford the other man much of a window. He loops one arm around his neck as soon as he steps forward, dragging him backward in a motion that seems oddly familiar, rams the gun into the small of his back, and discharges two rounds.

He lets him slide to the ground, and aims the pistol unwaveringly at Mettaton's face, his expression hard.

[mettatonvevo]

It all happens quickly. One moment he and Eric are standing together in the warm night, the low lights of distant buildings lighting their way. The next his bodyguard is falling, the muffled sound of gunshots buried into the man's back. He doesn't have time to gasp before he sees another man standing before him, the barrel of a still-smoking gun pointed directly at his forehead.

There have been recent attacks on mutants in this area, he remembers Eric saying. That's why I will be escorting you from now on. Got that? You can't weasel out of this one, Mettaton. What would the world do without its biggest star?

What would it do, indeed. He's not letting him die in vain if he can help it.

"Stop!" he commands, his voice echoing out a deep baritone that crackles with the air of suggestion. It's fine. This is fine. He can talk his way out of this. The other man hasn't shot yet, so there's still a chance. The blood is pooling and the other man's gun hand is steady but he hasn't pulled the trigger, and it's fine, this is going to be fine-

"You will put the gun down, take the bullets out, and step away from me."

He waits for the other man to do as he says. He doesn't.

...well. Shit.

closed to jane doe; august 7th; i'm just like me, so who the hell are you?

[rosswood]

She wasn't, strictly speaking, a target. His target for the day had been one Philip LaFresque, but he didn't mind the detour once he spied her. The tattoos were a dead giveaway.

Kralie never leaves the house without a weapon. He has a switchblade in his pocket, but more efficient would be the gun he slowly withdraws from where it's been tucked near his waistband. They're on some public street, and it wouldn't do to make a display of this. That would simply aggravate human-mutant relations further.

So he waits for her to turn into an alleyway, a quieter place, an emptier place, anything. And then he raises the gun.

[endingpoint]

Jane always has a weapon on her; her hands, all she has to do is get close enough, but today won't be that day. She's leaving Kurt's, both of them trying to make sense of conflicting memories. She's not sure, but she's almost positive none of this is real, that she isn't a monster, that there is no separation of humans, and she's heavy in thought as she tries to make sense of it. Never once does she think her life is in danger. She keeps to the alley because she doesn't want to explain where she's coming from, but she finally hears a minute click and looks up.

"....Alex."

Alex from Wonderland, Alex who has no memories, like her, and to suddenly have another person she realizes she knows backs up her belief, that this is all something darker, something more sinister than she can grasp. But she's also now staring down the barrel of a gun.

"Wait, Alex, listen to me. Please, this isn't real. We aren't supposed to be here."

She probably sounds like a mad woman, and maybe she is, but she doesn't want to die.

[rosswood]

...she knows his name. That in and of itself gives him pause, a concerned disdain rippling across his features. Alex. No one calls him Alex here. He lost the right to his first name with nearly everyone he met, now it's just Kralie, brusque and distant, without the courtesy of familiarity.

This isn't real, she says. We aren't supposed to be here, she says.

Well, people say the weirdest things to save their own lives. He's used to it. He doesn't care. He shrugged away those hesitations and impulses years ago. Years...yes, it had to be years. He's been here for years.

"That won't work on me," he says, short and clean, and why hasn't he fired? Why hasn't he - just shoot. Shoot, and it'll be over.

[endingpoint]

"No, no listen. My name is Jane. Jane Doe. I'm from a place where my memory was erased. And you...you were showing me movies and telling me what to watch, and you told me about your life. About waking up places you didn't remember going. So you started wearing a camera to record it. We've both been stuck in a place called Wonderland. Alex, please, remember."

She's begging him, but she's also not backing down, stepping forward.

"I don't want to hurt you."

mutant prompt for misunderstandings :V

[normandysbest]

She always tries to keep a low profile when she's out and about- you can't exactly be public with the whole 'Hey, I'm working highly with a big resistance' sort of deal, but she knows she's got enemies on her back, mutants who would much rather see her taken out. Luckily, she's got some good connections, tech to pass for what she's not born with, until she can end this stupid war.

But she can see him trailing her, tries to place him as she moves. He looks familiar- she feels like she's seen his face somewhere before. Resistance, maybe? Trying to catch up and pass on some intel? Or a mutant who knows too much about her, someone's she's tangled with before?

Shepard snaps back when she realizes he's not following her anymore, and then when he approaches, she knows- Kralie. Dangerous. Very dangerous. Doesn't work close enough with the resistance to have seen her enough. Mutant hunter. So flipping on the cloak would be the opposite of help. She's gotta take this into her own hands.

... Quite literally, because she steels herself, sucks in a breath, and grabs forward for his wrists, aiming to disarm him and hopefully get the chance to talk him down the rest of the way.

\o/

[rosswood]

Logically he knows that even on the offchance that there is someone he should watching out for in the vicinity, it's not as if he can take action in a public space. Not when he's got people out for his blood, and he's out for theirs. Drawing attention to himself would be a bad plan.

Kralie, of course, doesn't care either way. He's already got heat on him for attacking mutants with a semi-regularity, what's a little more? He bullrushes her, knife in hand, ready to catch her evenly between the ribs. Not the most elegant way to go; bleeding out is slow and painful. But it's all he an afford. The crack of a gunshot would be too conspicuous, except -

She seizes his wrists with a practiced jolt, halting the trajectory of the blade, but she's not the first to have pulled that little trick so he hooks one foot behind hers and jerks, attempting to unbalance her - even if it sends them both toppling, it'll be worth it.

[normandysbest]

She lets out an annoyed 'tch' when it's evident he's not gonna drop this, swinging her momentum sideways when her leg starts to crumple under his foot. She probably can't get enough speed to get him on his back, but if they both come hard down on their side, it'll take out at least one arm. How the hell does she explain this? What will honestly get him to listen?

"Goddamnit, kid, what the fuck are you doing?" Alright, not the best choice of words, but it's sure what she's saying. "Somebody pay you for this? Because I'm really not lookin to kick your ass today."

[rosswood]

He tries to shake the sting of concrete against skin as she brings them crashing down onto the asphalt. He struggles against her grip, but he's all wiry muscle and bone, self-taught and untrained. He's excelled through guerilla tactics and the element of surprise alone, striking hard and fast before anyone can counter his efforts.

"You're one of them," he rasps, and that's where he leaves his justification. That's all he needs to say. That should be reason enough to know she deserves nothing more than death, pure and swift.

mutant

[brainleak]

Telepathy is invasive.

River's so glad to be taught how to control her mutant powers, so very glad that she can potentially avoid ever using them again. So when she sees the same man twice in one day, and her paranoia begins to eat at her, she can't let herself read his mind. She can't resort to that instantly. She has to be good. She has to be good.

But god, is it hard to stop a reflex. She hurries away, trying to focus on her own thoughts like her teachers instructed her. Scared. Scared. She shuffles through populated areas, where a slip and an errant thought entering her brain could be anyone's, until she eventually grows tired and moves away from the people and to solitude again. Safe. She's good, she's good.

A foreign word enters her mind -- 'mutant' -- and she whirls around to find the same man, knife in hand, so near...

Without thinking, a combat boot comes up and aims at the armed hand to deflect the knife, leg coming up straight and graceful as if she's simply dancing ballet.

[ooc: hi zero im late to the event you can kill river though]

omg if you're sure

[rosswood]

Doesn't matter if she's good. Doesn't matter if she tries. She's tainted, right down to her genes, and there's no escaping it. There's no cutting it out or scrubbing yourself clean. There's only purging her from the system entirely, and that's what he's here to do. He's the antibody, and he's cleansing the body of a virus. It's necessary work. Not elegant, not correct, not justifiable by any means, but he holds no illusions about it. It's reprehensible, what he does, and he does it because someone has to. Why not him?

Why not him.

River Tam - another one of those with neurological powers, the kind he hates with an extreme, intense prejudice. Trampling around in his mind like they've got any right to know his thoughts. He tries to keep his head empty and unfocused and clear, but that's difficult at best, even more so when you're trying to plan an ambush without actually thinking about tactics.

It shouldn't be a surprise when she disarms him without any difficulty whatsoever, kicking the knife clean out of his grip. His fingers burn at the impact of her boot against the flesh of his hand, but he yanks the gun out from where it's stowed, left-handed like he's practiced a dozen times, and cocks it.

~*i am sure*~

[brainleak]

River freezes at the sound of the gun, eyes wide as she stares at him. There's no way to get away from him without getting shot, not when he's so close already. She should have stayed in the crowds, even though fighting against hearing so many thoughts at once is exhausting. She should never have assumed she would be safe. In general, even. With tensions as high as they are right now...

"Don't," she says almost pitifully. "I'm not your enemy."

She sympathizes with the humans. Believes they don't deserve to be treated the way they are. Mutants are treated like second-class citizens everywhere else, why should humans get the same in turn here? But she's quiet about it. Doesn't want Queen Heart's attention.

Still, she has a sense of self-preservation. So after only a few seconds of waiting for his answer, she tries to grab the gun and force it harmlessly upwards.

She knows already, after all. That he hates her to her very core.

then by all means let uS AWAY

[rosswood]

Is she one of those with the talent of persuasion, or whatever the hell? No, no - when she speaks it's not with any strength of conviction. It's her playing on his goddamn heartstrings, trying to make him feel pity for her plight. That's a laugh. What plight could she possibly have? She's not the one who's been caught underfoot again and again. She's not the one society is trying to extinguish with every fiber of its collective being.

But still, he - for reasons he can't explain, he hesitates.

And she seizes the gun, tries to yank it upwards. He maintains his grip, if barely, and his knee shoots out to try and slam into her midriff and unbalance her.

mutants :D

[therapize]

Truth be told, Cami doesn't like using her power. There's something inherently wrong with forcing people to suddenly be at peace with something that enrages them, fills them with anger. The humans especially have justification for their frustrations, and Cami sympathizes with their blight. There is a better way for all of them to live, together, equal regardless of genetics.

Yet the optimism of her beliefs doesn't come paired with foolish naivety. She sees the scarce light reflect off something, sees his hand rise with clear intent.

Whatever rage, whatever frustration and hatred fuels this attack, should drain away the moment he steps within her sphere of influence. Unless he has found a way to guard his mind, just before he reaches her Alex should be overcome by a sense of peace, strong enough to will away his reason for attack.

But just in case it doesn't, Cami's hand slips into her bag, even as she speaks.

"Who are you?"

ᕕ( ᐛ )ᕗ YES GOOD

[rosswood]

He can practice mental blocking techniques all he wants, emptying his mind or whatever zen bullshit gets recommended if he finds himself facing up against a mutant with psychologically-active powers. He maintains a firm grip on the knife in his hand, and -

He grinds to a halt, rooted on the spot with the knife partially-raised, his brain a muddled confusion of conflicting sensations, threat and relax and attack and no need for concern and mutant and just think about this. He trembles, his expression shifting, until finally, excruciatingly slowly, the knife begins to lower.

She asks him a question, and it's...it should be perfectly normal and fine, shouldn't it, to answer it. He's almost forgotten why he's even here. He's clutching a knife, but what's he got it for? There's nothing here. No danger.

"Kralie," he says, his tone wavering somewhere between pleasant compliance and confusion. That's the only name he's needed for years, isn't it?

\o/

[therapize]

The influence doesn't seem to be perfect, but the effect is there in spite of Alex's uncertainty and resistance. For her part, Cami acts as if nothing has changed, if there is nothing strange or abnormal

about the conflicting emotions suddenly flowing through Alex. The longer he stands here, the more certain that sense of serenity would grow, and in turn the longer it would linger even after they part.

For the moment, however, her concern is on the present. His knife is lowered, but still gripped in his hand. She takes a careful step closer—her fingers carefully wrapped around the canister of pepper spray in her bag—favoring her would-be attacker with a smile.

"Kraile's an unusual name." An alias, maybe? It probably doesn't matter. "I'm Cami. It's nice to meet you."

She holds out her free hand then; while she wouldn't with a mutant of unknown power, she's guessing this guy is a human. To complete the gesture he'd have to put the knife away, or at least switch hands. If he tries to attack, she's ready to defend herself; ideally, however, it won't come to that.

human

[clodcuckoolander]

[and on one particular day, he gets followed... not particularly well, of course. his shadow is a small girl who can't be older than sixteen wearing a green pencil skirt and jacket combo like she's trying to look older and the awkward way she carries herself just shows she's a kid playing dress-up.

she has done this a hundred times, it seems. they tell you not to feed stray dogs, because the dogs stick around, but no one ever said anything about the people who give the hand-outs following you afterwards. Peridot's family is rich and supremely anti-mutant (and also mostly dead, leaving this little nerdy brat as the sole heir).

the exchange rate for funding some of his more lucrative projects and not thinking too much about the moral ramifications is that she doesn't let go. she fancies herself her own kind of extremist. what she is a beta programmer with a lot of money.

but she's also persistent.]

Stop walking so fast. I can't keep up. [and without missing a beat:] Ugh! Did you hear that announcement from the Queen the other day? One of these days, I'm gonna- [she kicks at a can brutally. it hits the side of the alley, ricochets, and hits a trashcan, making a satisfying amount of racket.]

[rosswood]

[He puts up with her because, let's face it, she's damn good at what she does. She might be a kid, sure, but she's also a genius, and firmly on his side of the fence - unlike Rick, whose entire business he'd take out of commission in a heartbeat if he didn't know from experience how impossible and suicidal such an endeavor would be.

So he's put her up to a few technological exploits, a few funding jobs, and she's been good for it. Does nooooot give her the license to tail him around like a stray.

Especially because she's completely blowing his cover. Kralie breathes out through his nose, blinking his eyes shut in silent vexation.]

Yeah, she's a real piece of work. [He says, with the bland yes dear tone of someone who's heard similar tirades dozens of times and been just as unsuccessful in fending them off.] Good to know you're all nice and equipped for matters of stealth.

[clodcuckoolander]

Oh c'mon. Everyone knows you look less suspicious if you draw attention to yourself.

[that's not factually accurate and she knows it, but it's what she's going with, even though she lowers her voice and shoves her hands into the pockets of her jacket, sulking.] Stealth is useless with all these mind readers around anyway.

mutant

[hyperkinesia]

Bruce's powers may only work by touch, but his senses are sharp nonetheless, have always been.

Working in the Mutant District but living in a building complex that's almost exclusively taken up by human residents, this means he ends up walking for quite a long way from work to home every day, and passing by all sorts of neighborhoods in the process, starting on the rich streets and avenues where the buildings are state of the art when it comes to architecture, design and functionality, and ending on the run-down apartment blocks that side the poorly paved streets where the lowest and poorest humans live. Naturally Bruce is far from popular here, but he also keeps largely to himself, so for the most part, he's been left alone.

That was before, though; with growing tensions on both sides, he's started to get a lot more unwanted attention, and tonight, it's only the most recent of the times he's been tailed late in the day while he's on his way home.

He tries not to give into his growing paranoia at first, but when nearly half an hour passes and he keeps hearing the same steps, at the same pace, belonging to the same person, he starts to think that his paranoia is well-founded. Because it's not paranoia if they're really out to get you, and in this case it does seem that someone's out to get him.

He even takes a few unnecessary turns, rounding a couple of blocks purposefully just to see if the person would still follow him. When they do, that makes it obvious he's being tailed, and eventually he stops and turns around, ready to face this person.

But there's no one there. He's sure— they were there moments ago. They were. Which is why there's no relief when Bruce sees no one, only more worry and fear, and he turns around on the deserted street to see where they went, only to suddenly spot the young man coming right at him, something shining in his hand.

Bruce doesn't even have the time to make out what it is until he lifts up his hands to defend himself and the blade of the small knife cuts the skin of his palm. He winces at the shock more than the pain, the same injured hand curling around the man's wrist and twisting his arm around to his back in a strong hold meant to disarm him without causing too great an injury.

[rosswood]

He's been dogging this target's steps for a while now. The target makes a few twists and turns, not enough to lose his tail but enough to perhaps confirm that he was being followed. That rushed the timetable somewhat, and Kralie shifted his priorities to take action prematurely instead of waiting for a more opportune moment. But that's fine. He's adaptable. He adapts.

He pulls the same trick he always does, slipping away and cutting a wide, rapid berth around until he's in front of them. And he doesn't even need powers to pull it off. He'd smile, thin and satisfied, but he's too bent on his goal as he walks swiftly for his target as it wavers, discombobulated and concerned by the abrupt vanishing of its pursuer, like they always are.

He scores a hit on the mutant's hand, but that's hardly fitting, and then Kralie's arm is abruptly wrenched around to his back in a firm grip. He struggles against the hold, but it's perfunctory at best. He jerks once, twice, and that isn't enough to unseat the target's hold so he abandons that effort, free hand arcing up to claw at the mutant's eyes.

[hyperkinesia]

Bruce is far from a fighter, but when he has to, he can put to use years of practice in a number of martial arts, which he always took more for learning control over his powers than anything. So when the man struggles in his grip and tries to reach his face, it changes nothing, and his hold is all the stronger to keep him in place.

"Stop— stop that," he tries with plain words at first, his other hand reaching to catch the other arm before it actually manages to hurt Bruce even more. He's hesitating, he knows; there's one easy way to deal with it —it may just be the only way— but he still dislikes using his powers, even when it comes to taking care of a threat.

He sighs quietly, more resigned than anything, and when he speaks up again, his voice reaches much deeper than before, more like a command that echoes inside the man's mind. "Stop."