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.

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.

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.

[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.

enter the Lazard

[sciencelizard]

Alphys sighed, stepping out of the crowd and beginning to walk around the back. Mettaton's shows were always high-energy, packed, and very loud- all things she usually tries to avoid. The small lizard girl wasn't really one for this sort of scene, but Mettaton was her friend, and had begged her to come to one of his shows no less than a hundred times, so she finally caved when he was performing nearby. She tried to calm herself down as she walked around the venue, planning to at least say hi before she squirreled herself away in her lab for the next week or so to decompress from all of this. She ran her hands together, yelping a little bit as some static electricity shocked her slightly, before gently patting her own hand against the hip of her dress.

Don't get freaked out, she reminds herself, trying to roll her shoulders back. She knew her powers would overreact if she was stressed, and it wasn't a good time for anyone to touch her hand and get a shock. She's a little lost in this thought, about to round the corner, when she hears a gunshot discharge, and she stops, throwing her back against the wall and breathing heavy.

Poking her head around the corner, she can see Mettaton, his guard on the floor, a man pointing a gun at him, and oh no, oh god, she has to do something, has to stop him, has to--

She doesn't stop to think, consider an actual plan, before she's running at him, and jumping straight onto his body, head aiming for her shoulder and all her weight slung into knocking him down, as a bit of static electricity crackles on impact.

[rosswood]

Alex tenses when the mutant speaks, as if he can order him around. He'd tried packing earplugs, or headphones, or something to block out sound, but when your powers are based solely on your voice, he knows all too well that there are ways of amplifying that. The plan had been to get in quick, put him down before he could say anything, and get out again. Clear and simple.

He compresses the trigger a split second after he gets the faintest impression of a small and yellow blur hurtling into him from the side. A startled yell tears from his throat, and the bullet streaks at its target at an angle askew. He tries to twist around to pin his attacker, but the force of the momentum carries him bodily into the ground. He crashes there with an angry thud, but the second he hits the floor he's scrambling to get the small weight off him, finish what he started, if only he could untangle his legs from his attacker's and those of the lifeless corpse he just shot -

[mettatonvevo]

There is a loud crunch of metal in his side as Mettaton's mind scrambles to understand what just happened. Certain death was staring him down, but now certain death is rolling on the ground, wrestling with something yellow and particularly scaly.

He steps back a moment, the gun shot still ringing loudly in his head. Unconsciously he puts a hand to his side, recoiling when he feels something wet, sticky, and warm. Bringing his hand to his eyes, he sees something red. Blood? He's bleeding? ...of course he's bleeding, he got shot, why would this be... strange...

It's as if an alarm goes off in his head as his attention snaps back to the two struggling figures in front of him, his would-be killer and Alphys.

Wait. Alphys!?

"Alphys?? What are you doing here- wait, that man is- he killed-!!"

Without further ado, he gives the murderer a sound kick to the back.

[sciencelizard]

Alphys isn't particularly a good fighter, or even a good grappler, but for once stubby limbs and an unruly tail are working to her advantage as she tries to become as much dead weight as possible on the gunman, smacking at his face and hands with her palms, emitting little bits of static discharge as she does. She doesn't want to hurt him, like okay, he did just shoot her friend, but she's more worried she'll accidentally kill him, and it scares her deeply. So instead, she'll just continue slapping him and sending little jolts into his skin until he (hopefully) drops the weapon.

Her head whips around when Mettaton yells, though, and she addresses him directly. "I came to see y-you, and-- call help! Call s-someone! And get o-out of here!"

She knows he won't listen, but it's worth something as she struggles with the man, trying to smack either him hard enough that he'll let go of the gun, or at the very least somehow agree to stop shooting people. Either works. She's not picky.

[rosswood]

The mutant is screaming, there's someone is sprawled haphazardly on top of him, and then someone delivers a hard kick from behind that causes Kralie to arch his back with a low grunt of pain. Something keeps sparking in the corners of his vision, every tiny, pitifully weak impact sending jitters of electricity rocketing through his nerves. Christ, it's like he's wrestling with an electric fence, only an electric fence wouldn't be half as goddamn wiggly. And then the jolt of the latest impact of a hand against flesh causes his hand to jerk and the remaining shots in his clip fire off in quick succession, bang-bang-bang, streaking harmlessly in the opposite direction they were supposed to go.

He winds back with his hand holding the gun and tries to crack it over the head of whoever keeps fucking hitting him, but there's stuff in the way, there's - there's spikes. Spikes?

Oh god. Good. Another mutant on top of the one he already set out to kill. All right. Fine. He might as well kill two birds with one bullet. Or however the adage goes. It doesn't really matter.

[mettatonvevo]

Mettaton has his wits about him again, and when he hears the human empty the rest of his pistol into the air, he gives the man another kick. Then he starts trying to pistol whip his best friend and oh no, he is not having ANY of that. Everything that Alphys said has gone in one ear and out the other.

"You will not hurt her, you little bastard!" he roars, a mixture of rage and hypnotic suggestion peppering his speech. He reaches down and wrenches the gun from the man's hands, casting it aside with a mighty throw. Then he sees Alphys just slapping their attacker, that's it, and almost wants to scream in frustration.

"Alphys!! You have your abilities! Why aren't you frying this human into next week???"

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]

[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.

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?"

[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.

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.

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?

[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."

[rosswood]

He snorts. Really? That's her cover? She's gonna have to do a little better than that.

"Nice cover," he says coldly. "But word of advice? Next time pick a name that isn't used for every unidentified body ever." He advances, cocks the gun with the sharp chunk of a round being forced into the chamber. "Or, you know. That would be my advice if there was gonna be a next time for you."

The banter comes easy. It's not elegant, what he's doing, but it's necessary. I don't want to hurt you, she says. Coming from a mutant, that can only mean one thing. His expression contorts into a snarl, vicious and ugly.

"Not really in the position to go threatening me, are ya?"

[endingpoint]

She's not in a position to point out the irony of her name and her heart is suddenly in her throat. But she's fast, maybe faster than he thinks, and she drops to the ground, leg kicking out in an sweeping kick to knock him off his his feet. All she has to do is get the gun away from him, that's it. Just get the gun.

And maybe erase his mind, take everything away that wants to hurt her.

[rosswood]

She says nothing. Maybe trying to exert her powers over him, whatever those might be. But that doesn't matter, he can't let her, he can't let her, and the gun sparks and goes off with the crack of a bullet, and he should've aimed for her head, that would've made it quick and clean but instead it strikes her just between her ribs.

He didn't mean to. He didn't even mean to, something about her had prompted a hesitation and he can't even determine what, but it's too late the gun's gone off and he







fires again.

The second bullet ricochets harmlessly off the wall.

[endingpoint]

It feels like fire tearing through her skin, and she stumbles backward onto her back. It's only then that she remembers everything, and she lays there, bleeding. She's still alive, for now, but she can taste the blood in the back of her throat as she tries to breathe, struggling, reaching out for Alex, not wanting to die alone.

She thinks of Kurt, a tear rolling down the side of her face, into her hair. At least he knows she loves him.

[rosswood]

Each breath tears its way through his chest, his shoulders heaving, his eyes wide as he feels as though he were teetering on the brink of something he didn't want to put a name to.

She'll bleed out slow if he leaves her like that, so he can't leave her like that. He staggers forward, fumbling with the pistol. She reaches out to him and he tries to ignore it, but it's like she's staring at him and knows him, and he doesn't - know - why.

Alex, she called him. Like she knew him.

"This'll be over," he says, trying to inject some form of conviction into his tone as he raises the gun again. It's trembling subtly in his hands. He aims for her head this time. That'll put an end to it, short and quick. It'll be fine. "This'll all be over soon."

It's hardly a comfort, but it's not really meant to be.

For some reason he can't discern, he closes his eyes before he fires the gun for the last time.