I came in like a wreeeeecking ball!

[reconstitution]

Who: Winter & You (poor bastards)
Broadcast: n/a
Action: Iskaulit
When: early am

[ OOC Note: This thread is mainly for closed CR, though new people who want to thread with Winter are willing to participate. Just keep in mind that the end results are predetermined! Personal threads won't be dependent on one another, but if you have any questions about anything, send me a pm or catch me at skorozima on plurk. This is a mod-approved augment glitch, the effects of which will only last briefly.

**Content of thread may hold Civil War compliant material, reader and participator be warned!** ]

[ Beginning;; Meditation Room ] 
[ It's early morning, not that it's easy to tell with the endless expanse of starlight outside of every window. Winter finds himself wandering into the mediation room after his morning workout. There's been a general sense of unease that he's been carrying for the past few days, though nothing has appeared out of the ordinary. 

It's different than the hyper vigilance he normally suffers from, like a whisper no one else seems to hear. Grabbing one of the cushions, he sits at the far end of the room with his back to the wall. His legs are crossed, hands settling on his legs. A deep, focused breath inwards, held for just a moment before it is exhaled through his nose. This is only the third time he's come to this room on his own, and he really is trying to make it a part of his day. It's still difficult. 

Things are silent, save for the normal creaks and groans of the Iskaulit. His head isn't buzzing with activity, and he's almost calm. 

Longing. 

The word reverberates sharply in his mind, causing his eyes to snap open in search of the voice. There's no one else around, yet the sweet, crooning lilt sounded like it came from right next to him. His heart is pounding against his rib cage. 

Rusted.  

Winter jerks almost violently. No no no no. Not here. How? his hands slam up to his ears to block the voice out, and the noise in his head increases. 

The voice is just as melodious and clear, somehow more prominent, now. A few more words are spoken so sweetly, even as he writhes on the floor with an angry howl. There's no way for it to stop. 

Trying to concuss himself doesn't work. The voice sounds almost chiding for his poor attempt. 

Then the words stop. Everything stops. And then, 

Good morning, Soldier. ] 

«Ready to comply.»

[ His limbs feel heavy, but he listens intently for the voice to give him his new mission. The Soldier is ready. 

Let's get started, shall we?  

Anyone who happens upon Winter in this state will be aware of a few things that are off. His stare is vacant and unsettling; those who met him his first week on the fleet will recognize it. It's certainly not the expression of someone who means you no ill-will. Winter's posture is aggressive and strained like a tightly drawn bow ready to snap. Any sort of verbal greeting is met with silence. ] 



[ Middle;; Hallways ] 
[ Whoever crosses paths with Winter in the halls is bound to have heard the commotion coming from the Meditation Room. Perhaps one of the unlucky ones made a fleetwide broadcast calling for backup? 

Whatever you were doing, you're not going to be getting very far. He clenches his metal fist, the plates shifting to accommodate the movement. His eyes are locked, harmful intent in his expression. 

You're next. Be prepared to fight for your life. ] 



[ End;; Gym ] 
[ While he's done a great deal of damage, he's not looking so hot, himself. At this point, Winter has collected a great deal of injury, though he doesn't seem to notice or even care. There is a mission. It must be completed at all costs.. 

Even if the metal of his left arm is warped, almost decayed and rusted in appearance. It hangs lifelessly at his side, fingers stuck in a half curled position. He's sporting a gunshot wound in his thigh and his abdomen, still oozing stubbornly. There are a few broken ribs, but that doesn't seem to slow down his rampage much. 

At least this way, he'll be easier to subdue. Maybe all he needs is a little cognitive re-calibration. ]

Comments

[grandstanding]

[He swallows tightly, rage flaring in his gut. Later. He can deal with it later, when they're both out of harm's reach.

Once Charles has crawled onto his arm, Erik scoops him up, holding him against his chest. It takes some effort and a grunt to get back to his feet, vision blurring for a moment. He doesn't need to ask who Charles means.]

I'll get you out of here.

[axiomed]

[ Charles carefully latches his claws on Erik's chest. ]

How badly are you hurt?

[grandstanding]

[Setting off at a jog, Erik moves past the wheelchair without commenting on it. They can fetch that later, when there isn't a master assassin on the loose. The goal is to reach the shuttles.]

Head, arm. A few blows. [Maybe more, but those are the worst of it. With Erik, it's always hard to tell how badly off he really is. His pain tolerance is higher than most, and he's powered through far worse.]

[axiomed]

[ He sniffs, his whiskers twitching. ]

I'm sorry. I almost had him but it took too long.

[grandstanding]

[He wheels around a corner, making for the entrance to the shuttle bay. If he's honest with himself, he's feeling lightheaded and the pain is only getting worse.]

I dropped him through the floor.

[The doors are ahead. Without thinking, he raises his left hand to shove them open with his power, only to hiss at the movement. It still works, the doors folding inwards a few feet away.]

[axiomed]

[ Charles is worried, breathing in soft heavy puffs. ]

Erik, you need to call Hank.

[grandstanding]

[The feeling is mutual. Erik makes his way over to his shuttle, hefting himself into it.]

I sent him a message before. I'll tell him we're coming.

[Easing Charles down onto his lap now that he's seated, Erik fumbles with his communicator and taps out a brief message.]

[axiomed]

[ He curls up, wheezing quietly, keeping his eyes on Erik. ]

[grandstanding]

[After a few moments hasty texting, he hits the door switch. Then the flight coordinates. He finally wipes some blood from his face, hand trembling from adrenaline.

At least the flight will be short.]