driftfleet | I came in like a wreeeeecking ball!

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I came in like a wreeeeecking ball!

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. ]

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[Damn straight she heard the commotion, and despite the fact that she has no business heading toward it, she does, Officer Snuggles at her heels.

She spots Winter immediately, and she knows that something is very, very wrong. She knows that posture. She snaps her fingers at Snuggles.]

Home.

[The fox skitters off obediently, so it's just her and Winter in that hall for the moment. She keeps her posture relaxed. Non-threatening. But she's ready.]

Hey, Winter. Are you okay?

[He is not fucking okay. She already knows that. He's on a different planet from okay. But his response is going to tell her what she needs to do next.]

[It doesn't take a Shepherd to sense the malevolence here. Dezel knows that letting this guy walk on by could endanger lives. He's alone and he's not sure if the augment gives away his presence-- he's never sure-- and he might lose this fight. But if he needs to, he can always escape.

What he should do is put out a warning. There's no time for a blind man to fuss with a communicator though. He breaks his opponent down as much as the wind tells him. Brown hair, metal arm. Human, mostly. Strong.

He's fought dragons, he can do this. He stands somewhat in the middle of the hall, wires ready, probably invisible. He's going to give communicating a shot anyway, so he hits a button on the comm to broadcast his voice.

Maybe this guy has enough resonance to hear him. Maybe he doesn't.]

Hey. Where do you think you're going?

[Allen had been on his way to Crowley's bar, to help check his books as he did every month, when he heard the sound of Winter's footsteps from behind him. The Iskaulit was a busy enough ship that the someone else's presence didn't immediately alert Allen. But the sound of metal plates shifting? Well that's enough to cause him to turn to look.]

Winter? Hey, how are...

[His voice trails off as he sees the look on Winter's face. Full of hostility and void of familiarity. His fist clenching into a fist.]

...Winter?

[There's been a horrifying amount of violent noise in the area -- and Koala, well, she was terrified. She did the best thing she could think to do: crawl into a small supply cupboard in the gym and wait with her hands over her ears, praying for the fighting to stop. Her knees tucked up to her chin, heated by her own breath, she waits. Listens. There were gunshots, she heard gunshots. And worse. Is someone trying to destroy the ship?

Is this like the slave auction? Is someone breaking in to take her and the others, sell them? Her heart thumps miles a minute, but she swallows hard and cracks open the cupboard, peering out into the gym and trying to control her rapid breaths.

...!

It's --

Mr. Winter.

Mr. Winter, bloody, hurt! They must've...!

She swallows her fear, wiping the tears prickling the corner of her eyes. It's time to be brave; there's nothing she can't handle that she hasn't already, and if she can help Mr. Winter from whoever's doing this, she can conquer the fear shaking her whole body right now. She rushes out from the hiding spot quickly, her legs like jelly.]

M-Mr. Winter, Mr. Winter -

[Ah, her voice is cracking a little. She swallows and smiles her best.]

Are you -- you're hurt! Let me see; we can hide here. It's okay...! It'll be okay!

[She reaches to touch his arm, worried but determined.]

Edited 2016-06-08 04:08 (UTC)

[Sam just wanted a goddamn drink okay, just one quick drink, you monster you. But once things start getting noisy around here, he's quick to rush to the heart of the loudness. Because he's an idiot hunter with no concern for his own self-preservation. He's got a weapon, draws the gun to hold down at his side, and rushes around the corner to see...

... You?

His expression morphs from confusion to a 'don't you do it' sort of expression, hand out in front of him as if to try and tame a beast that he can clearly see. For a moment, he thinks Meg might have genuinely went possession-jumping. But that's not a Meg expression. That's a stone-cold warrior face, something that is about as stoppable as water through a sponge.

He's gonna try anyway.]

Winter, are you in there? I don't know what's going on, but try to snap out of it.

[he heard the commotion in the meditation room alright, along with pieces of everything that followed. he'd been deep in the bones of the Iskaulit at the time, but those hollow, metal passageways practically sing with sound if the noise is violent enough. and what he hears is more than enough to get him moving--snatching up his simple weapons and creeping through the vents toward the heart of the trouble.

once he finds it, he follows along for a while, as best as he can. he doesn't know what he's seeing, exactly, but adrenaline is running high as the violence unfolds on the floor beneath him. but those vents don't run everywhere, and his view is a little limited.

so, he loses sight of the soldier for a bit... and when he finally crawls into another passage that offers him a good look down, it's to see someone very familiar slamming back into a wall.

it's the dead weight that the skull-faced man hits the floor with, the way his limbs crumple and fold without life, that strikes all that morbid fascination right out of him. all at once, he's no longer seeing his strange, metal-armed friend reign fascinating hell down on the rest of the fleet. all he sees now is a creature that needs to be stopped.

he doesn't think about it. he's not thinking about anything, really. it's all screaming instinct and old habits now, as he slams a foot down to knock the grating out, hoping that the crash of it hitting the ground will pull the soldier's attention.]

[ The Soldier regards her with the subtle tilt of his head. He watches her shoo the fox away with a command. The woman's posture is forced, on edge while trying to maintain the air of calm.

She isn't fearful, but she doesn't attack him. It's of no consequence, he'll make the first move. Orders are orders. His fingers itch to get around the solid hilt of a blade. Quick, maneuverable, lethal. Maximum damage with minimal force.

He takes one step forward, then another. The girl standing in front of him is nothing more than a target- a nonspecific face. Forgettable. His stance squares. ]

[ He's made it far enough down the hallway to have changed tactics from slow and steady to take no prisoners. The Soldier stares down Allen, assessing him critically, before making his move.

His stride is purposeful and heavy. No need for him to walk on silent feet when he's been spotted. Subtlety isn't a necessity. The target looks surprised to see him, though not wholly unwelcome. His first mistake. The Soldier cocks his fist, the metal arm emitting a loud, mechanical whir as it rears back, striking out at him. ]

[The strike is nearly a hit. Right as Winter's arm is about to collide into Allen's head, his left arm moves inhumanly fast to block the blow- the sound of metal colliding into something hard rings out. Though even with the block, the force of the punch is enough to throw Allen back- who stumbles back as he tries to regain his footing.] - Gah!

[Shit. Shit. This is bad.]

Winter! It's me! Allen! Snap out of it!

[His mind whirls for an explanation. Had someone set off the HYDRA programming? How? ]

[Winter isn't home. It would be terrifying if there was room in her brain for that right now. But she knows two things immediately: 1) he is not going to stop unless he is stopped, and 2) whether she wants to fight him or not, it's about to happen.

So she will do her best to stop him. She is a soldier. She's good at her job. And she's Winter's friend. She owes it to him to stop him.

She lets him get a little closer and then throws her cane at him, the way she used to throw Howl at people. The cane isn't nearly heavy enough, and she doesn't have a recall line, but it doesn't matter. It's just there so that there's something flying at his face already when she launches herself.

She's not supposed to move fast or go hard, because her back and the few shreds of regular meat left in her body won't be able to stand up to the full speed and force of all those synthetic muscle fibers pulling in concert. There's not really a choice. Her back grinds, it fucking hurts, and she doesn't have a choice about it.

Wrath goes low while the cane goes high, going for his legs. The knife Winter gave her comes to her hand far too easily.]

Edited 2016-06-08 05:39 (UTC)

[ The halls have remained relatively uninhabited, so coming across someone so soon is his mission according to plan. Where is he going? That's not a question that is deemed worth answering. The only one The Soldier reports to are his masters, and they're not around.

Instead, his pace remains steady as he makes for whoever this target thinks he is. Once he's within striking distance, The Soldier raises his arm, swinging backward with an angry whir of metal arm. ]

[ It's a distraction tactic, one of the most basic maneuvers in besting your opponent. It may work if he were anyone else. The cane goes up and with a swipe, he catches it and brings it down at full force. Not before she's already gone low, but The Soldier will make do. She's fast, but he's faster.

The cane swings and he sends a well-aimed strike at her arm. A human bone will snap like a twig under the pressure. ]

[Wrath blocks with her left arm. The cane snaps in half with a metallic ring. You're not the only one with an artificial limb or two to their name, Winter.

Knife in her right hand, she slashes for his leg.]

[ The Soldier scowls as his punch is blocked. He doesn't take the time to wonder who his opponent is, it doesn't matter. He'll be incapacitated soon enough. The one in front of him stumbles, and he doesn't give the target time to regroup before he slams The Weapon down full-force again.

The voice sounds far away, static-y. Unnecessary inconvenience. It doesn't matter what he has to say. The arm comes down again. ]

[ He makes it to the far end of the Iskaulit, slipping inside of the gym to assess his injuries. Most of them on their own are minimal inconveniences. The Weapon is destroyed, non-functioning weight hanging off of his shoulder. There are a few gunshot wounds- nonfatal. The severing of one of the tendons in his leg nothing more than inconvenience. He can fight through the ache.

Head pounding, blood pumping between his ears. Loss of blood. Cracked ribs, possibly broken. Several lacerations, also nonfatal.

He's lost focus. Something light brushes up against The Soldier's arm and the arm rears back, lashing out immediately. Careless. Fatal mistake. Retraining mandatory. His eyes lock on the small child and he reaches to pick her up by the front of her clothes. ]

[Not a single bit of response out of him. Yep, this was definitely bad.]

[But Winter really wasn't giving him time to think about the implications here, not with that arm coming down again. Instead, he springs into action - years of training and fighting clicking back in. The metal arm once against collides with his left arm. Except this time, he catches the punch instead of just block, and doesn't stumble back. He holds onto the fist as he gets his feet centered again, any attempts to push against it feel like pushing against a wall.]

[Then after a couple seconds pass? He moves to shove Winter back away from him with force, though it's more the sort of force you'd associate with being hit by a car.]

[ It doesn't matter what you want, Sam. Why do so many people have guns in this fleet, anyway? It's like you're preparing for something like this to happen or something?

The Soldier works his way down the hall, plowing everyone in his path down like nothing more than an inconvenience at best. There are footsteps, then a figure rounding the corner quickly. His stance squares, thousand-yard stare in full effect. Detached.

Winter isn't here, Sam. There is only what Russia made him. The man's posture is placating, as if trying to approach a spooked animal. He would be offended if given the opportunity. Instead, The Soldier eyes the gun and stalks forward, metal hand outstretched to deflect any possible incoming bullets. ]

[She bites back a shriek, panic lighting her eyes and a smile instinctively pulling her lower face taut. Something must be wrong here, right? Mr. Winter is not an aggressive person. He was very nice to her, when she talked about her dreams. It wouldn't make sense! She dangles pathetically in his grasp, her limbs about as useful as limp noodles, her breath taken a bit by the pinch of her collar wrapped in his fist.]

It's--It's okay, it's just Koala. I--I'm not the bad guy--

[Her heart is racing faster now, the fear setting in, smile panicked when she realizes there's no real response, no realization that he's attacking one of the good people. She flails a bit when the death grip doesn't ease up.]

Please put me down--!! Please, put me down, I'm sorry--I'm sorry, I'm sorry, please...!

[Whatever she did wrong, she can fix it, just please put her down, sir, please.]

Edited (oops repetition) 2016-06-08 06:40 (UTC)

[ The one with the painted face had gone down, though it wasn't without a fight. The Soldier doesn't lose; it was his only downfall. One well-placed throw into one of the inner walls had silenced his target quickly enough. More effort put into a target than most. He looks over the crumpled figure momentarily, though his attention is immediately drawn to the crashing grate behind him.

He looks to the grate, then around to see where it fell, gaze snapping upward. ]

[ Oh, Koala. If only he could. The grip may ease for half a moment, but it gets tighter after that as his grip shifts. Testing the weight. She would snap easily in half. Tear-able like butterfly wings. All it would take is a flick of his wrist. She's lucky that The Weapon isn't functional, otherwise he would have done it already.

He takes a limping half step toward the wall, swinging her up and slamming her back against it once; and a second time in quick succession. ]

[ She gets as far as halfway across his leg before The Soldier's knee buckles and he retaliates by grabbing the back of her hair and slamming her face bodily into the offended knee. The Weapon tightens in her hair, jerking her back and throwing the woman bodily away.

His scowl is lethal. His objective shifts. She won't walk away from this. ]

[he's never been one for making the loud entrance and diving into battle from the front--that's his partner's job--but there is no room for stealth when he needs to keep attention away from a prone and very vulnerable target. the memories of last time are too bright in his head, and Winter is immediately a stand-in for a pack of monsters swarming Zhas' motionless body. last time it had ended with his hands tangled and lacerated in his own silver wire, beating the unlife out of them with bare, bloody fists, and he's quickly heading right back to that moment.

he drops right down, lands well, immediately centering all of that adrenaline into focus instead of panic. think, think.

if Winter's gaze has gone vacant and malevolent, Coil's isn't far off. it's sharper, his eye gleaming, empty of anything but a quiet and singular rage.

it doesn't matter that they'd spent time commiserating and settling into some silent form of companionship before. when the switch is flipped, Coil can forget all of that almost as fast as the soldier can. there is a job here that needs to be done.]

[She wasn't going to walk away anyway. She had one good shot and took it, and now there's something horrible and grinding in her back, a pain that retreats under the newer onslaught of just how much her face hurts.

She hits the wall, hard. It's just one more fucking thing and she has to wheeze to catch her breath, spitting blood and a piece of one of her teeth. She shifts her grip on the knife easily, though, from over to underhand as she props herself up with her left and starts hitching back to her feet, leaned against the wall.]

Come get it, motherfucker.

[She's mostly artificial parts at this point because she never knew when to quit.]

Edited 2016-06-08 07:03 (UTC)

[She really doesn't have a chance, and she gasps at the sharp, terrible pain in her back and skull as she hits the wall; her eyes water, but she remembers what her father told her, remembers not to cry, because he could hurt her worse if she cries. They always hurt you worse if you cry. Eyes glistening, she tries not to see double-vision, her head spinning. It hurts, but it's not the first time she's been hurt before. She's hit walls before. It's okay. She can handle it.

But Mr. Winter is trying to kill her. He is, isn't he? She stutters:]

What did I do wrong--

I want to go home...!

[Her voice is high and she struggles to not become hysteric. She can't, she can't do this...! She's not allowed to cry or fight back! But she can't die now. She has to see her mom someday.]

I-I'm so sorry, Mr. Winter...!

[She grabs his arm and hefts her weight enough that she bites down as hard as she can on his knuckle, drawing blood. It's a scary taste, one she's not used to unless it's her own, but she bites, bites, bites. Even if it doesn't do anything, at least -- at least Miss Nami and the others will be proud that she fought back. Tears drip down her face as she makes a toothy vice on his fist.

Short-lived, but you have to give her credit.]

[ He had finished setting up the room when he felt it. A surge of power, or purpose echoes through the Iskaulit. Frowning, he wheels himself out into the hallway letting his telepathy spread out to the rest of the ship. And stopped when he heard the cries of shock and horror.

Not good at all, he thought, warily moving closer towards it. ]

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I came in like a wreeeeecking ball!

Hallways

hallways;

Hallway

Gym

hallw-- look just chuck him alright

Hallway, after Zhas

Hallways

Hallway

Hallway

Hallways

hallways;

Hallways

Hallways

Hallway

Gym

Hallway

a'ight

no subject

Who the hell is Zhas?

no subject

Hallways

no subject

Hallways

no subject

Hallways