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Summary: After the Battle of Cedar Hill, Volk delivers on his end of a running contract, and Mikhail sees what the war has cost another.
Date: June 6, 2020
Log Title After Cedar Hill
Rating: PG-13
The Future - NYC - Battery Park
With the ruined remains of NYCs Financial District serving as a backdrop, Battery Park offers a stunning contrast to the city that nearly surrounds it. Left mostly untouched by the ongoing war, its flora and fauna have run amuck, reclaiming several of the sites New Yorkers once looked at from the multitude of windows above. Situated at the southern tip of Manhattan Island, this park still provides easy access to a network of subway tunnels, naval piers, and more. A short distance away, The Sphere continues to stand proudly, serving as a reminder of peaceand resistance. One just need know where to look to find either.
The exit point for the group is actually not anyplace anyone can see… it's what looks like a subway worker's breakroom. Both doors have been sealed off with metal plates welded in front of the doors, and the signs of power being a portal SHIELD fusion cell generator in one corner casting a glowing blue light on the rest of the chamber. First through are the pair… then Rashmi stumbling and unaccompanied… and finally comes Volk as the spinning disc of power discorporates behind him. Shaking his head with a sense of stern-ness there an exhale has he passes by the group and walks over to a corner pile covered with a tarp.
Rashmi catches herself shortly after being hauled through the portal, leaning against the wall to let out a long, slow sigh. "Thank you, Volk," she says before anything else, "we were drawing off pursuit from a food raid. Is a week's worth payment enough?" Brushing a hand through her hair, the dark-skinned mutant winces at the stab wound in her shoulder. "And July, Mikhail… remember. When we are caught out in the open, first priority is to *disappear.* We never, *never* let them dictate the battlefield."
The green rubber girl isn't fairing much better. She reforms her hand one more time and sighs, shifting her shoulders, "I know our priority is to scram as soon as possible, but they were faster than us. Splitting up wasn't exactly on the menu either as it would only make us being captured much easier." she shakes her head at that, "I'm aware we got lucky we got help, but they'd have caught up to us anyways. I can't fly or run any faster than a normal person can."
Mikhail struggles to remain upright when July lets go as he finishes healing, as soon as he can stand up easily, he punches at the wall in frustration his fist going straight though it, "Should not happen", he looks over at July as he begins to calm down, "Thank you".
Volk reveals for the group a set of three crates with rather faded SHIELD emblems on them. Picking up a crowbar from one side, he generally ignores the three for the moment as they all hear the sounds of wood cracking a bit and nails giving way before the top of the uppermost box is removed and tossed to the side. Reaching inside, he pulls out a pair of old but functional Ingram MAC-10s, and he brings them over to set on the table. Following those come a pair of Scorpion Machine Pistols, then a pair of Israeli Mini-Uzis. Looking back in the box once more, he rifles around and comes up with a Desert Eagle. A look almost of contempt comes over him, and like he's throwing it away, the heavy handcannon is tossed towards Mikhail. Looking back at Rashmi, her deal is offered a thumbs up, before finally he digs out what he seemed to be looking for. A medkit.
Rashmi narrows her eyes at Mikhail, visibly displeased witht he feral mutant's show of temper. "The point is, it happened. And we won't always be lucky enough to have our Gun Fairy to pull us out of the fire." The guns are given a sigh of grateful relief, the Scorpions slung over one shoulder. "Open up, July. We're almost home, then you can get food and rest. We'll have all the time in the world to figure out how to plug that gap then." Another glance given to the hole in the wall, then back at Volk. "And when you pick up your food, I'll send someone with you to plate over that hole."
Mikhail catches the gun thrown at him, then says to Rashmi, "Next time, Mikhail patrol alone", as much as his teamates helped him out today he has convinced himself they are a liability, ignoring the fact he'd be with the hounds by know if they weren't there.
Taking the medkit over and dropping it next to Rashmi, she can see that the date on the thing must be at least twenty years old, if not a bit older, but inside the wrappings are still good. Past her, Volk goes to the main vent that goes back into the ratmaze of the subways and sewers, and begins to undo the covering. Mikhail's outburst causes another snort to come before the mercenary terrorist slips the heavy steel covering off so that the trio can exit when they desire. Sitting down at the center table, he holds up his left hand and rubs his fingers together in the universal sign for 'money'.
Rashmi nods in thanks as the medkit is handed over, the sign for money answered with a bottle of water and a piece of paper; the address of one of several drop points the redhead uses around the city. "Fine," she says, taking out a roll of gauze and shrugging out of her combat vest. "Make sure you tell Marshall first, though. *I'm* not going to be the one to tell him you've committed suicide." Shaking her head, she tears off a wad of gauze to stuff into the hole, under her black bodysuit; a holdover from her days as an X-Force instructor. "Listen, Mikhail. There's angry, and there's stupid angry. Angry keeps you on target; stupid angry gets you killed. Roaming the streets alone? That's stupid angry."
Mikhail suppresses his annoyance as Volk demands his payment, thinking back to when the four of them were students at Xavier's, so much for sticking together. He clenches his fist, Mashall is his only remaining emotional tie he cares about, and Rashmi knows that, "You make point, but never use Marshall at me, understand?"
Rashmi lifts her head, meeting Mikhail's gaze, face and scent deadly serious. "Then don't make me *have* to, Mikhail. Don't be stupid angry, or I can't keep you alive. All right?"
Volk looks at the note, and the bottle of water, and both are just nodded at… the former being put away, and the latter cracked and the front of the balaklava being rolled up enough so that his mouth can be see, and a thin but recent scar-like from his lip down to his chin, ragged enough to possibly be a claw or bone-weapon wound. Pulling out a PDA from a protected pocket, he types something out, puts it down on the table, before it's turned and pushed towards Rashmi. -Deal was guns and ammo for a target. I want something from your pet telepaths before the end of the week.-
Mikhail turns to Volk, "What happened you?, used to be better", thats one of the most infuriating things about this life, the way old friends have become, "Rashmi, not your job keep Mikhail alive, heal, will be fine".
Rashmi's eyebrow lifts at Mikhail's question, the anger bleeding from her face. "The same thing that happened to the rest of us," she says softly. "The world just broke. We all try and put it back together how we can." The PDA is nedged with a finger, a nod given. "I'll dig up what I can on Eris—the Hound with the crystal," she says to Volk. "She was worthless even before all this; no peace can last with her wround."
Silently, carefully… the PDA is put away after being turned off, and slowly the HUD piece over his right eye is removed, settling on the table. Then the balaklava. He's bald-shaven, the lines of Volk's face harder than they were before, the healed cut-scar on his chin with a matching set along the side of his head that could only have been done by a feral. A tattoo on his neck that looks like the numbers 2018. He just stands up and locks eyes with Mikhail. It's cold, predatory, devoid of anything that could be considered human. It's the eyes that the Hounds have, the Hunters… and they just glare at Mikhail with the unerring calm of a great cat waiting to see what the newcomer in it's place will do.
Mikhail looks back at Connor mirroring the cold gaze with his black eyes, the same eyes that saw the closest thing he ever had to a family burn to the ground with Xavier's, however his has one spark of humanity left, keep going by his relationship with Marshall, he will keep the gaze till Volk breaks it.
Rashmi pulls out a canteen, hopping up on the table and taking a sip of water, eyebrow raised. "…When you boys are finished," she says after a long moment, finally snapping the silence, "we should go, Mikhail. Volk, is Eris target enough? If so, I'll pull together as much as I can, as soon as I can. If not, let me know now so I can look over my lists."
There's something in his return smile that might be considered bloody and he just nods. And like that the stare is broken, but not with the sense that the man is backing down in any way. Looking at the hole in the wall, Volk just shakes his head, and then motions towards the vent for everyone. There's no bed, no supplies or anything in here. This is just a drop point by the looks of it. The other guns are gathered up an put back away, and a half-dozen boxes of ammunution for the Skorpions, and a box of .50 for the Desert Eagle he'd thrown at Mikhail are then put on the table. His balaklava and optical piece as pulled back on, but not before the water is drained away, and the bottle crumpled up and put into a spare pocket.
Mikhail turns when the stare is broken, pick up the supplies he is to carry then exits the room, he'll wait outside for Rashmi.
Rashmi nods. "You've got the drop point, Volk. We need to get back to our people." Tugging her vest on with a wince, she makes her way to the hole, pausing to look over her shoulder. "Whenever you're ready to come back, Volk… Just say so, y'know?" An old offer, by this point as much ritual as request. Not even waiting for an answer, she sits down, dropping herself into the sewers below.
Silence is the only, and the same answer as before… just the sound of the heavy vent being sealed up behind the pair as they drop from the safe-zone and back into there own world, with a familiar metallic grind of finality to it.
