2013-02-07 Bringing Home the Mutant

The mark: a mean mutant known only as 'Highball'. A young man, perhaps only nineteen, with a mutagene that gives him the ability to move at nearly impossible speeds. The X-Men don't know his real name, nor do they know what he looks like.

What they do know is that he has recently relocated to the Big Apple, after going on a killing spree in Miami, Florida. Cerebro has found him hiding out in a dingy, fifty-unit apartment building deep in Hell's Kitchen.

Two of the X-Men's unlikeliest candidates have been chosen for this operation. Shift is dressed up in a rather fantastic outfit, consisting of impossibly tight black leather pants, a ripped up 'Ministry' t-shirt, bulky combat boots and a long, black leather trench coat. His mis-matched eyes are concealed by stylish shades, to block out the high noon sun.

"Dey say he has a preference for using knives," explains the African. "We aren't supposed to engage him just yet. Track him, see what he's up to." Behind him is a skate park, and the apartment building in question is across the street. Given the way many of the others in this red light district are dressed, Domino and Shift are bound to fit right in.

"An even better question is how you managed to pour yourself into those pants," Domino remarks with a sidelong glance your way from over the rims of her purple shades. "That's a twenty pound ass in ten pound trousers. Just be careful about pulling your stoneskin act, you might rupture something."

If looking like a reject from the Underworld movies means that she fits in around this place, so much the better. Hidden beneath the woman's trench is the usual assortment of hardware, including some high-tech restraints, two collapsible ASP batons, and a high density foam grenade, just in case this guy decides he wants to start something with the pair.

And a tranq pistol. And a taser.

"By 'track' you mean 'set up across the street and watch through a high-powered scope,' right?" she presses, a hopeful note in her words. This 'hunting down mutants' business isn't exactly what she signed up for. Either she's really one of their best candidates for handling Highball, or someone within the hierarchy doesn't think that she's pulling her weight around the Institute yet.

Your first remark draws a significantly coy smirk, drawn across lips where the eyes remain concealed. "When did you staht gauging the exact weight of my ass?" he quips. She knew what he could do. It ain't hard to pour oneself into pants so tight when ones legs can turn into smoke at will.

For this sort of operation, Shift comes typically lightly armed. The Sig and explosives she'd given him? Left at the mansion, out of sight. Instead, he simply carries with him a cell phone, a compact magnifying scope, and of course, a pack of smokes, his lucky zippo, and a flask of liquor.

Today, it's Dickel #12, a delicious Tennessee whiskey that's perfect for shooting.

"You're assuming he's in one of dose front facing apartments," he answers. "It's flat enough across de front, and I'm betting de inside hall runs laterally. Dat means dere are apahtments on the back side too." He glances your way with a cocked eyebrow, visible beneath the shades. "You want de front or de back side?"

Was that an eye-waggle?

"What I want is a hot bath and a cold drink," Domino easily replies. "We can't always get what we want." The pants matter? That one she leaves be. There are some things she really doesn't want to think too much about.

"I'll cover the back." Pause. Smirk. "If we reach a confrontation point you'll be difficult to get through and you can torch the doors to discourage our boy. You're also not visibly armed, so either he'll get cocky or he won't be anxious to see what trick you're hiding. Push him away from the main road and I'll have a clear shot for a takedown with fewer prying eyes in back. He'll never see it coming. Just make sure you funnel him in my direction and leave yourself some space."

While laying out the battle plan she hooks the tiny earcom into place. "Call me if you have any trouble." It's the last thing she says before branching away from you, hands tucking themselves into coat pockets as she goes. Standard operation for a non-standard target. These kinds of plans always go over well.

Shift still has that apartment in Brooklyn. He even pays one of his old buddies, now having gone clean after Michael Slean got busted, to keep an eye on it when he's away. A hot bath and a cold drink he can do.

But he leaves that one be. Always the dance.

Attentively, Shift listens to your advice, then with a quick nod, his own earpiece is withdrawn and tucked safely away inside his right ear. "From what I hear of dis guy, -neither- of us might see -anything- coming. Be careful."

With a long sigh, Shift reaches into his trench coat and retrieves the pack of smokes and lucky zippo. Click, snap, burn, click, puff. The African is blowing grey plumes of cancer into the air within minutes, and adopts a casual, leaning stance against a nearby bus stop.

That is, until a bus goes past.

Moments later, the African is crouched down upon a fire escape just above the skate park, one tucked neatly behind a large billboard. His line of sight provides -just- enough visibility of the apartment building, while generally blocking him from view. Out comes the scope.

From the back entrance, Domino is employing her own tricks of the trade. From a distance she's setting up a tiny box, focused directly upon the door, itself. "That may be, but if he can out-run my little friend here then he deserves to get away clean."

With the flick of a switch she's got an infrared laser targeter focused upon the door, doing a constant sweep from each of its four corners and back. Moving faster than the eye can see is a good trick. Moving faster than the speed of light? She's not going to give this kid that much credit.

A quick glance at her phone shows the device is up and running. She passes a hand across the beam and, as designed, gets a warning flag passed through an instant later.

"Ground entrance covered. This guy can't fly, right?"

Sure, she may need to lean on some tools of the trade to make the most of her skill sets. That's half of the fun! She walks away from the targeter and checks the perimeter for anything that they might have missed. Access routes, fire escapes, anything that counts as an escape route. Sure there's windows, but even people that can move quickly fall victim to that whole gravity thing sooner or later.

Sure, Shift doesn't know -all- of Domino's tricks, nor does he have any idea what kind of gear she's packing. Doesn't matter. She has his trust, and he has his instincts.

Now comes the part of the day when people wait. It's a very long time before there's any significant sign of activity, and it comes with the opening of the front door. The target himself comes into view, and Shift leans forward with the scope against his eyes, frowning.

"Target spotted. Front door. Red jacket, brown pants, spikey blue hair." He quietly leans over the edge of the fire escape, tracking Highball as best he can. "Heading westbound on 48th." He quickly looks upward, then reports, "Losing contact in ten. Taking to de rooftops."

And up he goes, boots falling with quiet, rubber-on-metal thumps as he makes his way up the rusted ladder post haste.

"Blue hair should be easy enough to track," Domino coms back. In another moment she retrieves the scanner and tucks it back under her coat, no sense in leaving useful gear behind. "Closing in from behind. You positive on that ID?"

She would hate to lose their advantage if this guy isn't the real target.

Out along the front street, hands still in her pockets, she reports "Visual confirmed, approximately thirty yards out. We gonna ghost this guy all across the city or are we going to make a move? I'm not enjoying being cold and bored."

One shot and she could put an end to this silly low-speed pursuit. Dart from behind, drop him right where he stands. They could be home in time for dinner. What's so important about his schedule?

"Positive," answers Shift with confidence. He mounts the rooftop and heads westbound, relying on Domino's visual tracking while he leaps from rooftop to rooftop, going into gaseous form to make the large leaps possible.

He's gotten good. Every time he reforms, his clothes are all where they belong. He might need them later.

"We ghost him until -he- makes de wrong move," answers Shift. "Scott doesn't want us to show our hand unless he forces us to. Sorry 'bout your luck, Underworld."

Highball heads southbound on 11th Avenue, and he goes this way for a few blocks. It would seem that he hasn't picked up his own trail, and by now, Shift can see the blue, spikey hair from his vantage point on the rooftops. Suddenly, Highball ducks down a narrow alleyway. Shift comes to a halt upon the corner of a rooftop, watching as the blue-haired mutant retrieves a pair of dastardly knives from beneath his jacket. A quick glance down the alleyway and he can see it - a young girl on a smoke break at the back door of a coffee shop.

"Shit," curses Shift. "De basterd's making a move. Engaging!"

Leaving his clothing behind, Shift turns into smoke form and drops down into the alleyway, landing right in front of Highball. The clouds of smoke quickly form into the costumed mutant, complete with his shiny new X-Men uniform.

"Put dose knives away, Highball," he demands.

Looks like Shift is gonna run interference. How long will it last?

Dom sighs gently to herself, always waiting for someone else to make the first move. From what little she knows of Scott, it seems appropriate enough. A man not of action, but of reaction. "Of course. Nine o'clock, Eleventh. Update your timepiece."

This is boring. It's worse in that she knows there won't be an envelope full of cash waiting for her at the other end. It's a favor, another within a growing list of favors. But, she -does- get room and board in exchange for the work, but she already -has- that through her own means. Why the hell is she even with this crew? There wasn't one single umbrella answer before. There sure isn't one now. It is, because. It is--

Shit. In a flash she's running to close the gap. "Target's blitzing, alley. Do you have visual?" An instant later and your call of engagement comes through into her ear. "I'll take that as confirmation. The hell's going on down there?"

Battle plan. If Shift's thinking ahead he would have taken the far end of the alley, leaving her to punch a cork into the bottleneck. She takes a tranq pistol in one hand and a taser in the other, if this guy really is so fast then she may never get the chance to take that one shot. She darts around the corner to the alley and raises the pistol, though what she's seeing on the other end doesn't make a whole lot of sense... Not yet. "Walk or drag, kiddo. You're leaving this alley, how doesn't matter."

Highball skids to an abrupt halt, knives clenched tightly in each hand. He glowers at Shift angrily but the female voice behind catches his attention before he can reply. His head swivels about to glare right back at her, then back toward Shift.

It only takes 0.4 seconds for Highball to strike Shift approximately twenty-seven times in the gut. The mutant's arms become blurs of color, literally moving too fast for the human eye to see. A flutter of noise comes with each strike, but where fist struck the African's X-Uniform, knives found no purchase. When finished, Highball takes a quick hop-step back, ready to move upon Domino, but his eyes notice a lack of blood from the African's belly.

His eyes blink in surprise.

"Wrong move, boss." Shift leaps forward in an attempt to grab the mutant, but what happens next might strike a normal person as utterly confusing. Highball turns into a swirl of color as his body dances around Shift at impossible speeds, flecked only by the occasional glint of light on polished steel. However, Shift himself has turned into a cloud of smoke, with the occasional hand forming out of the cloud making attempts to grab and hold the mutant.

The girl smoking her cigarette down the alleyway begins to scream in terror, but she's frozen in place. The cigarette drops to the cold, broken asphalt. Fortunately, Shift was street smart if anything, and his dancing motions make to keep Highball from getting any closer to the girl... or any farther away from Domino's bottle neck at the other end of the alleyway.

Four tenths of a second isn't much time for any normal person. Good thing most of the people here aren't normal.

Twitch.

The tranq pistol is sighted and fired in roughly half of that time, the signal required for the brain and hard-wired nerves to flex a finger around a trigger as uncomplicated as blinking for the albino. There is, however, a slight problem with the attack. It takes approximately 1.2 seconds for the dart to cover the distance from Domino's gun to Highball.

The blur of motion causes the dart to get deflected before it can find its mark, the body simply moving too quickly for it to find purchase. Shift wasn't kidding, this guy is -fast!- She needs a different plan. As luck would have it, plan B is already held in her left hand.

What happens when Shift gets zapped? It still hurts him.

What happens when Shift gets zapped while he's a cloud of smoke surrounding their target?

The odds of Shift being conductive are in their favor. There's only one problem with Dom's plan. A moment ago it had been smoking. Now it's screaming. She's going to get flayed alive if she sticks around here. Shift can hold his own, which means...

"I hate being on crowd control," Dom growls while sprinting down the alley to grab the woman by the arm. "Get out of here, stupid!"

The girl stops screaming as soon as Domino grabs her arm. Something about another female seems to set her at ease, and though her eyes are as wide as they could possibly be with terror, she only takes a moment to collect herself before she goes tearing around the corner as fast as her short legs can take her.

Most likely on her way to flag down a police officer.

Meanwhile, Highball and Shift keep dancing, neither able to find purchase on each other for a few seconds. However, Shift had a good move in mind. He diverts the lightning-fast mutant into a wall, where suddenly the African mutant draws upon his rage to revert from smoke form to solid.

Highball suddenly has 160 pounds of extremely solid, unmovable Shift pressing him into an old, dirty brick wall.

The mutant's arms and legs flail about in blurs of motion, repeatedly striking and kicking at Shift where they can get at him. Fortunately, the African's solidified flesh deflects those knife strikes, rather than absorbing them.

"Dom!" he growls, and cranes his neck toward the merc-turned-X-Woman. "Now!!"

"Just had to reboot the ol' fight or flight," Dom mutters as the other woman finally comes to her senses and starts fleeing the scene. There's one less problem for any of them to worry about. By the time she finds a cop, this will all be long over. Especially at the speed it's happening at.

Where the other two X-Genes are concerned, it's impossible to tell where one mutant ends and the other begins! She's almost afraid to wander too close as though the flurry of motion might somehow pull her into the center of it like passing the event horizon of a black hole. At least until Highball gets himself walled by what's suddenly become The Unmoveable Object. That's her cue to run, closing the gap, getting within the limited range of her taser...

Shift can see it coming. He knows how the mercenary operates. There's no warning, merely the minute report of high compression springs launching a pair of barbed electrodes out toward Highball with nothing but a thin filament wire linking them back to the power source.

Welcome to a whole new world of hurt, Highball.

Shift is struggling -hard- to keep Highball in once place. The blue-haired mutant is absolutely furious, snarling violently at Kwabena while his arms and legs swing about in blurs of color. Kwabena answers by looking back at Highball, considering how viciously he was about to murder the poor smoker.

Approximately twenty-seven knife-wounds to the gut in less than half a second? That's some cold shit.

It brings out the worst of Kwabena's anger. Snarling, he presses his advantage, body crackling as it becomes still more statuesque. The anger is building inside of him, eyes growing red as he locks eyes with his opponent.

The African is a moment away from losing control, when he registers the springing -snap- of Domino's discharged weapon. He gasps and draws back.

Highball slumps to the muddy ground, twitching and flailing as the tazer fries him.

In spite, Kwabena leans over and spits on the mutant's spikey-haired head. Not exactly the most X-Men thing to do, but then again, he wasn't your typical X-Man.

"Took you long enough," he jokes.

"Bill's in the mail," Domino flatly replies while tossing the spent taser aside. Rather than reload the tranq pistol she pulls a fresh dart out and simply jabs it into the side of Highball's neck, making absolutely certain that he stays down for the count. Only after that does she put the restraints to use.

This Highball fellow? He's kind of scary. Not the sort of person Dom would want to tackle on her own if it could be helped. Skill isn't useful if everything she does is too slow to have an effect.

With the job finished she stands and looks back to you, asking "You good enough to carry him to the car?" No 'hey, how you feeling?' or 'you alright?' If you're okay, you can continue working. If you aren't, she'll have to figure out some other plan. Either way. "I want this guy safely contained as quickly as possible, that trick isn't likely to work twice."

"You sure about dat?" Kwabena looks up at you, frowning. "Hell's Kitchen, broad daylight, guy knocked out in restraints?" He walks back toward you, frowning. "You just want to -walk him down de street- like dat?" He points at the knocked out Highball, glowering.

Shift sure seems wound up, almost as if he's about to blow.

"We hail a cab, take him to de warehouse in Brooklyn." It almost sounds as if he won't take any argument at all, and starts walking right back toward the mouth of that alleyway. Only when his back is turned to Domino does he begin to actually -think- about his actions, his attitude. It nearly stops him cold when he realizes that his adrenaline is spiked far higher than normal. Something is definitely amiss.

"-No,- I want you to pick his sorry ass up while I bring the car around to the front of the alley so we can throw him in the trunk," Domino swiftly shoots back with a narrowing of her eyes. "You really think I'd have us parading him around in the middle of fucking Manhattan like that?"

Aaand here goes a situation from bad to worse. For a moment, all she can do is stare at you in disbelief. "Yeah, because a -cab- is a safe option! Then we get to pay some guy named Hajeeb to look the other way while we throw some drugged up punk kid into the boot, what a brilliant fucking idea, Shift! I'll be sure to give Scott my letter of recommendation that you start playing the leader on these outings. -Jesus.-"

Shift's hand comes up into the air, even while his back is still turned to Domino. It's almost as if he's asking her to stop without actually verbalizing it. Only when she cusses him out does he finally turn, stalking back toward her with fire in his eyes.

"Okay," he hisses, "fine! Go and get de goddamn car!"

Shift looks upward, then vaults himself into the air, promptly morphing into smoke form so that his leap skyward can take him all five flights to the rooftop from whence he came. Moments later, he's dropping again, having retrieved his discarded clothing. A soft, smokey landing is made, fully clothed to boot, and he hefts the sleeping Highball onto his shoulders from a crouched position. Once she pulls the car up to the alley, he dumps the bound mutant into the backseat, then climbs into shotgun and slams the door.

"Sometink is wrong," he says drily, while taking the flask from inside his trench. "I damn near lost control back dere." He flips the cap and takes an ungodly deep pull from the flask, before ceremonially passing it your way. "I know. I don't need any dissahtations. Just get us to de warehouse." He closes his eyes and pinches his nose, frowning.

Maybe she caught that gesture a little late. More likely, she got herself wound up and didn't take the hint. Domino could be a stubborn one when she let things run its natural course. Either way, when you give way she wastes no time in going to retrieve the blacked out BMW.

As far as she's concerned the back seats are much too comfortable for their charge. Then again, the windows are blacked out and she didn't leave the trunk spotless for a new addition. It'll do, and this way she can make sure he stays down and out if necessary. Not a bad idea of yours, all in all.

The rest, she leaves that alone. The matter is as forgotten about as she can manage, which is why she's a bit caught off guard when you pass over the drink. Not that it shows in her actions, taking it and helping herself to a swig. It's going to take a lot more than one flask to make her forget the mangled sideview mirror from the other woman that took her M3 for a spin, though.

"Any idea what triggered it?" she asks, her tone level to the point of being clinical. "You use anger to harden your skin. You needed a lot to put up with Chuckles back there." The flask gets passed back to you. "Figured it was your version of Roid Rage." But, if you really believe something is -wrong-... The spitting incident was rather telling. What she doesn't say is that she had another dart close at hand with your name on it. Working with strong, unpredictable, and potentially unstable teammates is something she's got a whole lot of experience with.

A good idea is a good idea, and that's exactly why Shift put Highball in the back seat. With how fast he could move, there's no telling what might happen if he'd been stuffed in the trunk. This way, they can each keep their eyes on him. Score.

The flask is taken back and pulled from. "Chuckles." That brings a grin to Kwabena's face, which could have been timed more appropriately. He glances over his shoulder, eyeing the sleeping mutant with briefly narrowed eyes. "Something like dat," he agrees with your assessment of Roid Rage. "It takes a lot to keep it up. Happened in Mureybet, too, but... well, it was easiah to bottle down."

A deep breath is drawn into his chest, then released through his nose. "You ever run into something like dis?" he asks, casting a worried glance your way. "With your mutagene?"

Worry for himself, not only for her. What would happen if Domino losing control had some sort of affect on her probability management? One could only imagine.

Back on the road again, with you riding shotgun. It's becoming a common theme between these two, though there is worse company Dom could be having. Like you when you're nic fitting, for instance. But, it seems like you're settled back to your normal self already, which is only a good thing. Throwing down with you kind of hurts her and the end results are never very conclusive. She can barely hurt you. You can hurt her simply by getting angry.

Not that it's going to stop her from stepping on your toes now and then. Deliberately or not.

"Practice, practice," she says with a distant tone, seemingly focused more on the road than the conversation.

"Losing control? Not exactly." Of course there's more she could be saying. Of course she isn't going to share any of it. With one exception.

"Biggest problem I ever had was coming to terms with it. It's not one of those abilities like finding yourself flying or setting fires by touching your surroundings. I had to learn to let go. Trust in instinct. I could probably leap off of a high-rise and survive the fall, but there's always that 'might not' to remind me. The more I let go, the better things turn out. When I try to control things, sometimes it complicates matters. Less emotion, more Zen, I guess."

There is a moment where Kwabena glances your way, thoughtfulness and curiosity in his mis-matched eyes. They are, of course, concealed by the shades he's still wearing. You sure are sharing more than he ever expected you to. Curious.

"If I leap off a high-rise, I will live," answers Kwabena. He turns his eyes back upon the road, watching as the buildings pass and a merge brings them upon one of New York's highways. "Dere is no question. Only some few times recently I realized I was mortahl."

Like being scattered into a billion molecules, or having his mutagene inhibited in Latveria. Facing the threat of an energy-based weapon, the kind of thing Ghanaian villagers and street thugs could never even fantasize about.

A moment of reflection comes upon him, a touch of zen perhaps, as he recollects how borderline suicidal he'd been upon coming to America. It was why he took to a life of crime, fearlessly assaulting those he victimized. It was why he mocked the police who couldn't take him down with their guns. It was why he'd turned to narcotics, for a life of crime is far from enjoyable, and so is the loneliness it brought to him. In an ironic manner, his sense of invincibility is what had driven him to addiction.

He'd never really thought about it before.

"I fear letting go," he answers. "In Mureybet, when de soldiah's stahted to run away? I almost chased them. I almost lost myself to something." He shakes his head slowly. "I don't know what it was. But I had to grab hold of something and hold on, so I would -not- let go. How does one let go of emotion, when emotion seems to drive it all?"

His mutagene, triggered and manipulated by emotion. He'd learned to master his fears in many way, but hours spent diving off buildings and doing insane things in a holographic simulator will do that to a person. Letting go of fear and learning to control it? That was easy. Finding a zen-like way to control anger? Much more difficult.

Once in a while, when someone asks Domino a question, they may well find themselves getting a proper answer. As with most things involving her, it's all up to random chance. A roll of the dice to see what might come up. That you genuinely seem to be troubled may be working in your favor.

In part she might feel bad about having verbally assaulted you back there, too.

"Kinda makes you feel like your own god, doesn't it," she says while gliding the M3 through traffic. "Like you're untouchable. You just want to keep pushing to see how far you can go before something -can- touch you. If you're too pissed off to care, there's nothing holding you back any longer. You probably just want to know what you're made of. Sounds like you've never had the chance to find out."

"You're probably going to have to look for alternate triggers on your own, though you've already tried it with drugs. There's always that meditation thing."

The knee-jerk reaction is to consider your remark as blasphemy. Kwabena wasn't much of a religious man these days, but he grew up in Ghana. Christianity is everywhere, and the idea of being his own god damn near makes him scoff.

But he doesn't. God was dead to him, after all. God died the day he put a needle in his arm, and has been dead ever since.

"I had my chance to find out," he retorts, perhaps a bit too vehemently at first. Remember Latveria? After that, he didn't really feel the need to push himself any further. Rather, something decidedly different had taken hold then... the desire to do something good. Something with a purpose. Something Erik Lehnsherr had planted in his mind when he was still living in the gutters of gang-land.

Once again he casts his glance your way, considering the advice. He's close to asking if you meditate, but... maybe another time.

"I don't need to know what I'm made of," he offers. "What I need to do is mastah it. Dat, I'm afraid, might take some time." An eyebrow perks from beneath his glasses and he offers, "Just smack me around if I become too much of an asshole."

Speaking of Zen, enter the counterblow: "How can you master something you don't understand?"

Domino glances your way over the top of her own shades, the expression subtle but meaningful. "Sure you can slap that C4 onto something and set it off, get good results, but if you don't know exactly what it is that you're working with you're going to be wasting a lot of potential and placing yourself in the crosshairs without ever knowing it, so you can stow the tough guy BS. I already know you're a badass. In order to master anything, you have to -know- what it is."

She lets this hang in the air for a few seconds before holding out a gloved palm. "How about another run with that canteen over here?"

Called. The Fuck. Out.

Shift did have a bit of a badass routine. It was the shield to his still shattered, tormented inner person, and you just slashed right through it. His lips press into a thin line, and he stares forward as the car meanders onto the Brooklyn Bridge. She was right, of course. He may have mastered one form of his mutation, but another he doesn't truly understand. His aggressive, super-solid form has always been more instinctive, lassoed into a resemblance of control through dangerous, angry emotions.

And he hasn't even begun to comprehend the liquid state he's capable of, having only once witnessed its manifestation in a rare moment of rather extreme grief. He never spoke of it because he didn't want to begin to understand it... it would likely mean tapping into the darkest, most volatile places of his soul. To what, turn into a puddle of black water?

Of course, a puddle of water has its purposes. If Kwabena -really- gave himself the chance to think about it, he might actually decide to pursue it.

Off comes the lid of his flask, and he passes it your way first. After all, he'd double-dipped the last round. "Blowing something up just to do it can be therapeutic," he murmurs, almost like a little boy who just wants to set off a firecracker.

With perfect nonchalance Dom takes the flask and takes another hit from it, letting the fluid burn its way down into her throat as she hands it back. "Yep. Can also be wasteful as shit. Gotta know how to allocate your resources."

Not that she hasn't already gone ballistic 'just because.' But, she can also afford to once in a while.

For a second she considers pushing the conversation in another direction. You're at the Institute now, there's easily a dozen people around there whom are way more qualified to discuss these issues with you. That same bit of doubt also says that not one out of those dozen would be able to offer the same perspective. Something managed to bring these two together. Something managed to keep them near each other, despite everything that's happened since day one.

Besides, it keeps the attention away from herself.

"I have an idea, but you're not going to like it. Emotion is what triggered everything so far, right? If you're going to figure out what you're capable of, you might need to touch on the full range of responses. Anger, joy, fear, loss, whatever. Pick a 'state of the day' and really push it, see what other branches decide to grow out of your power. Get the full spectrum, then go from there. As it is you're only playing with half a deck, and half of that is marked."

"I know dat," fires back the African in defense. It's not like he goes around blowing shit up just to do it, but... well, it's a nice idea, is all.

Taking the flask back, he pulls from it again, before capping it off and tucking it back into his trench coat. When you specifically say, 'state of the day', he turns your way and cocks that eyebrow again, letting a smirk grow on his lips. Oh, he could chide you for putting it that way, but the point was made, if not eloquently so, best to go ahead and let that one slide. "I suppose nothing too terrahble can happen, as long as I don't end up blowing up half de institute by accident, right?"

It's good advice, after all, but... God help the person who stumbles upon him crying himself into a pool of water. What would make him cry, anyway? So many layers of tough guy bullshit, drug dealer smack talk and avoidance of his deepest secrets were on his skin it was nigh impossible to dig that deep, unless he started digging and digging hard.

Congratulations, Doctor Neena.

Instead of offering any further answer, Kwabena turns about and prods the prone Highball in the leg a few times. "Still out like an ovahdosing junkie," he offers drily. "Got any fresh ideas for when we get to de warehouse?" he asks, while righting himself in the passenger's seat again. "You think he'll be able to work his way through dose bindings with his supah-jet speed?"

"Hard to tell sometimes," comes the teasing response. Domino glances your way once more, this time with a thin smirk.

Pale fingertips flick the car's stick into another gear. "Fortunately, you're in luck there. See, there's this place down below called the 'Danger Room' which is made to handle just those kinds of hazards."

Her grin's only grown here, already tensing the shoulder and arm nearest to you. She's fully expecting to get slugged for that comment. "I've been wanting to test a few things in there, myself."

The next glance is to the rearview mirror, adjusting it just enough that she can get a look at ol' Highball back there. "I'd hope so, shit would drop a rhino in its tracks."

Eh--ideas? Enter the part of the plan which Dom hadn't yet figured out. For that matter, she didn't expect to -have- to. "You're kidding, right..? We observed, we intervened, we got him ready to serve on a platter of their choosing, what more are we supposed to--" she stops herself, looking your way again. Even from around the dark shades her expression is easy to read. "Please tell me you're kidding. Someone else is going to take over from here, aren't they?"

And a slug, indeed, comes. It's pretty hard, of course, he's not enabling his mutagene, so, it's a regular ole punch, not one made of galvanized iron. "Yeah, I figured dat might be your -favorite- place in de whole building," he quips. "I'm surprised you haven't taken -all- of de available slots left for simulations."

Oh, this is all so entertaining. She expected them to drop Highball off at the institute? Grin still fully in place, Shift shakes his head from side to side. "Oh, no. Far too dangahrous to take him back dere, not just yet." He motions toward an off-ramp on the freeway, the same one that will take them to the old, trusty D&P Import-Export Warehouse. "You see, I get de idea dat de peopahl dere want to unahstand -exactly- what drives a person before bringing dem into da fold." He shakes his head, grin fading. "Dis guy? Highball? You have no idea how many people he's killed. Maybe he's bored, maybe he's gone psychotic. Either way, we're gonna have to have a nice, little chat with him." He casts a glance your way again, smile now gone. "If you want out, I'll undahstand. Might not want your pretty face revealed to him in full." He reaches up to tap his left eye, signifying the tattoo over yours.

Domino's expression hardens, clearly not about to walk away from the task at hand because of the concerns that you voice. Who's playing the tough guy card now?

"Since when did this become -our- job?" More specifically, since when did it become -her- job? "What the hell are we expected to do, make him pinkie-swear that he's not going to kill anymore so he can get a roof over his head? Didn't work for us, no way it's going to work for him. We can't just -make- this guy behave, Shift. Either he goes into containment somewhere or we put him down, I'm not going to become his fucking parole officer."

So help her, if this starts to become a trend so long as she's teamed up with those X-Kids...

"Nobody evah said dis would be fun, -or- easy," retorts Kwabena. "If you'd like, we can stuff some C4 in his mouth and be done with it. Den again, if someone had done dat to either of -us-, it might not have been so pretty."

Wait. Domino's luck would have somehow gotten her out of it, and Shift would have probably just turned into a cloud of smoke. Maybe his skin would have gotten burned. Okay, so that wasn't a good example.

"You know what I mean," he is quick to defend. "We're not gonna get him to pinkie swear anything. You know dat. And no, neither of us are going to become his -parole officer-." He shakes his head. "We have a talk with him, find out why da hell he's doing dis. If he doesn't tell, we make him tell. Speak his own language." He looks your way again, once again cocking his eyebrow. "Den, we let da bastard go, and let Scott make de next call. We've already proven we can take him down. Now he has something to be afraid of."

Some of the tension bleeds out of Domino's form upon hearing the plan in further detail. "Standard catch and release operation. Fair enough. For his sake I hope those restraints do their job."

C4 in the mouth isn't completely off the table.

Alright, so maybe the situation isn't as annoying as she thought it would be. A little intimidation, perhaps some violence, all to be wrapped up with a promise of things worse than violence. 'Reform, play by our rules, or we find you and kill you.'

Yeah, she can do that.

The only thought she has left to share while driving to the warehouse is "Let's get this done."

So, speaking of C4...

By the time Highball comes to, he's been set in a metal chair with his arms and legs bound as securely as possible, with what gear Domino had in her car and the limited supply of equipment available to them at the warehouse.

But that's not the worst part.

There is, in fact, a stick of C4 jammed into Highball's mouth. A little antennae sticks out of it, which is clearly connected to the remote detonator in Shift's hand.

"There is a stick of C4 in your mouth," says the African with a strong, dangerous tone. "I have de detonatah, and I think you get de idea dat you can't hurt me. Don't make one goddamned move or your brain goes splat."

Highball's eyes open wide. Looking down his nose, he can see the plastic explosives jutting out from between his lips. His eyes move back to Kwabena and glower at him, but... the point was made. He's not moving, not even struggling.

Not far away is a blacked out BMW, parked in a way that it's directly facing the man in the chair. Sitting cross-legged on the back of the hood is Domino, the side of her face propped up in an open palm as she plays a game of Solitaire. Turns out that it is possible for someone with incredibly good luck to get bored of it at times. "I'm having you cut the deck next time."

When Highball comes around and Shift says his piece she quietly looks up at their charge, quietly setting another card into place upon the hood with the tiniest *flick* of cardpaper against the pad of her finger. Rather than hide behind her shades, she pulls them off of her face completely. It's as much of a calling card as any, a face like that sticks with people. Word gets around. One black spot sums up her entire reputation and work history to the planet's underground. If this mutant didn't know her before today, he would leave here with one more piece of knowledge.

If these two decided to let him walk.

"Seems like we have ourselves a bit of a problem," Dom casually remarks while brushing her thumb across the top edge of the cards neatly tucked into a palm. "This whole 'indiscriminate killing' thing that you're doing? Tends to make some people a little upset. Some of these people are better equipped to do something about it than others," she points out with a slight motion of her head toward the block of plastique the guy's all but suffocating on.

"So, here we all are. We have a problem. We have a solution. All that's left is for you to decide how neatly these two ends come together."

Highball is scared. He's angry. Both of these feelings are clearly apparent in his eyes, his face, the way his chest heaves with every nose-drawn breath. He glares at Domino, then back at Shift.

"One option," offers Shift, while pacing around the bound mutant's chair, "is pretty messy. I think you know how that one ends up."

Boots click against the cold cement as he circles Highball with slow, careful footsteps.

"Now, you're thinking, 'okay. I've got dese clowns. I'll do what dey want, den I can go back to -my- life'." Shift suddenly lurches toward the mutant, grabbing the back of his chair and pulling it off its front two legs. Highball gasps through his nose, nearly cutting into the C4 and accidentally detonating it.

Shift leans down close, putting his mouth so close to Highball's ear that his lips touch blue sideburns. "But we're watching you, Highball. You do dat, and I promise you, de next time you see me? I won't be dis pretty."

Highball's chair clanks back down on the cement when Shift lets it go. "To prove my point, I will talk about de bus route you took from Miami to Manhattan. Let's see... Greyound from Miami to Orlando, Orlando to Atlanta, Atlanta to Nashville... now wait, let's not be hasty... Louisville, Cincinnati, Columbus, Pittsburgh, Baltimore, Hoboken, and finally, you took the PATH train into town, and ended up in Hell's Kitchen. I could tell you about your apartment at 44 East 90th Avenue in Miami, or the gay man you sat next to on de Greyhound leg between Pittsburgh and Baltimore. He was headed to... D.C., I believe, for one of dose marriage equality rallies?"

Kwabena turns back to face Highball then, glowering at him while smirking with his lips. "I tink you realize now dat I am not full of shit."

Thank you, Cerebro and X-Men Mission Briefings.

"So..." Kwabena glances toward Domino, while motioning about with his detonator in an almost carefree manner.

Highball starts to fidget hard, sweat pouring down his face as Shift waves that detonator around.

"Should we let him talk?"

Domino -really- has to try not to grin through all of this. Shift's part is played out with absolute perfection, none of those emotional spikes clouding his judgement or turning the situation into something bad for everyone else. Just Highball, and let's face it, the kid had it coming.

Instead the albino opts to look bored, which isn't entirely an act as she lazily flips through the cards, laying more of them out across the hood. "Flying would have been a lot faster. You like fast, don't you? Or maybe you decided to do a little business along the way. Make a few social visits."

Flick.

God, no wonder Gambit always carries a few decks with him.

"I'm kind of enjoying the silence," she says with a knowing grin to your question. "Buuut, I -suppose- we should give the defendant a chance to make his statement so we can all move on with our lives." She sets the few cards left aside, unholstering both of her 10mm sidearms, brought to rest across her thighs with thumbs resting against the hammers. "The jury's ready to listen."

"-More- dan a few social visits, from what de news tells me."

Shift lets out a slow sigh, then turns back around to face Highball. He rips the C4 from the mutant's mouth, then proceeds to shove it right down between Highball's legs, jammed between the chair and the seam of his pants.

"Hey, patches!" he calls back Domino's way, before turning back to face her with blatant, almost jovial humor on his face. "Maybe -this- is why dey call him Highball! Hahahahahaha!!!"

"Shut up, you black son of a bitch."

Kwabena abruptly whips around, glowering at Highball. "Oh, de killah speaks." All sense of humor is gone. Apparently, Highball is a racist, too. "I'm sorry, de black man doesn't have a right to speak, hmm? Check it out, 'whitey', -you're- de one in chains now. Sucks, doesn't it?"

Highball spits on the ground in Kwabena's direction, then shoots his eyes toward Domino. "What is it you -assholes- want to talk about?" he shouts.

"I'll note for the record that it's not 'Highballs,' for that matter."

Then the guy decides to speak. "-Poor- first choice of words, kiddo," Domino taunts while going back to propping the side of her jaw against a hand. This time there's a pistol separating the two. "I'm half tempted to give him a redo on that one."

Well, there's some progress. It's not much, but she'll take it. "In case it isn't -stupidly- obvious, we're here to give you some insight on why killing people isn't in your best interests. You're giving -all- of us a bad rep, and we outnumber your ass. Two to one, now. Care to guess what your odds are going to be if we have to play this game twice? It's not looking good for you."

One swift roll later and Dom's off of the car and onto her feet. "Now, what we -should- do is count as many victims of yours that we can and start cutting on you for every one of them, but I'm not feeling quite so vindictive yet. So, I think I'll stick with the classics. Every time we're sent after you because you decided to be an impulsive dumbass, you're going to find yourself needing a new replacement part for your body. And, unless I'm mistaken," she continues while coming to stand in front of the guy with a pistol barrel coming to rest upon both of his knees, "you speedster types like having the use of your legs."

Time for the final sale, icy blue eyes rigidly locking onto Highball. "Stop killing people, or we're going to take your power away from you one piece at a time."

Domino takes center stage, and Shift takes a few steps to the side, watching.

Highball listens to every word the mutants have to say, his eyes flicking from one to the other. He's still nervous as hell, and wound up extremely tight. It takes him a few moments to muster the courage to speak in his defense, but at long last, he starts off.

"Victims. They're -not- victims. They're people who all deserve what they got, each and every one of them." He glowers at Domino. "You might not agree. Fine. But if you aren't gonna stand there and be some kind of -hypocrite-, then listen up." Highball leans forward, glaring at the woman. "-We- are the victims. You, me, even Mister Kenya over there."

"Ghana," corrects Kwabena.

"But I don't suppose you -care- what these 'innocent people' did to deserve their justice, huh? I don't suppose you give a fuck about the mutants they beat up, fired, got sent to jail, or otherwise screwed over every way possible. No, because you guys are the 'good guys'. Out to save everyone's lives, stop the bad mutants so the good ones can keep on being heroes." Highball chews his cud for a moment, and comes damned close to spitting right in Domino's face. The only thing that keeps him settled are the guns pointed at his knees.

"Fine." Highball leans back into his seat lazily, though he keeps glaring at Domino with fire in his eyes. "I'll stop killing people. You watch and see what happens when the world doesn't have someone like -me- to give justice where it's deserved."

There's lots of different ways Dom could respond to all of this. Ultimately, only one wins out by leaps and bounds.

She -laughs.-

"Check this out, we've got a blue haired freedom fighter! Well, I'll sleep so much better tonight knowing that you're out there committing wholesale slaughter for -our- cause. The woman in the alley?" she asks while leaning in from the side, voice lowering to a faux sympathetic tone, "she short-changed you at the grocery store, didn't she? Yeah, you're totally right. Bitch deserves to die."

Then she stands away from Highball, one hand with gun at her hip, the other lightly held to the side of her head. "God, I don't even--" she sighs. "Listen to yourself, you idiot. Murdering defenseless people to stand up for our rights, yet you tear into my friend here -because of the color of his skin,- do you have any fucking idea how big of a hypocrite you are? I should kill you because you've got blue hair, you unclean freak of nature. Do you in fact have the -slightest- idea of what you're trying to accomplish? Anything at all? Work with us, here! -Jesus,- they're getting more stupid every day."

"Point is, it's not your job to 'avenge' us. We aren't asking for your brand of help. The more you pull this level of shit, the worse it gets for all of us. Now if you're so keen on making a change for us, supporting our cause? Clean up your fucking act, then we'll talk. While you're busy getting explosives shoved into your jaw, we're being constructive about our situation."

"And the next time you believe that violence is the way to solve violence?" she presses while bringing one of her guns up in plain view of him, "you just think fondly of us."

"She gave her -own son- away, a newborn, to be studied for science!" cries Highball, in defense of his latest target, the one these two mutants managed to keep alive.

"Then -tell someone- about it, instead of killing her in an alley on her smoke break!" Kwabena spits back in retort.

"Whatever, man," answers Highball. "You freaks just screwed it all up. It's on you, now. Fine, I'm done. I'm done! You hear me? I'm done!"

"You'd bettah be." Kwabena closes the distance now, exchanging places with Domino. "I sweah to God, you'd bettah not be yanking our chains." He reaches down between Highball's legs, pulling the C4 free and stuffing it into his trench coat, while deactivating the detonator and putting it into another pocket. "If you are," he begins, while moving to start untying Highball, "we will find you and make good on our..."

Just when Shift gets the mutant's legs free, Highball turns into a flurry of color. -Somehow- he managed to free his arms and the rest of his body in less than the blink of an eye, and that blur of color goes racing for the front door. There's a bang as the door strikes the opposing wall, having been busted open.

Highball? He's gone.

"... promises."

Kwabena looks on in bafflement, eyes blinking. "Son of a bitch."

Yeah, Dom's all too happy to trade places with you at this point. In fact, she's going to stand well clear, and make sure she's got a real good hold of her guns, because when the inevitable happens...

Poof! Highball is no more.

She's gone back to grinning. "You had to have seen that coming, man. When all you can do is run fast, what else are you gonna do?"

Holstering the pistols with a gentle sigh, she says "Well, nothing to do now but wait. With any luck we didn't just waste our time and play too much of our hand. If we can't bring him around to our side of the fence then he's only going to become a bigger threat once he hooks up with the other side."

Cards are gathered, secured, then dropped into a coat pocket. "Want to get something to eat?"

Business as usual. Maybe.

"I just... -damn-, he is one fast son of a bitch!" Kwabena kicks the chair over and walks back toward the car, smirking. "I think we scared the hell out of him. Cerebro will be keeping an eye on dat one. Hopefully we won't have to come back and deal with him. I hear Bobby and Kurt are -much- bettah with de whole recruitment piece."

The C4 and detonator are placed back in the trunk where they belong, after which Kwabena comes back around to the front of the car, smacking his hands to free them of dust. "In -these- outfits?" he asks, blinking. Then, of course, he realizes how hungry he is. "Hell yeah."