2013-02-12 Highball's Hostages

The old St. Anthony's Church has long been a bastion of support for one particular lower income community deep in the Bronx. The victorian era building has stood for many decades and seen more than a few generations come and go. The building's old walls have seen countless marriages, families born, and was once an important staple during the civil rights movement.

In modern day, the church's congregation has done a number of wonderful things for its community. Young boys from the community band together four times a year to throw the St. Anthony's Live Streets Festival, incorporating anti-violence rappers, tent-style revivals, and enough food barbecued up to feed the entire community for weeks. In short, it is a good place doing good deeds in the name of the Lord.

Unfortunately, in recent days the church community has seen enough turmoil to last a lifetime. During its most recent Sunday morning sermon, the Associate Pastor, a Reverend Clifton S. Bright III, made a few scathing remarks about the safety of the community with the new and often perceived threat of 'mutant criminal thugs, threatening to turn our communities upside down'.

"Tell me, my brethren; how are we to fight against the evil of drug addiction, when the new pushers can walk through walls, or cannot be struck by the bullet of our police officers? Tell me, my sisters, how are we to fight against violence amongst our children, when the new gang bangers usher a new spirit of hatred with enhanced, super-human abilities? I tell you the truth, brothers and sisters, these are not gifts! They are not God-given! No, the Lord has impressed upon me that -these people are the afflicted-! Yes, indeed, we must pray for those whose bodies have mutated, for they are no longer the Temples of Christ as is spoken of in the Holy Word!!!"

Controversy amongst the Reverend Bright's message lit the community on fire, bringing protestors to the streets and threatening to split the strong congregation in two. The Word says that the Enemy likes to divide and conquer.

What the Enemy never expected... was Highball.

Approximately 35 minutes ago, the mutant killer known only as "Highball" chose to pay a little visit to the old St. Anthony's Church. For a mutant who can move at speeds impossible to comprehend by most normal humans (and even most mutants, for that matter), his dastardly deed was, shall we say, easy to accomplish. A blur of motion lasting no more than five or six seconds was all it took, before the walls, corridors, and sanctuary of the church were strung with plastic explosives, all connected wirelessly to a detonator stowed inside Highball's pocket.

Miss Geneive Harris was busy answering phone calls in the church's small office. Many of the church's congregation have gathered in the sanctuary to have a meeting with the pastors, and she had the unfortunate job of telling callers that the doors were closed to further attendants. All in all, it was an unexpected, hectic time for her, so much so that she never even noticed the puff of air as Highball burst into the office, more a blur of color than anything else. However, the cold steel of a knife against her neck brought her to a chilling silence.

"Hang up the phone."

Gulping, Miss Geneive Harris slowly pressed her finger on the receiver, then looked sideways, only to catch a glimpse of the man holding her hostage. "Wh... wh..."

Before Miss Harris could finish her words, Highball pressed the knife a bit into her skin, not enough to draw blood, but enough to silence her. "Now, call the police." A wicked grin formed across the mutant's face. "Tell them we have a hostage situation."

"9-1-1, what is your emergency?"

"Yes, this is... this is Geneive Harris, calling from... calling from Old St. Anthony's Church at 4430 Colden Avenue. We have a... a hostage situation!"

A blur of color wrapped itself around Miss Harris, paired with the sound of ripping clothes and torn flesh. When Highball was done with her approximately half a second later, he left behind a body lacerated in over three dozen places, oozing blood from beneath the rips in her fanciful, thrift store clothing. The poor old lady collapsed, eyes wide with shock, too stricken to even scream.

Soon, police cars began to converge upon Old St. Mary's, and news began to spread throughout media and internet outlets across the city, and, indeed, around the world.

Sadly, Mend is the only one available...the only Titan, that is. Monitoring police frequencies, she *was* at StarkTech doing research. Now she's speeding towards the scene on her motorcycle. Mutant terrorist, taking hostages. She murmurs into her comlink. "If anyone *can* get free to back me up, it would be appreciated, but I might be able to pull genetic solidarity and try to talk this guy down." It's worth a try and what's he going to do? Kill her? Yeah...she's somewhat blase about physical danger. Within reason, that is. A hostage situation. In a church. Thinking about it, the last time she fought a supervillain in a church she *did* die. Ugh. Well, she's going to do her best to avoid a repeat. Cops converging, and she follows, in costume. Recognized as a Titan, fortunately. They'll let her through, at least.

 Nightcrawler finds a pic. Shall I share?  Nightcrawler says, "http://www.nycago.org/Organs/Brx/img/StAnthonyPaduaOldChurch.jpg"

"Oh Lord, what have we come to," Reverend Bright nearly whispers under his breath, standing at the podium with his old hands curled around his bible with an almost savage intensity. It isn't sadness in his eyes, less worry about himself and the others of the faith that congregate here. Today there's a hardened glint in his eyes, glaring up at this kid calling himself Highball. "We will not tolerate this sort of violence within these walls! You and your kind are not welcome in the House of the Lord! Leave this place, and never return!"

How indeed does the community stop a killer with such power, one able to act before most can react, to reach places via methods that seem unfathomable? At least one option that's saved lives time and time again are the X-Men, mutant vigilantes sworn to protect and serve just that same community.. no matter how much that same demographic may hate and fear them on any given day.

Wolverine was on his way out of the city when the shitstorm hit, sunglasses the only protection worn as his vintage cruiser-- to his credit, the diminutive mutant doesn't even wipe out as he spins into a full one-eighty and guns the engine, tires squealing momentarily before he roars back the other way. Towards the house of God.

"I'm nearby." Logan offers tersely into his x-comm (pun intended), barely audible over the roar of his motorcycle. He doesn't feel the need to specify that he's already on his way, for some reason.

"Roger, Wolverine."

Cyclops releases his radio and then looks back over his shoulder at Nightcrawler, "I need you to go ahead and try to find an entry point. Anything that looks good. We're not going to go until the right time. We're not sure what we're up against."

Speaking of, Cyclops then looks to Shift. "I'm going to need you to go gas and do some recon. Not sure how much experience you have working with this sort of thing, but any information you can give on the terrorist or his machinery would be beneficial. Silence," he looks to Shift with the setting sun reflecting in his visor, "is golden."

A church. Of course. Old St. Anthony's in the Bronx. While Kurt may not know much about the churches in the outer boroughs, he is familiar with the annual festivals. He's attended a couple of them, though not very welcome at them, to say the least. Still, he reaches out with his priest's blessing and support.

Now, Kurt doesn't come to the church as a congregant of St. Patrick's but rather as (The Amazing) Nightcrawler. Keeping out of view of the police that now ring the church, he mutters a soft oath about their presence. This will make his particular job a whole lot harder.


 * BAMF*

He takes the smaller buildings one by one, keeping to the shadows, hugging the buildings as he approaches. Landing where he group is in a crouch, Kurt looks at the gathered non-mutant forces with a more than a little concern on his blue fuzzy face. "Ja," he says into the radio now. Yellow eyes turn back towards the building, narrowing. "I call third floor."


 * BAMF*

Controversy? Brutality? Anti-mutant demonstrations?

If Betsy Braddock were going to choose a moment to return to whatever might pass as 'the limelight' amongst the clandestine mutant group known as the X-Men, she couldn't have picked better. Her path of late has carried her far from the fold, despite a brief dip of the toes and a re-establishing of certain acquaintances; she simply can't allow herself to be identified with a group who cling so strongly to their ideals.

What began as little more than a deeply philosophical sulk has turned into a need for independence that's something greater still-- she doesn't consider herself 'lesser' or them greater, but she knows where she's capable of working well and achieving results. There are times, though, where one must release their grip on even the most desirous solitude... and answer a simple, plaintive call.

There's no need to explain why Psylocke arrives on the scene when she does, or how she even knows where to be - suffice to say, she's never stopped doing her homework. One way or another, she finds her path's culmination upon the roof of the church, a dark figure slipping discretely over crenellated stone to set soft-heeled boots to firm ground. Her mind is quietly racing, running a telepathic scan of the stricken building. It won't take long to get a read on those within. She's been practicing.

Third floor? She'll start at the top, and work her way down.

The third floor remains empty, with everyone having congregated into the sanctuary below. However, as is such with old buildings, it's a virtual maze up there, finding one's way downstairs (using normal methods, of course) may prove to cause a bit of a delay.

"Fair enough, Reverend Bright," spits Highball. The mutant stands out amongst the gathered citizens in the sanctuary, who are now hunkered around each other for support. He wears a red jacket and his bright blue eyes are framed by spiky blue hair. With a sneer, he turns away from the pulpit, and promptly turns into a blur of color that races for the front door.

Two children, a brother and a sister, go missing as the blur that is Highball goes past. Their mother gasps upon their apparent abduction, and begins to scream at the top of her voice, incoherently.

Mend's arrival is quickly noted by the police. They usher her into their fold after checking for credentials, and bring her to the attention of Lieutenant Stan Davis, the negotiator on duty at the scene. "The hostage taker has, as of yet, made no demands," he explains. "We don't have a motive, and whoever it is has not yet made any..."

The old church doors open, and out steps Highball. The two children are tucked under each arm, a dastardly knife in each hand pressed against their necks. They are crying and terrified. "Hello, police officers!" shouts Highball. "These are my demands! I want the Mayor of New York and Governor Sometimes of Arizona brought here at once! In an effort of good faith, I will release these two children to you! But not without giving them a little token to remember me by!"

Before any of the officers might even think of opening fire, Highball turns into a blur of color once more. The children are left with nasty gashes down each side of their cheeks, and in the blink of an eye, Highball has retreated back into the church, its doors slamming shut.

With a dutiful nod of his head, Shift turns away from Cyclops and goes trotting around the police perimeter. He slips inside of a convenience store, then ditches his clothing in favor of his ubiquitous, gunmetal gray and identity concealing X-Men uniform. With a poof, the African turns into a cloud of smoke, and gets spat out of the convenience store by way of an old ventilation fan blowing hot air out into the alleyway between said convenience store and the church.

"Highball. Mutant, known killer." A breath is taken. "He means business. Okay. There's a chance he might be willing to talk to somebody who..." Deep breath. "Somebody with a grudge against Governor Sometimes, given he's asking for him." Crap. She's lousy at keeping a secret identity, but blowing it wide open? That makes her nervous...even if the only person to protect is, well. Governor Charles Sometimes. Her father. Her worst enemy. Life makes for complications sometimes. She's unaware of the hidden backup approaching, of the mutant vigilantes closing in on the scene. Of Shift, in his gaseous form. But... It's a shame they don't have a shapeshifter. But they don't. Or an illusionist. Just her and a ton of cops. Well trained cops, but none of them are powered. "So. Can I try talking to him?"

That isn't what the Reverend had in mind when he said 'leave and never return.' He couldn't -possibly- be leading those two children to safety, such a foul creature can only further be serving his own agenda while toying with their lives! "Please Lord, see that those children be safe! Support them in prayer, brothers and sisters! Pray that we may drive this evil from their lives, and from all of ours!"

Hostage situation or not, this old guy's still got his trusty soapbox.

The third floor, unfortunately for Kurt, is abandoned. There's a collection of people to be found on the second floor, including homeless individuals and recovering addicts, and a handful of sisters.

The World War II-era cruiser turns down an alleyway just before reaching the police cordon, its engine swiftly cut in the same instant that Wolverine dismounts, flicking the shades off his eyes and scanning the adjacent buildings. Jeans, a black t-shirt, and motorcycle boots with a matching jacket aren't Logan's typical crimefighting gear-- but it'll have to do.

With a heave and a grunt, the deadly little mutant leaps for the ladder of a fire escape-- and it's pretty much providence in the midst of tragedy, if on a very small scale, that no teammates are there to note the distinct lack of grace with which he manages a scarce handhold on the distant point, swinging back and forth like a frowny pendulum, before kicking into a surprisingly agile flip and vault up to the platform above. Booted footfalls make little notable sound as he climbs to the rooftop, leaps to the next, and continues in an uninterrupted sprint that gives the stocky operative plenty of momentum to make it to the roof of the church.

Several aging shingles skitter down the angled surface, falling clear moments after the mutant touches down, fingertips digging in for a handhold, "On the roof." He informs his comrades, "Come 'n get me, Elf." He doesn't bother waiting for Cyclops to assign him a role, no. "This lasts long enough for the cops to start handlin' it, bastard's gonna have the massacre he's looking for." It shouldn't be a surprise to anyone that Logan doesn't put a lot of faith in the good graces and sympathetic motivations of people who hurt children.

Cyclops winces when Logan brings his full weight to the church's roof. Surely, the terrorist would be waiting to hear an attack from a roof. Dammit, Logan. Cyclops rubs the frustration from his face with a gloved hand and decides to move as well. It's like herding cats sometimes. Cats want to do what cats want to do.

He slides down the fire escape with a serpentine grace that comes from a decade's worth of intense training. He perches in the shadows, trying to get a look, even half a look. Even half the ability to take half a shot. Nothing to do but wait and Cyclops prays that Shift will be returning soon with some information they can use.

No, the third floor isn't *entirely* empty, at least from one person's perspective. Psylocke knows within a seconds where in the building the threat lies, and the location of the hostages; along with their general disposition discerned from the radiant stew of churning emotion. She's also pinpointed a familiar signature, and though she can't smell that taint of brimstone... she almost believes she can.

There's a shifting of mental gears, and Kurt will feel a nagging at the back of his skull - not painful, but a moment's discomfiting distraction before she can probe a semi-forced entry. A beat later he's given a lesser version of her own 'sixth sense', a mental map of the building acting somewhat like a radar. A radar that scans emotions. Even to the untrained, it's not hard to spot the glaring difference between the cruel, anger-driven likes of Highball and the fear and uncertainy in his 'wards'.

Most usefully, he knows exactly where they are. What she doesn't give away is her own identity. It's not the first time she's introduced herself this way, but she'd normally announce it; ask permission and offer reassurance. What might feel like Betsy, then, also feels distinctly *unlike* her.

Back in the flesh, the British telepath shifts to a moving crouch atop the roof, taking swift yet creeping steps until she stands behind the foremost prominence. Standing a little taller, she's able to step along and sight down toward the crowd below, violet eyes narrowing.

Instinctively, a hiss of telekinetic energy is released from her lowered palm, dancing around her fingers before it dissipates. Something else is wrong here - she senses it, and believes she knows what it is, an unsettling fact that almost renders her offguard for the arrival of another old friend. Her gaze darts toward him, as she slowly crouches once more. They're a distance apart, and she's wearing a dark hood to match stealthy garb. Which is why she doesn't move, or speak.


 * "Long time no see."|

...As such.

Bah. Kurt's lucky he didn't 'port into a wall, but things seem to be going his way for the time being. Now, he has the opportunity to 'port from room to room, searching for the way downstairs. Or some way to know that he won't be arriving inside a wall.

Looking up at the ceiling at the call, Nightcrawler takes the moment to smile before crouching and-


 * BAMF*

Back to the rooftops, but far enough away from the edge to escape detection. "Welcome back, mein freund." Reaching out, he places a hand on Logan's shoulder, and in the blink of an eye, the pair disappear from the rooftops into the church below. Third level, they appear.. empty, dusty.

For a moment longer than is 'usual' for Kurt, he hesitates, his three-fingered hand going to his neck, yellow eyes narrowing in something of a wince. It's not pain, certainly.. just.. something. Blinking as if to clear his head, he looks around the room, seeing it perhaps for the first time with something of 'new' eyes. "Das was seltsam.." //That was strange.//

Looking to his friend and passenger, Nightcrawler smiles, though there's little humour in it. "Second floor, innocents. First floor, I can.. see where he is. Was.. better yet, I know where to come in." On the OTHER side of that 'red' signature, in a small alcove. "We are going in." First floor.


 * BAMF*

Paramedics rush toward the two children, guarded by SWAT officers, who quickly usher them away and toward one of the waiting ambulances. NYPD Lieutenant Davis turns back to face Mend with a dour expression. "Your jurisdiction with the Titans says you can. If you need backup, I'll go with you, unarmed."

An old air conditioning unit in the first floor office of Old St. Anthony's is where Shift makes his entrance. The cloud of black smoke reforms into human form again, and he stops over the bloodied corpse of Miss Geneive Harris, not even pausing to take her pulse. He'd already had one encounter with Highball before, and he feared much worse than one dying old lady. He'd come back for her, if there was time; he had a job to do.

Slinking out into the hallway beyond, it doesn't take long for Shift to see Highball's handiwork. "Team," whispers the Ghanaian into his earcomm, "de whole first floor is rigged. Plastics. Lots of dem." There is a pause as he quietly skirts the hallway, inspecting the riggings as he goes. "Remote detonated, with a hard-wired backup. Bet he has de remote on his person, de hardwired backup hidden somewhere in de church." There is another pause. "I've seen dese before. It's Highball, I'm certain." A burst of fear and concern for the innocents trapped inside the building catches him off-guard, forcing him into smoke form once again.

Meanwhile, within the sanctuary, Highball has returned. He prowls up and down the pews, glowering at the terrified prisoners. "Your Bible speaks of reaping what you sow," he starts. "I will show you all what that really means!" He looks back toward the Reverend Clifton S. Bright III, and levels a knife toward him threateningly. "And you, Bright. You'll be the last one!"

In the blink of an eye, Highball begins dancing amongst those gathered. One by one, knife wounds are inflicted. However, the twisted killer doesn't seem intent on actually dealing mortal blows; not just yet. No, he intends to fill this church and all of his pews with blood.

Moaning and wailing begins to fill the halls, all of it coming from the sanctuary. What will be these heroes next move? Will they be able to stop the killer? Will they be able to save those gathered inside before the building blows? With a mutant so fast, it seems he might be nigh impossible to stop with hand and fist alone...

Taking a bullhorn? It's not going to work. "No. If there's a cop with me...he'd kill you. Me? He might at least hesitate." And she'll probably survive the experience. The cop won't. Deep breath and then she's walking into the church. And as she steps inside? She pulls off her mask. "Highball. How about we talk about this...mutant to mutant? Just because I don't agree with your methods doesn't mean I have any love for the haters." Backup. Man, she wishes for backup. Wishes for it loudly enough that it's entirely possible Psylocke can hear her, especially if the telepath is paying attention. No. She doesn't know they're there. Her goal is to stall, distract, and maybe even get some information about this guy. "Including dear old Charles Sometimes." She lets everything she feels about her father out in those words.

What can an aged man do against a threat like this one? It isn't right, it isn't natural, it isn't -human,- and it's injuring everyone within the church faster than the Reverend can find any words to try and intervene with! He's got one hand held up, trembling slightly as his jaw hangs open, struggling to find the words, for once in his life not having a single thought that's focused enough to share with the masses. These good people are being tortured, and all he can do is stand and watch. And pray. A demon is amongst their house. It must be banished.

In the back, one elderly woman hasn't yet let go of her faith. Miss Geneive Harris may seem as though she has bled out, though some sliver of her yet clings to life, fighting, enduring. Time hasn't yet run out for her, though minutes are in short supply.

It takes Logan about that same half-moment to notice Betsy that it takes her to notice him. He doesn't comment, not mentally, not verbally, just offers a brief nod, intense eyes settling on the telepath-turned-ninja for just a moment before Nightcrawler teleports them down into the church. Even if he wanted to wave, Wolverine doesn't really have the time. "Da." It's almost not worth noting the answering German, the accent of a skilled speaker in a single terse syllable; but Kurt would be used to it.

The alcove where he appears with Nightcrawler is adorned with vestments and ritual effects, everything the minister normally might use to conduct services stocked, some in triplicate. The room is dark, but that doesn't bother Wolverine. There's a sniff at the air, then another-- more than confirming Shift's assessment, |"Enough t' blow a place like this a few times over."| Logan warns his allies in a scarce whisper. There's a nod of thanks to Kurt, or perhaps simple acknowledgement. |"We can't engage directly until we take care of that. Someone's been sent in to negotiate, might buy us a minute."|

He can hear the girl, the muffled emotion-- hopefully she sounds as convincing to Highball as to Logan. It's as chatty as Wolverine's been in literal days, not that he's enjoying the talk. |"Start gettin' the civilians out up there while he's busy down here."| Logan doesn't mention the scent of blood, heavy in the air even tucked away from the carnage as they are.

Wolverine? He sniffs out the nearest charge, and starts fearlessly working at the detonator. With any luck, this asshole rigged them all the same way... figure out one, he can make short work of the rest. Not that Weapon X has time or inclination for crossing his fingers.

Think, Scott, think.

This guy has to have an exit strategy. No matter how fast he is, he's gotta have an exit strategy. While he's quick enough to get through the front door and back in one time, Scott's not sure he'd be willing to do that again. No, if this guy wants out, Scott's betting he's going to take the back door. Silently, Cyclops slips down from his spot and runs down the alleyway, still in the shadow of the setting sun, and makes his way to the back door. Taking a bit of line from his belt he attempts to construct a makeshift booby trap at the back door. Should the terrorist go out the back door, perhaps that can slow him down. "Nightcrawler," Cyclops says, "The people inside are the priority but when you can get me inside, please let me know." Scott realizes he's sort of a fish out of water out here.

A dark room never bothered Kurt either. If anything, it aids him. Lifting his head, yellow eyes narrow. He can smell blood in the air, or almost seem to. "I will. Just call me if you need me."

No sooner, however, that the call comes over the radio, the blue elf appears right before Scott. He does offer this as a quick report even as he reaches a hand out to Cyclops' arm, "I can bring you to Logan on the first floor where everyone is. It is a quiet room, und dark." Beat. "The place is rigged with explosives." Just in case he wanted to know!


 * BAMF*

The moment after delivery, however, the blue elf is gone once again. Time to get the innocents on the second floor out. "I am here to help," is all he says before he begins the removal.. one after the other, and so on.. far enough away from the eyes of the police.

They're a little past the need for waving. That instant of shared visual contact is all two warriors require; even the projected words would be unnecessary dressing were her aspect more instantly recognizable. Psylocke reacts with easy stoicism as Kurt appears and disappears, the Wolverine in his sulphurous care. With them departed, she turns her attention back to monitoring; putting more of them inside is risky, and besides...

She has a way in if she needs it. A hand clenches beside her hip, curling to a tight fist then opening, over and over as she keeps monitoring the building below. Another tiny spark of telekinetic fire ripples down a finger, a side effect of an attempt to keep both the -kinetic and -pathic within her control as she widens her mental net.

All she needs to do right now is wait until the innocents are out.

Inside the sanctuary, Mend's arrival stops the murderer short. He's gone to work on well over half the congregation, but the words of the young girl are enough to give him pause. He begins walking toward her with slow foosteps that are a chilling irony compared to his impossible speed, but the knives held at either side of him drip blood in a red reminder of what he's still capable of.

"NOBODY LEAVES THE SANCTUARY!" he suddenly bellows, drawing a few frightened shrieks and a fresh bout of sobbing from the hostages, before engaging in dialogue with Mend directly. "I hope you have a recording device so that -Charles Sometimes- can listen to everything that is happening here," he growls. "Tell him, and the police, that half of the people in here will begin to bleed out in short time. As soon as -Sometimes- gets here, I'll release the injured." Suddenly he raises his voice into a bellow. "But THE REST STAY HERE, UNTIL I SAY SO!"

With a daring glower in his eye, Highball reaches down to his belt and touches the remote detonator. However, the specific button he has pressed is, fortunately, only rigged to start an iPhone that he plugged into the church's sound and intercom system, most likely rigged in the flash of a moment where he rigged the place with plastic explosives.

(Music Link: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qggxTtnKTMo)

"I once knew a nigga' whose real name was William, his primary concern was makin' a million. Bein' the illest hustla' dat da world eva' seen, he used ta' fuck movie stars and sniff coke in his dreams..." The vulgar rap lyrics start to play throughout the church, most prominently inside the sanctuary.

In a blur, Highball appears right in front of Mend, with one hand on her neck and the knife it was holding tucked between his belt and pants. "Now, just who the -hell- are you?" he growls.

Sufficiently stalled.

Meanwhile, the black cloud that is Shift in his gaseous state has been 'watching' what is taking place in the sanctuary by way of a little ventilation grille in the wall, high above those gathered below. Within that tiny space, a face and head forms, turned aside so that he might whisper quietly into his earcomm. "Target has engaged a young girl. Doesn't look like she belongs here. If we're gonna get de peopah in de sanctuary out, we'll have to engage Highball." He's done it before... but is his smoke form enough of a distraction to keep Highball from triggering the remote detonator before Logan is able to disable the plastics? He hesitates.

Evenly, despite the witnesses, despite the consequences...these lives are worth it. "Marissa Sometimes." She ignores the crude rap with the crappy lyrics...what is it about rap lyrics... Nor does she struggle to escape. Is she afraid of him at all? Apparently not. "You know. The daughter the dear old governor disinherited for the crime of being just like you." Stalled. Keep him talking. Pray the cops can do something, or that somebody else shows up. With no offensive powers, this IS what she can do. "Well, without the tendency to knife people. I've found it's counterproductive."

The Reverend has had enough of this. His people are falling victim to this creature. He's laughing, -enjoying- such acts of torture and violence! From where the older man stands, there is but one solution in his eyes. The large, heavy-bound bible laid out upon the podium before himself. Solemnly he bows his head forward, hands held together in front of himself in silent prayer. It's ended with the same motion of his hand which he has done countless times over his years, signing the cross upon himself. With great care he folds the book closed and lifts it from its cradle, tucking it within his arms as he begins to move. Carefully. Quietly. Biding his time. All he need do is catch Highball off guard, but for a moment. Or an eternity, as it may well seem.

When Kurt makes his appearance amongst those huddled up in the second floor there's a collection of gasps and frightened sounds, this dark 'demon' with glowing eyes appearing out of nowhere. One of the sisters gathers the courage to approach him, one hand held out in a sign of peace, the other held lightly to her sternum, reassuring herself of the cross that she wears. "Please..help us."

The first one is the hard part. One wrong wire cut, the wrong tug, and the circuit sets off a bomb in his face-- then every other charge like a series of dominos that don't fall over, but rather explode and kill everyone nearby. It's not the most professional work he's seen, though, and once he figures out how the bombs are wired, well... neither detonator is going to get the reaction Highball wants from that particular charge, once it's cut free in the blink of an eye.

That first bomb also clues Logan in to the hardwired backup, though. |"He's got a backup system in place, gettin' the transmitter away from him isn't enough. I can disable the charges, but I need a minute."| Or, perhaps more like two, or three.

Two or three minutes could almost be a /lifetime/ in this scenario, especially in the metaphorical sense. |"Anything she can do to keep him talking and focused. Get him to tell his story. That changes, Shift? You keep him locked down out there."| The first suggestion isn't directed, but the only one who could communicate that to Mend? Psylocke. She doesn't need his prodding to act, Wolverine's sure of that much.

With a little luck, this guy isn't insane enough to want to blow /himself/ up in the midst of an unexpected scuffle. Logan just works as fast as he can, silent and steady.

Cyclops leaves the disarming up to Wolverine and moves past him, trying to get towards the main sanctuary and look for his shots. Careful steps try to make for silence as the first X-man attempts to find his way to a door and take advantage of Mend's commotion.

His right hand comes up to his visor as he sets his optic blast in a more thin and finite manner. Thin, focused, and looking for a knockout blow.

Kurt is brought up short for a second, yellow eyes blinking at the approaching Sister. He inclines his head, and he murmurs quietly and reverently, "...Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners, now and at the hour of our death." There is a moment when he genuflects, making the sign of the cross before straightening. Nothing like a request for an intercessionary prayer! "Pray for us, Sister," he adds, and taking hold, he's off.. to land a few doors down in another building, safe from any potential fallout //should// the church detonate. One after another.. after another.. leaving behind the brimstone stench in the air.

And Nightcrawler returns.. once done, to land in that small room off on the first floor. His voice is a whisper, "No boom today?"

Upon the roof, Psylocke remains focused. She can't hear all that's unfolding below - her powers have limits, as do her senses. To be in all places at once, on both planes, would be more than she could handle. Sensations ripple against her cortex, the majority of her stress deriving from the need to sort through it all and discern the *important* parts. Locations are easy enough. Specifics? Exact thoughts? On this level she struggles, but some of those below are more an open book than others.

Incredible though his speed might be, it's doubtful that the mutant known as Highball can move faster than a single thought. The average human brain processes thousands in a microsecond, reeling through so much mental detritus that years can pass in a moment for the errant dreamer; and all Psylocke needs to do, right now, is implant one little compulsion. Keying into the simplest and most primally-lodged instinct of them all, she throws her soul into imparting unto Highball...

The need to talk. The need to brag.

No tongue is looser than that of a man indulging his ego.

"I cannot believe my luck," breathes Highball into Marissa Sometimes' face. He couldn't possibly discern what, exactly, it was that drove him to boast, to breathe his insults into her face, but he does just that. "You know, maybe you should tell your father that if he's going to -hate- people like us, he might try putting a knife in his hand and putting -actions- to his words. The longer he stands in his ivory towers, spitting filth and hate, the longer people like -us- have to suffer! Let me tell you something, Marissa Sometimes. No, no! Let me -show- you something."

Meanwhile, the rap song continues to spit its filthy lyrics. "... dey told him any muthafuckin' coward can sell drugs, any bitch nigga' with a gun can bust thugs, any nigga' with a red shirt can front like a Blood, even Puffy smoked a muthafucka' up in da' club, but only a real thug can stab someone til' they die..."

Highball winks at Marissa, and then, in a zoom of color, he's swirling around the Reverend Clifton S. Bright III, his knives slicing and shredding the Reverend's body into pieces.

The rap song continues. "...standing in front of them, staring straight into their eyes."

"We are out of time," whispers Shift into the comm. "I'm going in."

While Highball turns back around to gloat at the screaming, terrified hostages, Shift drops down in smoke form from behind. He lands without a sound, and with one quick motion, snatches the remote detonator from Highball's belt. Highball is so distracted by his own sociopathic laughter that he doesn't even notice the African's movement. Not until the detonator is disabled, its battery ejected, and crushed on the floor.

"EVERYBODY OUT NOW!" cries Shift, before diving at Highball. The blue-haired murderer turns around snarls at Shift, immediately moving to attack him in a blur of color.

...drat it. A casualty...at least one, no telling how bad the others are hurt. And then? The longed-for backup. She has *no* clue who the guy who just appeared behind him is. Does she care? Heck no. He can take on Highball at least for a while, which she can't, except verbally. Which gave...whoever that is enough time. Maybe she'll ask later. For right now? She has one focus...and that's getting these people out of here. "You heard him...get moving. Towards the door. EMTs are outside!" She doesn't have super speed, or she'd have taken Highball on...if not out...already. But she can move quite fast when she needs to. Helping people out, where they aren't helping each other. It looks like it was coordinated, even though it wasn't. Get everyone out. That's her focus. Nothing to be done for the Reverend. And if he'd done *that* much damage to her. No, Marissa. Don't think about it now. Just think about getting these people to safety and medical care.

This blue man is more than meets the eye, it would seem. Here stands a being which blurs the line between demon and saint. It's difficult to comprehend, but what that sister does notice? He's getting people out of harm's way. In a flash they're out of the church and somewhere else, and then he's gone once more. The sister, alone for the moment, signs the cross for herself, then starts to move.

Psylocke would probably notice the minds rapidly disappearing from the church as they're ported out to safety. If she's really paying attention, she might also notice that there was one null entity among them which is no longer present...

Wolverine might catch a trace scent while he's working on those charges. Highball wasn't the only one that had something to do with the rigging of those explosives. He had an accomplice, either that or someone else had done some work on the rigging after they were already in place...

Something isn't right, here.

When the shit hits the fan, when the maniac stops talking, when Shift throws himself back into harm's way despite his recent stint as pincushion, Wolverine's practically already changed gears, his senses and reflexes giving him adaptability bordering on precognition, himself. He drops the newest detonator, and slips like a shadow back into the sanctuary. His form is low, a crouching half-crawl with quiet, alarming speed-- like a creeping predator, he slips between the pews.

Out the other end, Logan creeps around behind Highball's field of vision as the killer violently engages Shift with that stab-frenzied glee. Logan wastes no time, doesn't pull his punch, he takes one, precise shot, coming up behind the murderer and grabbing for a bearhug with his thickly corded let arm as the right releases a trio of footlong, razor sharp adamantium claws complete with trademarked *SNIKT*.

Those claws would be coming out the other side of Highball's midsection, if Wolverine finds his mark. One good cut deserves another, right? The sudden, twisting motion to rip his uncanny blades free would be none too gentle, either. No, Logan gives no fucks if he kills the mutant. One might not be far off the mark in implying he's trying to do just that, and abruptly; without warning.

Cyclops' urge is to fire at Highball, but he knows that Shift and Logan have that avenue covered. What's more, he also realizes that they have a better chance at survivial if this thing goes to hell than he does. So while Shift and Logan begin to engage Highball, Cyclops begins, literally, pushing people out and away through the closest entrance that isn't the back entrance.

Kurt watches as Logan leaves the room, and then Cyclops, and exhales in a quiet sigh. Time to go.. and he teleports out and into a spot behind.. and out of sight. As soon as he lands, however, he's taking hold of women and children first, and getting them out of there while the others engage. This will cost him, turning that blind eye as it were, but Nightcrawler 'the judge' has deemed the souls of the innocent require his attention first.

Then will come confession.

Indeed, something's been wrong since the beginning. Psylocke felt it earlier, and she feels it again when it's very suddenly not there to be felt; there is nothing more alarming than the realization that you've missed something very important, and that what you missed has already departed. Funny how a hole can be more notable for its absence. Rising to stand upon the sloping rooftop, the telepath moves to the rear of the building in brisk, graceful steps. Still out of sight from those below, she pauses to sweep one last time with her greater awareness. A scarcely muttered 'bloody hell' leaves her lips, and then she's no longer quite so stealthy. Cyclops and Nightcrawler both receive the same signal-- her thoughts held from Wolverine and Shift as they handle Highball.


 * "Either someone in there was capable of blocking telepathy - and very specifically, at that - or one of those people wasn't what they seemed. I've felt this before. If I don't miss my guess, I've *seen* them before, too. When you return to the mansion, raise security to maximum."|

There's a beat, in which she steps onto the roof's edge.


 * "You-- *we've* got a shapeshifter to catch."|

Near pandemonium has taken the sanctuary of Old St. Anthony's Church in the Bronx. The hostages have started running, screaming for the front door. If not for the efforts of Cyclops, Mend and Nightcrawler, it might have become a trampling. However, the daughter of Charles Sometimes and the X-Men manage to create an orderly evacuation, which will undoubtedly save many lives.

But perhaps not all.

The duel between Highball and Shift is a sight to see. The lightning-fast mutant has turned into a blur of color, the occasional glint of knife no longer visible as they have become so heavily coated in blood. As for Shift, the X-Man has turned into a cloud of black gas, making both Highball's knives and the possibility of 'friendly fire' from Wolverine's claws essentially harmless to him. Shift forms human hands from the black cloud every so often, if only in an attempt to stall or catch the speeding Highball with a lucky strike.

There is a flash of a moment when one of Shift's hands happens to catch Highball by the chest. At that precise moment, a trio of adamantium claws appears through the halted murderer's midsection. Highball lets out a bellow of anger, which echoes throughout the sanctuary. Many of the screams have gone with those who have left, but most poignant is the fact that the rap music has suddenly, and abruptly, -stopped-.

This fact brings a glint of unexpected shock to Highball's eyes, a shock that is perhaps more revealing than the fact that he was just stabbed so viciously. A beat later, both Shift and Wolverine are left by themselves, with Highball bursting away and out of sight. Injured or not, the killer is making an impossibly fast get-away.

Shift looks back toward Wolverine for a moment, confusion evident in his eyes. Then, he blinks, and looks around at the sanctuary.

Lined with C4 that has not yet been disabled.

"...shit."

Mend doesn't leave with the former hostages. Turning, she too makes note of the bomb. Okay. Job's not done yet. "Okay. Either of you guys happen to notice where the detonator is and what kind it is?" Very businesslike for somebody the age of most of their students. And still quite calm. She's got quite a bit of blood on her, but none of it's hers. Yet. She'll let herself go back into little girl mode...once this is over. And if the church blows up...but with that amount, if it does, people are going to get hurt, even killed by flying debris. Plus, it's a church, and a little bit of her upbringing still tells her you don't let somebody blow up a *church*.

The first sister to be pulled out to safety..is no more.

While Kurt's evacuating everyone from the second floor there's a woman dressed in professional attire stepping out of a different building some distance away, glancing back to the church through her sunglasses before calmly walking further away from the scene. The police can handle it. Them and all of their superhero friends.

A gloved hand reaches into a pocket of her coat, retrieving a cellphone. Boot heels click against the sidewalk as she dials a number and gently holds the receiver to her ear. One ring. Two. The signal leaps up into the atmosphere, rebounds off of a satellite, then drops back down toward the church only a few hundred feet away from where she walks.

The iPhone blasting that hate-filled music is momentarily interrupted, its screen flashing to life.

'Incoming Call...'

"Can you hear me now?"

-=Ka-BLAM!=-

The charges yet armed within the church suddenly erupt with near-apocalyptic force, shattering windows, setting off car alarms, sending shredded lumber, chunks of aged pews, and jagged hunks of brick across hundreds of feet out into the Bronx.

The lone woman ends the call and slips the phone back into her pocket, a tiny smirk crossing her face as she goes.

A glance to the backs of the last hostages fleeing out the front past Cyclops and Mend quickly turns into a double-take back the opposite direction as the call coming through registers in Wolverine's sensitive ears. "/Gas/." he hollers at Shift, no concern for stealth at this juncture, and throws himself the opposite direction, skidding off the raised dais supporting the church's altar, away from the bloodied battleground formerly occupied by Highball, and slides down under and between pews.

The wooden benches provide scarce cover, this close to the blast. The nearest fireball obfuscates Wolverine's position, momentarily devouring him-- wood splinters around him, pews all but disintegrating in the blast, the diminutive mutant flung up with the detritus and hurled clear. It's not that obvious, however, as a section of building collapses around him, all but burying the X-Man in its wake.

A single, protruding fist, claws still extended, sticks up like a little marker of Logan's impromptu, apparent grave amidst splinters of building column and sanctuary adornment; half a marble slab that could be altar, baptismal font, or even the late minister's own seat tops off the pile. No motion is immediately visible, beneath.

The force of the superheated draft erupts out the exit just as Cyclops ushers a family of four to safety. The blow knocks him forward and sends him sprawling down the front steps. He's up on his feet quickly, however, radioing in to Shift and Wolverine and making his way toward the alleyway. "Shift. Wolverine. Come in."

Kurt KNEW that the touch was familiar. Familiar enough now to identify. As a nontelepath, he raises his head at the thought put into place inside his head. "Bets--" The message makes it through, at the very least, as he's taking two children by their collars.. and with a *BAMF* makes it to the building once again for that next bit.

It's when the music stops that Nightcrawler gets a funny feeling, but he's not going to stall his efforts in the least. Grabbing a woman well within reach, he makes to teleport out when- *BOOM*.. *BOOM* begins around the room, the rest of the C4 charges going off. Kurt immediately teleports out, but not before being showered with the beginning of shrapnel as it tears through everything, living and non-

In the span of a heartbeat, Nightcrawler lands.. and the evidence of the explosion is plain. The fuzzy blue elf is torn up.. cuts and tears, blood beginning to seep from wounds. His arm, that which was holding the woman, is painfully.. almost shredded.

The woman? Not anywhere near as 'well off' as the not-mortally injured teleporter. She took the brunt of one of the side cartridges, and she is.. quite dead.

Those that had gone before look with shocked eyes at the bleeding blue demon bearing a dead woman.. and the mob mentality begins to seethe. "He killed her!" calls one. "Mutie! Demon!"

"You have it wrong," Kurt begins, and looks back now towards the church, the dust not yet beginning to land. He takes a step back, releases the woman to lay her down on the ground, and in the next blink of an eye, is gone. He needs to find his friends.

It's becoming all too familiar, the horrors that lurk ever round the bend when man and mutant fail to realize how alike they are. Psylocke is still upon the roof when the explosions begin to trigger, and feels the building shake beneath her feet with the first. Violet eyes wide, she starts to run in scampering steps down the sloping edge, reaching the end just as floors give way below, and shingle explodes outward from the force.

Enough to throw off the angle of her leap, she doesn't reach the neighbouring roof; slamming against a window hard enough that the glass cracks, small shards digging into her dark garb and piercing the skin beneath. Gritting her teeth, she rebounds, and flips in mid-air, turning a momentary ascent into a rabid plummet. The street below is an uninviting expanse of concrete, and not one she intends to strike clean.

In the last instant, she releases all that gathered telekinetic energy, a violet plume of butterfly wings rising about her crouched form as she slams her fingertips down. Her palm ruptures stone, the ensuing physical feedback acting as a crude cushion. The shock still rattles her bones-- but she's alive and mostly unharmed, free to survey the nearby rubble.

A telepath is too well-equipped to mount a search, and she does, her mind scanning frantically as she rises and darts close enough to mount the pile of torn, scattered brick and wood. Not many could survive that... Logan? She knows it takes a sight more than this. Her hand grips his first, because she finds him first, the kunoichi grunting as she hauls upon that corded arm with all of her own, not inconsequential might.

Despite the jeers of the crowd, she clings to a mantra: Nobody gets left behind.

Wolverine's command is heeded almost immediately. With eyes wide, Shift bursts into a cloud of black smoke, an instant before the charges go off.

What happens to gas when it is heated? It rises. The X-Gene-carrying DNA built within each particle of gas is desperate to remain united, which barely helps to keep Shift's gaseous form from being utterly disintegrated. The mutated cloud is blasted through collapsing lumber, brick, and mortar, until it is spewn out of the collapsing rooftop in a burst of heated air.

Meanwhile, the police, EMT's and firefighters are taking cover as St. Anthony's Church goes up. Many of them grab the escaping hostages in an attempt to cover them with their own bodies. They may not have mutations to aide them, but they have skin, bone, fire retardant suits and bullet proof vests. They are a unique kind of hero in their own right.

Well above the wreckage, Shift finally regains control of himself and begins to form into a shape that is half gas, half human. The extra weight causes him to begin falling gracefully toward the ground below, and when he lands amongst the burning rubble, his body finally reforms. His chest is heaving and worry is etched into his eyes, but when he sees Psylocke reaching for Wolverine's outstretched hand, a little grin curls at the edge of his mouth.

Having lost the earcomm in the explosion, Shift makes his way toward them, reaching out to begin pulling pieces of debris free from above Logan. "We can't stay long," breathes the Ghanaian. "It is in the hands of de civahl servahnts now."

As for Highball? The son of a bitch is long gone. Only a trail of blood is left behind, but at the speeds he left in? Each droplet is spaced out by, quite literally, entire city blocks. Tracking him will be difficult, to say the least.

Oh. Crap. Mend turns to run. She almost makes it...but not quite, the church collapsing as she reaches the door, burying the young mutant under tons of rubble. Psylocke will sense that she's still there, under there somewhere, but she's *not* conscious and her mental aura has an odd quality to it. Definitely alive in *some* sense, though, and probably in a position to appreciate being dug out. Well, when she wakes up, anyway. Poor Mend.

Somewhere out there, in the big, bustling city that is New York, is the mutant known as Mystique. Willing to sacrifice her own flesh and blood, her son, once again in order to achieve her own ends. It's a dirty business being an agent of change, an engine for evolution, but someone has to stand up and shoulder that burdeon.

Is it her fault that she happens to be so good at it?

There's little response from Logan's limb as Betsy starts using her strength and power to breach his rubble pile. It's not until around the time that Shift joins the effort that Wolverine starts to move again, muscles flexing and leveraging unbreakable bone to dislodge debris. Flesh is torn clean off the bone in places, sinew and veins visibly, unceasingly knitting themselves back together even as the motion tears other wounds open anew, fending off injuries that should have been mortal.

A jagged gash leaves half of Wolverine's face hanging free when it's first exposed, one eye bloodied and stuck closed, a cut that continues upwards along his skull, matting black hair to scalp. The one eye that opens suddenly, opens filled with rage. Locks on Betsy, then Shift, with no apparent recognition, as another mangled arm suddenly wrenches free from the pile, throwing aside objects as a second set of claws extends, lashes out for Psylocke... and just as swiftly, stops. Even if she makes no move to evade or defend, there's no contact.

With the sudden recognition and rationality comes a hoarse sound somewhere between a gasp and an attempt at a growl, and Logan stumbles forward to one knee, claws snapping away as both palms come to the ground; and he loses his lunch everywhere. The rest of him doesn't look much better than those first-revealed bits, but the smaller scratches close seamlessly in moments, as the larger ones gradually rebuild from the inner layers out. "Fuckin' help.. someone else.." he graciously thanks his rescuers with half a snarl. "Be up in... no time." Idiots.

Getting no response from Shift or from Wolverine, Cyclops moves to Nightcrawler. "Kurt, I'm not getting a read on either Shift or Logan. Give me a status report." Cyclops punches something on his wrist and the Blackbird begins going through its pre-flight diagnostics.

Never to use the radio when speaking can do, the teleporter shows up, and wobbles before Cyclops. "Alive.." and yellow eyes blink in the pain. He's bleeding, an arm mangled.. and it's obvious that he's fighting to stave off unconsciousness. If he weren't covered in blue fur, he'd probably look quite pale. "We got.. most of them out." He turns to look towards the rubble of the church, "I will go und look.." Perhaps, in the shock of the event, the police won't notice the blue elf.


 * BAMF*

Emerging in the rubble, Nightcrawler looks around, crouching and giving himself a little support with his 'better' hand and tail. "Wolverine! Shift! Wo bist du?" //Where are you?//

Catching movement, Kurt begins the short ports. Easier for him right now than walking, and lands beside Logan.. and Betsy? "You look horrible," is given to Logan, and he blinks again, unsteady on his feet as he looks to Psylocke. "I thought that was you.." Beat. "I think we should go."

How does one react to a phenomenon like Wolverine?

Betsy doesn't. Not immediately upon seeing his wracked and tortured form, and not when that baleful stare transfixes her. She meets it levelly, absorbing the outflow of emotion with barely a mental stagger and no outward sign that it's perturbed her. Even when gleaming claws strike, she just stands there, loosening her strained forearm with a shake as she maintains her gaze down along Wolverine's fearsome knuckles.

Telepathy has nothing to do with her inaction. She just *trusts him*.

When he pitches over, she breathes a sigh and looks away, the momentary closing of her eyes expressing more a strained sympathy than any form of frustration. Yes, their lives suck. Yes, it's a struggle every day. She's long come to terms with that; but she knows something of how much harder it's been for the man so often thought an unrelenting machine. Which is why she's already halfway across the rubble again when he instructs her in no uncertain terms to cease and desist on any possible ministrations.

"Good," she calls back with a half-smile, humouring him, mind scanning otherwise solemnly until she locates the trace of another survivor. It's... faint, and hard to place, but she dimly recognizes a signature she'd been associating with the escaped Highball. A girl. A mutant girl. "Then in no time at all, you can help us dig. Shift."

The last is coupled with a glance, and a return of his welcoming gesture if only through a gleam in violet eyes. Yes, she's pleased to see him. No, it isn't the most important thing right now. All business upon the mask, she gestures between her feet, one set of toes tapping at heavy marble. Through an odd synergy of motion, it coincides with a 'BAMF'.

"...and Nightcrawler," she appends smoothly, arching a brow at the blue-furred Deutschlander. A shake of her head soon follows his words. "Not yet. Someone's still alive down there." Barely, she notably doesn't add. Air of command persisting, she looks once more to the Ghanaian as she squats and works on getting purchase with her hands. "Some things the 'civil servants' shouldn't get their hands on."

Seeing the mangled form of Wolverine draws a tooth-borne wince to Kwabena's face. He doesn't stare, looking away once the shorter man is on his feet and summarily wretching.

A similarly brief glance is given to Betsy, a greeting in passing only. There was work to be done. Looking where indicated, he crouches down and takes a moment to close his eyes. It wasn't difficult to muster anger at the travesties performed by Highball this evening. Difficult was finding a way to not let it drive him to rage. When it comes, his skin crackles and hardens into something more like stone, and only then does he begin to dig.

Strength more than doubled, Shift heaves large pieces free from the wreckage, working alongside Betsy and whomever else might join them until he can spot the form of Mend beneath it all. "It's her," breathes the Ghanaian. "De distractah. Marissa." He reaches down in an attempt to feel her pulse, but time is of the essence. "Help me get her," he breathes, then digs deep in an effort to free her arms and legs from what rubble remains.

Meanwhile, the firefighters and police are closing in. It's only a matter of time before the X-Men are found out... lest they make a hasty escape.

Mend is...not in a good way. Mangled, broken, but as they get her clear...once she's clear, her body begins to put itself together. She's not *breathing*, but she's beginning to heal. Weird that...but then, she DID admit to being a mutant and rumor has it Marissa has come back from the dead before. Some kind of variant healing factor, no doubt. She's not thanking anyone though, right now. Out cold. Probably a mercy, that.

Wolverine's healing factor is an amazing thing-- but the mutant should rightly be dead already, and he hasn't exactly been taking it easy and enjoying steak dinners recently, either. The knitting of muscle and flesh is soon enough to get more of his senses about him, and then prop himself upright, turning to observe the rescue of Mend with a bit of a wince himself. 'Someone' still alive under there. Still, it could have been much, much worse.

Spitting blood to the side, the mangled Canuck pushes to his feet with a grimace of pain, and limps back to the others. "Crew's on the way, bomb squad too I'm bettin'." It will be a moment before the second wave of sirens, firefighters and specialists to support the new crisis, become audible to anyone else; but they are indeed closing fast. "Time to cut our losses." Something Wolverine's not happy to say, at all.

A lingering glance is cast down the avenue he /knows/ Highball used to flee; he has the man's scent, now. Even if following it from here is a hat trick. Stubborn, hurting, and not particularly satisfied with 'just' saving most of the hostages, Logan starts to adamantly limp his way towards extraction, moving surprisingly quickly for someone in his condition, burnt and bloodied but gradually more recognizable.

"Kurt," Cyclops says solemnly as he climbs up the fire escape that leads toward the Blackbird. "I need you to get them and get back to the Blackbird." He hopes they're still alive, but doesn't mention that part about it. He can feel the pressure of the authorities converging all around them.

He pulls himself up on the final rung of the ladder and makes his way across the rooftop up the ramp and into the cockpit, "Kurt. It's go time, buddy. We gotta get out of here."

Cyclops begins strapping himself in and grabs the control, ready for liftoff into the newly night sky just as soon as NIghtcrawler arrives.

To hear those words from Psylocke, 'Someone's still alive down there' pushes a bit of adrenaline through Nightcrawler's veins. He's not much help; the blood causes his hand to slip, the one that is still of use. But, he still has some use to everyone. "Ja. As long as some of her is free.." then he can teleport the rest out. "It is time to go." It's virtually in echo with Logan. "Now." Beat. "Coming, Cyclops.." Ready or not, here they go.. to the Blackbird.

"Highball's Hostages." The End.

For now...