2013.09.07 - Breaking the Argus, Part 2

"Engine three down, sir!" comes in a near panicked state into Director Fury's ear. He takes the information with a fair bit of concern, and taps into yet another channel. "Take us over the Atlantic. Bear us down." Controlled. As controlled as they can when flying on three engines. The shudders and sharp whining of the stricken Helicarrier is something that may very well remain with some of her personnel for the rest of their lives. (Not to mention the thought of going *splat* onto God's Green Earth!)

With Mystique down, mostly, the Mutant Go Team makes their way into the blocked off area with rebreathers and gives the Lady of Genosha a full hypo of anesthetic and blocker so even if she does come-to, she'll be a little less difficult to handle. Of course that's not to say that she'll be easy to manage. Far from it!)

Ultimately, the helicarrier does indeed make it to the Atlantic Ocean, and it sits just outside, in international waters, and the repairs are beginning. So much to be done. And this is why Fury has a full compliment of 'good people' who know their jobs.

It leaves him to be able to attend the bigger messes.

"I want Wagner!" is bellowed through the hall. Fury had only put out the order maybe ten, if not fifteen minutes ago. From the sounds of it, he wants what he wants -yesterday-.

The transfer to the specialty holding cell is a difficult one, particularly when internals are damaged, thanks to the difficult landing. (Water is harder than it looks!) Corridors are shut down for emergency maintenance, while others are being used to carry the injured to the various levels of the medical bays.

Still, a landing one can conceivably walk away from is a good landing. Or swim away from.

---

Finally, however, the holding cell is gained, and now the trick is to tinker with the settings. Mystique is (mostly) an unknown agent, and her abilities aren't fully known or understood. It's a thick glass/ballistic plastic mix that fully surrounds the enclosure, not allowing for any obscuring of vision of the prisoner inside. There is a chair for some 'comfort', such as it is, and an area where food can be passed.

Outside the cell, at a small control console, Director Fury is staring at the blue mutant, his anger restrained but barely. Leaning against the console, white knuckles are pronounced. "I want her up and talking."

Being immune to poison and disease is a little different from modern medicine. That, and Mystique was already passed out before the drugs were dumped into her system. The SHIELD personnel left to clean up the mess are likely in for a bit of a surprise, too.

When she's unconscious she's also blue. Perfect, flawless, cobalt blue skin. Red hair. Yellow eyes, with a bit less glow now than the norm. To think that someone like this had been an almost completely identical copy of Nick Fury himself only a few minutes ago?

She's free of the chemical hold faster than what should be expected. When her eyes open once more they're back to their usual backlit vibrance. Though, rather than come to with a start or an insult she comes to with a languid feline stretch, breathing out an audible sigh while running blue fingertips through lava red hair.

That was a pleasant nap.

Fingertips of her other hand settle upon the floor of her cylindrical cage, a thoughtful 'hmmh' sounding out beneath her next breath.

"One too many pigeons over Manhattan for this old tub?" she inquires, solid golden eyes falling upon Fury with a purely wicked smirk taking form.

Still in the cybernetically enhanced armour, Lindstrom stands outside the cell, away from Mystique's vision, but within earshot and glance of Fury himself. The left gauntlet on her suit has in it small holo-projectors, among other pieces of remarkable microtechnology, that currently displays a constantly updating report on the Helicarrier's status.

Damage reports and the coordination of repairs have fallen to her, while the Director deals with his prisoner. All the flashing red areas on the green emitted display aren't probably really what he wants to see. They tell the Canadian volumes about a goodly part of Mystique's escape plan, such as it was, however.

Frowning, she taps her ear com. "McKay, grab a sweep team. Check out sector D-5-8." The frown turns into a tight, narrow-eyed smile. "Yeah. I know it reads clean. Call it a hunch." Another pause. "I'm not sure. But, I'll bet you a round at the Ace you'll find something." A beat. "Start with the regulators, but don't overlook the conduits or crawlspace."

No, Nick doesn't want to hear half of what Lindstrom has going, and wants to see even less in terms of those little red lights. It probably does light something of a garden path, at least a perceived one. Who knows with mutants? They think differently.

And there, the blue mutant rises from her slumbers. Fury remains behind his console, but his eye is on the woman.

"Oh look. We're all still alive. Shame. You tried so hard. Don't think for a second that you wouldn't have been brought down too." Straightening, the Director studies the mutant before he looks down on the readouts. Energy levels, power levels, and psi levels all are within baseline parameters.

"As a kamikazi, you suck. Everyone is still alive."

"It might have helped if I also had a plane to fly onto your bridge," Mystique continues to taunt, her voice a silky mix of one higher note and one lower note that makes it seem as though she were speaking through an ethereal filter. "Don't think for a second that I wouldn't have happily sacrificed myself to ground this blimp. Seems like I'll have a second chance, after all."

With that said the blued mutant rises to bare feet, the motion graceful for one just now coming back to the land of the coherent. Fingertips settle across the rounded, transparent pane now isolating her from the rest of the world, idly looking around her new home with what might translate to a mix of curiosity and appreciation.

"Saved your best for me, have you. I do hope you remembered to set out the red carpet. This cell is lined with metal, is it not?" she asks, oh so innocently despite the way she suddenly stops and turns her attention right back to Fury.

Smiling wickedly.

"As the director of a strategic military operation, your process is in dire need of extra funding. You still haven't figured it out, have you?"

Lazily turning about on the balls of her feet Mystique neatly folds her hands behind her back and leans closer until her forehead is but an inch away from the curved wall. The smile on her face is anything but friendly.

"I'm the bait."

THUUUM. THUUUM. THUUUUM. THUUUUM.

The entire /ship/ shudders with the sound, shifting six inches to starboard. Given the sheer mass of the ARGUS, it's a phenomenal amount of force that moves the ship staggering across the lapping waves. It's as if an impossible giant had picked up a club the size of a battleship and battered the side of the hull, knocking four times. The vessel creaks and groans under the impact, small, unsecured items flying about. People stagger and fall, some clutching their heads as the harmonics of the ship create a percussive pressure on their eardrums. Lights flicker and dim, some going out and leaving the dull yellow of emergency lighting to illuminate areas of the ship.

Reports start babbling at Fury, lighting up the emergency channels.

"Sir!" comes a panicked voice. "Engineering! We've lost power to the emergency propellers!"

"Sir! Navigation here! We've lost direction and our LIDAR and RADAR are going ballistic!"

"Sir, communications are offline! Satellite feeds, offline!" "Engineering again, sir, the reactor's losing power!"

COLONEL FURY.

The sound resonantes through the ship like the drum beats had, shuddering the vessel from stem to stern. The very bulkheads of the ARGUS transmit the massive voice to every square inch of the ship, loudly enough to be painful to anyone hearing it unprotected. Every communication channel shuts off at once with a loud squelch and burst of static.

IF YOU WOULD BE SO KIND AS TO RELEASE YOUR HOSTAGE TO THE FLIGHT DECK.

IMMEDIATELY.

The voice is metal, and gargantuan, and terrible because it is directionless and furious, like living thunder trapped amidecks. And all the more terrifying for some (and hopeful, for one), as it is clearly that of the Imperator of Bastion.

Magneto has arrived.

As the first of the magnetic pulses hit, the green holodisplay projecting from Lindstrom's gauntlet pixelates into millions of motes of light. (And her microcircuitry is actually hardened against EM pulses! But, let's face it. After a certain level... Guess she'll need to go back to the drawing board to find better options.)

As the Argus lurches, she reaches out the stabilize herself against a bulkhead. "I'm going for the lab!" she calls out to Fury, and takes off at a dead run that grows quicker as the microcircuitry in the suit stabilizes once more and lets the cybernetic beneath the advanced ceramic polymers that create the skin do its work. "COMING THROUGH!" she roars as she rounds a corner.

Repair teams and agents scatter like debris in a storm.

"You probably could have. But you didn't. You. Suck." The words are enunciated slowly and clearly. The director simply can't take his eyes off the mutant. She seems to think that she...

Fury has to hold on tightly to the console, but even then he is thrown off balance to the point where he has to grab onto something else so he doesn't roll in the pitch of the ship. The condition lights flash, and the panicked reports are coming in from virtually all decks, the senior 'officers' sending in priority order. This is still, after all, a professional operation.

Engineering first. At least they're in the water. Can't navigate for a damn, but that isn't too bad. In the cosmic scheme of things. Still, being dead in the water isn't an enviable position. "Shut down everything. We'll be bringing it up. I don't want anything to ride through the lines while they're active. Shut it down!" is given in direct response to that first issue.

Navigation, offline. LIDAR, RADAR and SONAR (undoubtedly) going ballistic? That single eye widens, and while he's working on remaining upright (after a fashion), he's got his hand on the communication. It's staticked, probably giving those who are reporting in a little more lift to their voices. "Shut it down. I don't want EMP damage!"

Now, however, he calls out, "Major Lindstrom. Get the EMP buffers up!" They won't hold against a concerted attack; it's more to fight against the higher powered solar flares. But, it's something, at the very least. (Not to mention, potentially a bluff? Just in case anyone is listening.)

Satellite feeds... makes sense. But, the reactor?

"What in the hell--"

The question is answered, however, and the moment he hears the voice, his hand rises over a section of the console. "Hostage, nothing. Spy. Infiltrator." His tones come out as a sneer. "What I should do to her is what you do to anyone who dares fight against you. And dammit, I'm willing to blow this fucking ship up, all hands, if it gets in your way." Fury smiles, and it's not pleasant. "There are plenty more of those that can do my job, ready to keep you in your place."

Lindstrom's reaction to it all brings his attention around directly, and he yells out behind her in a booming voice, "Make a hole!"

Turns out that it is possible for Mystique to look more amused than a moment ago, even without morphing a bigger mouth for herself. With the hammering upon the Argus she stands her ground within the cell, braced against the rounded interior wall by both of her arms. Keeping her balance isn't quite so difficult, the cell is built better than an armored vehicle and she's got everything right at her disposal to hang upside down by the tips of her toes if she felt so inclined.

Disharmony, discord, disarray, disaster... Delightful.

"There's my ride."

Fury's willing to blow up the ship if it gets in Magneto's way? "My, it turns out we have something in common after all," she says back to Fury with her grin yet in place. Except that once the ship's stopped rattling about she's staring back at Fury with just one eye. There's a patch over her other one. A direct copy of his.

"But only one thing."

Then, with a slight shrug, she asks "So why don't you shoot me, Nickie? I'll even hold real still, just for you."

She could easily survive it.

There's a long silence.

I DESPISE FALSE BRAVADO, COLONEL.

YOU CANNOT BE WILLING TO SACRIFICE THOUSANDS FOR THE SAKE OF ONE LIFE. THE LIVES OF YOUR ENTIRE CREW FOR ONE, SOLITRY AGENT THAT YOUR INCOMPETENCE GRANTED FULL ACCESS TO YOUR SHIP?

PERHAPS I HAVE UNDERESTIMATED YOU, FURY. I THOUGHT AT LEAST YOU UNDERSTOOD THE VALUE OF LOYALTY. I WOULD BE SHAMED TO BE KNOWN AS THE MAN WHO SAILED MY SHIP INTO CHARYBDIS JUST TO SPITE THE SEAS.

The pulsing, overwhelming voice persists long after the words end, the ship quaking violently. I AM A GENEROUS MAN, COLONEL. RELEASE YOUR HOSTAGE. YOU ARE NOT DEFEATED- MERELY OUTMANEUVERED. THERE IS NO SHAME IN THIS. THE ONLY SHAME WOULD BE IN A THOUSAND SOULS DYING POINTLESSLY IN ORDER TO SATISFY YOUR EGO AND YOUR HUBRIS. AND MISTAKE ME NOT- I WILL HAVE HER RETURNED TO ME, OR I WILL TAKE HER FROM YOU.

"Sir! Visual confirmation!" comes a shout from the backup communication lines- the older hardwired ones, more resistant to the electromagnetic pulses. "There's a humanoid flying about three hundred yards off of our port bow!"

"Mag buffers!" Lindstrom snaps, as she skids through the door to the lab wing. "Now!" Techs scramble to comply. "Consider this a Level 7 response. DEFCON 1. Go, go, go!"

They're not slow to respond, at all. These are SHIELD agents, after all. Best of the best. Do not assume incompetence.

One of the researchers moves towards her, alarm in his eyes. "Major?"

"We've got Magneto on the doorstep, people." Lindstrom responds, even as the first team of techs engages the EMC systems. She's still moving, heading through the workstations to the lab for Ultraviolet Security projects. "Time to break out the Genosha protocols."

"But, Major, they're still--"

"NOW, doctor!"

Yeah. They're still experimental. But, the ceramics-and-crystal quantum-based technology doesn't use any kind of metal.

"Consider this a live-fire field test."

No. Clarification. He's willing to blow up the ship in order to be assured of her death. "You and I have nothing in co--" As Mystique shifts into a partial vision of himself, his hand is over a button, ready to suck the oxygen out of the container. "I don't have to shoot you, Mystique. It wouldn't do any good, I'm sure. Gassing seems to work, which tells me that you're vulnerable. You -need- air." Everyone has a weakness.

Visual confirmation? And there's a way Magneto can hear him, obviously, so at the moment, this is the best way to communicate.

"Don't you know how the game is played, Magneto? You want her? You give me something in return. And I don't want to hear the crap about 'our lives'. We all signed on to this knowing that at one point, sacrifice is the way to go. And I know damned well that you are more than willing to sacrifice your people to an end. So don't start with the lectures!"

Now, to give Lindstrom the time she needs to get her systems up and running. Best thing he ever did; getting her from the Canadians. They don't appreciate her abilities anywhere near he does.

"You want her back, her head is gonna get wiped clean. She might still be able to talk. Maybe." There's that smile that remains, the unpleasant, unwilling to bend.

"You're not the only one with friends in high places, Mystique. You really think I'm without resources? Really?" Fury calls out again, his tones unyielding. "I'll even have a mutant come and do it! You trust your own, don't you Imperator?!"

Air is important, true indeed. Now that Mystique sees it coming she might have a better chance. Call it a self-induced coma. Shut herself down, make her body use as little of its resources as possible. Recycle the air already in her system. It might buy her a few hours, tops, but she wouldn't be able to do so much as dream while put under. It's kind of a one shot deal, without a guarantee of success.

She'd still rather avoid trying it if it can be helped. It's not what she would consider a pleasant experience.

Instead, she goes with the more immediate, and more obvious, bit of leverage. "And so you would gain the full attention and ire of an omega..level..mutant. He's already knocking on your front door, Fury. Things didn't end so well for the last group that tried to have me killed. By all means, if you think you have something to gain..."

Press the damned button.

A mind-wipe. Now could she put up with that? Brains are much more complex to duplicate as far as organs go. Relocating it is possible but another mutant wouldn't care about where it's located. She's well protected against psychics, she could give them a proper run for their money.

"I'd be willing to pinkie-swear not to share any of your secrets," she teases while holding up a single hooked little finger. "But that's my final offer. I can hardly be blamed, here. You should get a better lock for your diary."

Air is important, true indeed. Now that Mystique sees it coming she might have a better chance. Call it a self-induced coma. Shut herself down, make her body use as little of its resources as possible. Recycle the air already in her system. It might buy her a few hours, tops, but she wouldn't be able to do so much as dream while put under. It's kind of a one shot deal, without a guarantee of success.

She'd still rather avoid trying it if it can be helped. It's not what she would consider a pleasant experience.

Instead, she goes with the more immediate, and more obvious, bit of leverage. "And so you would gain the full attention and ire of an omega..level..mutant. He's already knocking on your front door, Fury. Things didn't end so well for the last group that tried to have me killed. By all means, if you think you have something to gain..."

Press the damned button.

A mind-wipe. Now could she put up with that? Brains are much more complex to duplicate as far as organs go. Relocating it is possible but another mutant wouldn't care about where it's located. She's well protected against psychics, she could give them a proper run for their money.

"I'd be willing to pinkie-swear not to share any of your secrets," she teases while holding up a single hooked little finger. "But that's my final offer. I can hardly be blamed, here. You should get a better lock for your diary."

WELL. IF ANY OF YOU SURVIVE, FEEL FREE TO INFORM YOUR SUPERIORS AT FURY'S COURT-MARTIAL THAT HE REFUSED TO NEGOTIATE. IT MIGHT MAKE AN INTERESTING FOOTNOTE IN A HISTORICAL DOCUMENT. GO DOWN WITH YOUR SHIP, COLONEL. GODSPEED. BRACE YOURSELF, MY DEAR.

There's a groan, then a shriek of metal. The ARGUS slews violently sideways at an alarming angle, one that grows steeper by the second.

Outside the ship, Magneto's figure shimmers behind a bubble of corsucating force, strain written on his face. His hands are clenched into fists as if lifting a heavy object- but in this case, that heavy object is the ARGUS, some hundreds of yards distant. The portside of the ship elevates rapidly as the starboard side slips under the waves.

The ship- a hundred thousand tons of steel and metal- rotates sideways. People scream as they slide, then start to fall, the ship going from a steep angle to a vertical one. Planes and helicopters slew off the deck, snapping their bindings and crashing into the frothing waves.

Magneto gathers his hands as the ARGUS passes the forty-five degree angle mark, then /pushes/. The ARGUS stands on end for a long, horrifying moment, balanced as if a coin on edge, then with all the ponderous mass of a skyscraper toppling, falls over, keel up in the air and vast waves of water washing for nearly a quarter mile in every direction.

And it's just about that time that the mag buffers flare to life. Is it enough to stop Magneto? Not entirely. Of course, not. As Mystique has said, he's an omega level mutant.

But he is not God. He is not invincible. And he does have limits.

So, it's possible -- perhaps not probable -- but possible the nuclear threat deterrent systems metaphorically 'add to the weight' of the ship. Maybe it's not enough to keep people from slip-slidin' away, or to keep millions of dollars of sophisticated weaponry from crashing into the sea, but it may be enough to keep the thing from being completely torn apart and scuttled.

Particularly given the the fact that the 'Genosha Protocols' Lindstrom and her teams have been working on are based off of the data and intelligence gathered from the Imperator's very public destructive actions off the African coast, combined with every scrap of mutant research she could get her paws on, from just about every source she could glean it.

(Indeed, somewhere on Fury's desk is a recommendation that they try to hire a Dr. Jean Grey to work in their mutant research division, given the woman's early doctoral dissertations on mass spectrometric approaches to predicting morphogenetic trends. Too bad SHIELD doesn't know more about the geneticist's own talents. Damned telepaths.)

The short of it? In less than the span of a heartbeat, the Argus goes from a gross weight of 200,000 tons to nearly twice that... metaphorically speaking. And Lindstrom, staggering out of her labs on the sharp incline of the tilting deck plating -- kept mostly upright by a combination of her armour and sheer force of will, now carries what is an effective 'anti-EM pulse-cannon' strapped to her back, shoulders, and arms.

Have battlemech, will travel.

Fury's hand comes down onto the console just as Mystique offers up the comment regarding her 'pinky swearing'. "Oh, then I guess you're free to go." The button he presses, however, isn't the latch on the door. It's yet another gas to incapacitate the mutant.

That's not going to last long, however, as the Master of Magnetism offers up his last bit, and Fury yells out, "Is that really your definition of negotiation? Free the hostage that happens to be YOUR spy? I know damned well that there isn't a soul on board ship that would disagree with me!" (Except maybe Wilson down on Four. He thinks there's nothing wrong with the potatoes and onions. Tastes like soup mix out of a box.) "You may have pushed over others with that crap, but--"

Now, did Fury really say pushed over? Really?

One day, IF he survives this (and he likely will), he'll curse himself for his choice of words over a cigar and a tumbler of scotch. But for the moment?

Fury and the crew on his deck are thrown forcefully over to the side as the FIVE ACRE size carrier is tilted. The metal strains and shudders under the force of the pressure against her hull. She's rated for most everything, but the hand that holds her? There isn't a whole lot they can do. Well.. metal cannon. That'd be suicide.

But there is always a secret weapon to be pulled. If for no other chance but to mitigate damage.

Reports are coming in again, fast and furious. Fear is under their voices, but there is a decided professionalism to them. Best and bravest. Who said the 'Few and the Proud' are only Marines. He's got a good number of them. Thank god.

Now, however, it's time to put protocols into action. Emergency stations. Bulkheads locked down. Crews for air scrubbers. All non-vital, if they haven't been shut down to do it NOW. And SCUBA. Well, more like rebreathers.. and a message out to the mainland. UN. But damn. Communication arrays are down.

Zero negotiation. No backing down. Mystique knows Magneto. He never comes to a party empty-handed. Fury denies her release, instead triggering yet another flow of gas into the chamber. Now, another mutant in Magneto's position might just rip the cell out of the Argus with her inside of it and call it a day. Erik..? He's not that kind of guy. He's going to make his point abundantly fucking clear.

With the 'brace yourself' voiced through the walls Mystique does just that, though still she refuses to stick herself to the walls of her cage and ride out what's coming next. SHIELD doesn't need to know all of her tricks. Maybe she'll get banged up a bit. She can heal any damage that she might sustain. All she has to do is hold her breath and walk along the cage as it pitches in angle, then get ready for the inevitable crash.

Maybe they'll take out part of Manhattan, after all?

When the ship does its several hundred thousand ton bellyflop she falls onto the former ceiling of her cell in a low four-point crouch, her expression having already changed from one of sarcasm and malice to one more befitting of a woman on a mission.

Is there anything she can do? Did any part of her cell break? Did any of the controls get tripped? Emergency protocols? If there's anything for her to work with then work with it she shall. Time is limited. Erik's said his piece, now they need to finish this and get out.

She even spares Fury the one about having sunk his battleship. That would use up more of her rapidly dwindling air. The stuff that won't knock her unconscious, anyway. Times like this not being a telepath kinda stinks. She'll just have to trust the Master of Magnetism to pull her free before it's too late.

Kristen's weapon will have to wait for another day. Magneto dives /under/ the waves as she emerges from the ship, vanishing in a splash and spray of foamy ocean current.

Where he went becomes immediately apparent to Fury a few seconds later, because a literal column of steel blasts from what had been the ceiling and up through the now rooftop bulkhead, up towards the keel, as if a cannonball had been launched from the submerged flight deck and through the hull of the ship. There are a series of sharp *pingspingspings* as something invisible and tiny slams into Mystique's cage. It's not a 'ting'- it's a /hundred thousand/ tiny blows, hammerstrikes hitting the plastic like an invisible chainsaw. In less than five seconds, an entire section of the plastic cage simply falls away, leaving Mystique a clear path towards the sky overhead.

Naturally, the tiny metal discs turn into steel arrows pointing /down/ to the waters now lapping up into the room.

Magneto isn't above going over the top, but he's playing it /very/ safe. And Mystique happens to be an excellent swimmer.

Even as the ship slams back down and water begin breaching the starboard and lower bulkheads, Kristin is maneuvering through the ship -- not out on deck -- heading back to Mystique's cage. Because, really, she doesn't know where Magneto is. But she can guess where he'd most likely go.

Or at least what his goal is.

As she runs, an agent intercepts her at a junction. "Major! Catch!" A pair pf rebreathers are flung her way. "Get it to the boss!"

"Drinks on me," the Canadian replies, fitting it around her neck, though not yet across her face, as she continues running.

She bounces off a wall as she returns to the cell in time to see those little arrows pointing down.

See? No negotiation. Not that Mystique would take the stand in a court-martial. Or if she did, she'd take the place of one of the prosecutors just to have a little fun.

Ass over end as the ship makes its entire flip, and what lights that had been working begin to wink off in favour of those emergency lights. They're dim and red. Enough to see in darkness, but not enough to be able to discern all that needs to be.

It's the burbling of water as metal screeches and creaks.. and the blast of Magneto comes through to take out the small module that is deliberately built to hold those of the 'powered persuasion'. It had, after all, held even Loki.

A gaping hole is left in the bottom of his ship.. the top of the ship, and at the moment, with everything going on, he's caught with dealing with the almost destruction of his carrier... and the 5,000 souls that serve aboard her.

Before too long, Fury will be needing that rebreather. No automatic closures of gaping, broken steel!

The instant that Mystique's reinforced polycarbonate cell cracks open she makes a lunge for the open air (what remains of it) beyond. Having a near-straight shot into the Atlantic only works to her advantage, though she stops short of diving on in as Kristin comes running back in, armed in a manner which is oddly similar to how the metamorph had been shortly before getting caught. There in those dim red lights a pair of brilliant yellow eyes stare back at her, like a demon right out of Hell. When they narrow they do so with another grin.

"Should have listened to us."

Let them save Fury, she doesn't care. With a leap she dives for the dark waters beneath the Argus, plunging more than a dozen feet into the cold Atlantic before her legs morph into a mermaid-shaped tail, launching her into the depths like a shot out of a rifle.

Fury can take pride in the fact that it was his team that had managed to catch Raven Darkholme before anyone else. For what comfort it might provide him or the families of those stationed aboard the Argus this day.

Magneto doesn't stick around to cripple the ARGUS furthur. A few seconds after Mystique's in the water, systems start coming back on. LIDAR and RADAR, even communications, though the regular computer systems are fairly well battered by the combination electropulse and kinetic impact. There's a faint sensor echo of something flying along underwater at speeds that defy the imagination for submaritime travel, with a crackle of static energy spattering over the hull of the helicarrier in Magneto's wake.

In less than five minutes, Magneto had crippled the ARGUS, broken Mystique out of prison, and made his escape. The pride and joy of SHIELD is hull-up in the Atlantic, one of the most dangerous spies in the world is gone with unspeakable information lifted from SHIELD's databases, and Magneto's ire is... well, surprisingly mild, all things considered.

After all, the ARGUS is, more or less, in one piece still.