2012-12-15 Escape From Latveria Part 2

~They betrayed you.~

Doom's accusation has been in the forefront of Blink's mind for too long. Betrayal. It is a heavy word, and a type of pain which she has had remarkably little brush with over the years. Most other types, she has born enough of to last a dozen lifetimes. Now, she looks at herself in the mirror. Black leather boots, black leather shorts, shirt (black leather) with the insignia of Doom upon the left breast. The only part of her outfit which she still recognizes is her quiver. That has not changed. Behind her, two of the robotic guards stand placcid and statuesque.

It is almost time.

"Prepare the outer defences." She states, surprised at how calm her voice sounds. "I want a six robot team to confirm contact and numbers at the expected primary entry point."

~Why are you doing this?~

The frightened scream of a terrified man; a man who had been a veteran of countless conflicts, rendered completely impotent by Blink's power, unable even to lay a finger upon her after she used her abilities to make him murder his own squad. She closes her eyes. Then, she had said that it was because people like him turn people like her into weapons.

"Groups of six patroling the sewers. The first sign of contact, I want it sent to be notified. They will not reach the prisoners."

The robotic men snap to attention, and she draws one of the crystalline javelins from her quiver as the automated defenses throughout Castle Doom relay her commands. Behind her, there are monitors. Banks upon banks of them. Showing prisoners - prisoners in more luxurious conditions than she could ever have imagined before - but prisoners nonetheless. And corridors. And sewers. And dozens of rooms in between. When she says the words, she sounds like she really means it!

"They shall not sully the hospitality of Lord Doom!"

But internally, she has to wonder...

... is she the one turning herself into a weapon?

The temptation to be ill threatened to take him many times, but Shift had proven to be quite the actor.

"Dey are coming," breathed the Ghanaian restlestly. "Dey are coming because dey think that de odah's are alive." He shook his head rapidly. "I... I don't know how many, but I caught wind of what dey are bringing, and it will be -big-. Heavy firepower, mutants, people with fantastic powah's."

Selling out one's allies was ugly business, but Kwabena held his ground and stuck to the act. He had his role to play; the damaged, broken, and needing victim, come back to his Lord and Savior. The contact lenses he'd worn before coming to Latveria served to irritate his eyes, their bloodshot nature a convincing testament to withdrawal symptoms that no longer existed, thanks to a little help from Doom's arch nemesis, Mister Fantastic. "Let me fight for you," he begged. "Let me fight to protect dis place. I have nothing without it. Without you."

Irony lay thick upon Shift's role in the dangerous match of chess that was taking form upon Doomstadt, for where Doom himself had sought to use such a thing to tear the allies apart, Shift had now used the essence of that very thing to secure his place within the enemy's camp.

Throughout Castle Doom, the alarm is sounded. Men and robot alike take up their guard, and like them, Shift is garbed in the armor of Doom, with a patch upon the breastplate similar to that worn by their true betrayer. Like many a loyal ant, he walks along the corridors with a falsely projected sense of duty, only all the while, he keeps looking for that one precious moment; the moment he prays will come.

It happens when the Captain of his assigned guard begins to issue their orders, dissecting the numbers and dispatching them to their posts. However, when he comes to Shift, he looks upon him with ire. "You," he sneers. "The new one." He strikes the African hard against his breastplate, upon which Shift falls into his role and staggers backward, feigning weakness and fear. "You will remain here. Guard the crossroads of these useless corridors. Should the battle come this far, which it will not, we will all trust -you- to stand up and bravely fight for your Lord!"

A resounding chorus of laughter reaches Kwabena's ears, but it does not bother him. He says not a word, instead looking upon the Captain with a weakened face; the look of a man stricken by sickness.

Only once they've gone, a hardened expression crosses the Ghanaian's face. The sounds of battle reach his ears from the distant place beyond the castle walls for only a brief moment, before his eyes reach the sliver of space between rock wall and marble floor.

Ventilation.

Pieces of armor clatter to the floor, leaving behind a plume of black smoke that quickly falls into that small space, disappearing from sight.

Domino can't recall the last time she had been operating within a group of this many people. Mutants, metas, the best that they were able to pull together with little notice. People all willing to take this risk. Some, in fact, that are willing to place their lives within her abilities to lead them through all of this.

Lucky her.

This alabaster-skinned mercenary is down to her armor and a pair of light amplification goggles, and a whole -hell- of a lot of various weapons. If guns, grenades, blades and bombs aren't sufficient for the task then she's the wrong woman for the job. The dim ambient light plays across the blackened sheen of her protective covering as she finds a path for the others to follow, shifting between taking point and falling to the back of the pack with a suppressed rifle never once leaving her hands. Sending Shift back had been a calculated risk, moreso in having him alert Doom himself about the coming invasion. If he couldn't also come through on getting them inside of the castle then their lives are all about to get drastically worse. Her good fortune can only carry them through so much. Have faith in the distraction, faith in their inside man, faith in her teammates, and faith in herself. Fairly poor odds, once it's all added together. Good thing that's her specialty.

"Keep it tight, people. We're almost there."

In a dungeon within the gothic depths of Castle Doom, played sentinel by more of those eerie manifestations of high technology, another mind plows a similar furrow to Blink's - at least so similar as can be two that have diverged so far, fallen from the same tree only to plunge haphazard into ditches and streams, taken away upon the current of nature and man. Perhaps now, their greatest similarity in circumstance is the flickering of monitors within the gloom. Except for the voice careering through their minds. The same, booming, self-assured tone.

~You still don't understand.~

The words of a man in whose reckoning Psylocke found the measure of a monarch almost the equal of his arrogant presumptions; a man who might indeed possess the potential to be a god, if through sheer weight of brilliant ambition alone. That Victor Von Doom is a genius in mortal terms should be debated by nobody, yet the promises he has made to would-be heroes, to those who have crossed him and in turn found the darkness in which the kunoichi lurks... these seem hubris on the mightiest cosmic scale. Parting the cloying curtain, choking back her urges, the telepath sought entrance to the man's very mind and found it granted. She has seen Doom. Felt him.

~You still think yourself worthy of me, still think that I go to these lengths to prove something. You are a side-project. A test subject. You are nothing more then fate delivering a toy to my hands. A distraction from my true goals.~

Betsy Braddock knows, as well does the man himself. Doom is not a braggart. He is many things, has been many things, and will be many more in the fullness of time-- if he is not stopped. How can she act to bring about such a titanic effort from within her bonds, and beneath the effects of slowing drugs? Worse, without the ability to manifest her X-gene's soul-shattering gifts? But in spite of the futility, she remembers something else; a flare of violet wings, a surging of insidious strength that felt so palpable for such a tiny, precious instant. A fluttering heartbeat in the breast of a dying babe. A nothing. A beautiful nothing that could be all.

~You still think this is about breaking you? About turning your friends to my cause? There are things in motion in this world that you can only see the faintest fraction of, you struggle to keep your head above water, while Doom himself controls the tides.~

Kept her head she has, watching endlessly the images of her friends' pain and suffering, the moments of their supposed deaths and defections. Doubt within doubt has assailed the telepath, guilt beyond guilt tearing at what little remains of a heart hardened by the utmost necessity. As the IV feed has dripped a slow supply of doping substance, she has surfaced to cry, and even to scream, but never entirely to despair. Throughout the shuddering ramifications of her actions - desperate, idiotic, too reckless to ever be called heroic - Betsy has flayed a path, hacking aside the shrubbery of unwanted emotion and needless empathy. Alone in her own head, divorced so utterly from the outside world but for the endless rolling of monitors...

~Remember that, while you watch your friend's pain.~

Psylocke has endured by becoming something as hard and cold as the robots following Blink's lead. Rather than billow into smoke, or bend like a reed, she has stiffened her everything to withstand her own, final onslaught; waiting first for hours, then days, then weeks, as nothing occurred but the relentless replaying of her loved one's fates, of the mysterious images that follow - flashes of people, of buildings and places in the world in which she can find no link. But then, she hasn't tried to; her fate awaits her, and she has become bound and determined to face it with back a ramrod and upper lip so very stiff. If Doom is the crashing tide, then she is a cliff of granite. There's no need for hope, longing, regret, or self-belief-- if she can become the rock itself, then her existence becomes an enduring. Soon, she knows...

~You still don't understand.~

Even as it begins again, soon she will shut out even *his* voice.

In stark contrast to Domino's level of preparedness Rogue looks woefully under-geared as she's only wearing a black stealth-y looking bodysuit and nothing else save perhaps goggles to amplify her vision. She's been quiet and still, only speaking or moving when needed to, this being something she's not used to and afraid of screwing it up.

Domino's latest call to stay together has her moving quickly to make sure there are no gaps in their position, the tall woman assuming a bit of a crouch to try and mak herself not stand out so much. "This is... what am Ah doin' here," she whispers mostly to herself. While she's faced down some pretty nasty stuff in her past this is an entirely different ballgame and she finds herself nervous. Almost scared, even.

Wolverine never strays far from the front of the infiltration crew; with his keen senses and unbreakable body, he feels a whole lot more comfortable there than anywhere else. Beneath the sleek blacks and greys of his uniform, he is a man worn thin by the stress and guilt inherent to pulling together disparate souls - over a dozen! - to risk their lives for the sake of a woman who very well may be dead. Now and again, when Domino slips forward, he steals glances towards her before returning his attention to the path ahead of them; how long ago was it that he was left wondering whether or not she could be convinced to come back here at all?

"Ain't got a lotta flyers," he absently supplies in answer to Rogue's whispers. He doesn't turn his head, or even move his eyes anywhere towards her; it's all the pep talk he can manage right now, and it's delivered in a low voice with the texture of sandpaper.

Romany Wisdom takes a middle ground between Domino and Rogue, in her preparations: dressed in close-fitting charcoal gray, yes; goggles, yes, but traced with a dozen hidden charms; black hair braided and coiled at the base of her neck, and the armaments she carries are both less than Domino and mostly of a different nature. Latveria's master is a master of /all/ arts, and if he's woven the more arcane of them into protections, they'd better be ready... to what extent they can. She stays close to Rain, keeping an eye on the other woman and her path. Trusting Wolverine and Domino to know what they're doing, to steer them right and keep them breathing. And never making a sound.

This is so far above Rain's paygrade she can almost hear missiles. Or she's about to get shot into space. Normally her world is a running joke, her existence a punchline in a story that doesn't even stop when the storyteller grins and tells you there's more... She's opted to linger near Romany, with an imp tucked into her jacket. He has on what looks to be gear from ... is he dressed like Solid Snake? He is. It's an absurdity, a little joke amidst the darkness. Almost gallows humor. But he hides within her jacket and the two are silent. She has on a long coat, and stays towards the middle. Her hair is tucked underneath her hat and she is entirely business. She has at least one of her pistol relics on her and the other close, perhaps. Maybe. Her violet eyes reflect her alertness, expression quiet and serious. She seems to either trust the others or curiousity has overwhelmed fear and survival instinct, slamming them thoroughly into nothingness.

And then the lights flicker.

Blink's face is a mask as monitors cascade and fail. Internally, she curses. This makes her life infinitely more difficult; she can no longer know precisely where they are, only that the move is being made. If she is to act, it is going to have to be now, with limited information and little true idea of what she is walking into.

BLINK!

There are remarkably few organic servants of Lord Doom - the Captains and certain key functionaries, yes, but not many. The vast majority are robotic, which explains their unwavering discipline and dedication. Doom does not prize individuality and free thinking very highly at all.

Which is why these mechanical men, as one, momentarily halt. Heavy clanking boots halt in their precisely timed footsteps. The human component seem unnerved, and a moment later, they begin to panic in earnest throughout the castle; for now they have been deprived of one thing that they never needed to fear lacking before. Their orders. Communications have been knocked out, and Blink's orders - being the highest that the robots have received so far - are the ones being carried out.

The ventilation system around Shift is as quiet as the grave - the usual fans silent.

And with a barely-visible ripple, the energy shields barring passage from the Castle's entrances are deactivated. If the team is quick - and surely they aren't expecting to be anything less - they will find that the first stage on the plan unfurls without a hitch. Their egress is no longer barred. But as at least one member of that advance team had learned the hard way last time... entering the belly of the beast is comparatively easy. It is everything that follows which is hard.

Inside Psylocke's cell, the lights flicker and die. The monitors dim. And after a few seconds, there is a noise in the darkness. A brief flash of pink. Unmistakable.

BLINK!

There is a sense of urgency in her movement. Blink doesn't know how long the distraction will last; she doesn't know how long before Doom realizes the fact of her betrayal, or whether he has already put plans into action to counteract it. She only knows that she must act whilst she has the capacity to do so. And that if Psylocke can get the other prisoners moving a few minutes before she can rendezvous with the 'enemy', they will be moments well spent.

"Get up."

The words are hard, rough, even, as the crystal Blink had been holding is suddenly stabbing into Psylocke's gut - to move her a foot forward, out of the bindings.

"Things are about to get complicated. I need you. Rei, needs you. Do you understand me?"

Within the ventilation duct, that cloud of smoke hovers in the air for a few moments. Time spent in solitude at the X-Men Secret Base had granted Shift precious time to study his power, and to practice; to practice the specifics that would be most required in his early gambit. Within that cloud of smoke hovers a tiny comm device, along with a watch-shaped object with the insignia of the Fantastic 4 imprinted upon it. The mass swirls and reforms a bit, until the lines of a face appear within, eyes of blackened dust spinning from side to side as the cloud is carried by the thrusting air.

The low rumble of fans suddenly goes silent, and Shift's cloud-like form is left floating along for a few moments, but he can feel his momentum slowing. With a concentrated effort at releasing the fearsome memories that have helped him to take this gaseous state, the mutant reforms into flesh and bone once more, clad only in the clinging suit of unstable molecules that mimics the phase changes of his mutation.

The watch is held in place upon his wrist, just beneath the fabric covering his arm, and the earcomm finds its place where it belongs in his ear.

Relief crosses the Ghanaian's face - the practice paid off. His survival instinct does well in such darkness, and even though his vision is adjusting to the cold dark, he begins silently padding on palm and thigh against the hard surface of the ventilation ductwork.

Luck would seem to be on his side, if only for this moment, for as he travels, other tunnels merge into his, rather than branching off.

"In position," comes his oh so quiet murmur. "Cold air return." If SHIELD's comms work as they were meant to, they would still be active in spite of the MEMP having detonated... but he will only know if a response is granted.

Onward he goes, until finding one tunnel that drops straight downward. Over the precipice he goes, once again poofing into a cloud of smoke as soon as he's gained some speed.

Approaching the castle is even easier once it's on electronic blackout. The earbud comm keeps Domino posted on other events while keeping an eye on the Shadow team. Actually being up against the side of Doomstadt again, this time by choice, sends a cold shiver through her spine. This is not a healthy place to be. -None- of these people should be here. It's far too late to turn back now. Back against the wall and rifle in her hands she scans around, then above, then behind them all. "Ditto," she quietly comms back. "The hell is Shift?" They can't very well make their next move until he gets them inside, which leaves them all as darkly colored sitting ducks in the meanwhile.

If Shift can't make it to them soon... There's other options for getting inside. Keeing low to the ground, Dom sweeps back to Wolverine. "Think you'd be able to carve through the outer wall? We may need a plan B." Claws are perhaps the most subtle alternative they possess, which is kind of frightening in its own right.

At least there aren't many airships out on patrol this time. Nice to see her trip on the AA guns last time did some good.

"Damnit Shift," she hisses under her breath. "Need a door here, kiddo. Rain, Romy--how you two holding up over there?"

The commentary from Logan gets a soft snort from Rogue. Nice to know her talents will be put to use. She'll be able to do something she actually knows how to do instead of having to fake it like she is while playing spy. She turns slowly to make sure everyone is alright before she takes to waiting, needing a 'cue' before she attempts to do anything herself.

Of course waiting comes at a price as she is soon thinking about Kwabena, one of the few real friends she feels she has. Not knowing what's going on is killing her and it leaves her with butterflies in her gut.

From afar, to (Shift, Blink): Pete Wisdom IC | Pete to Shift over comm: "Roger. Good to hear you."

~You still think this is about breaking you? About turning your friends to my cause? There are things in motion in this world that you can only see the faintest fraction of, you struggle to keep your head above water, while Doom himself controls the tides.~

That voice continues unabated, as relentless as the swarming host of images against which the kunoichi is tempering herself, hammering a cold metal heart into fold over fold, forging herself as her contacts in Japan forge the blades she carries into battle. Like Clarice, she is become a weapon at her own hands - and her own alone, for whom else could she blame, entrapped within the lonely tumult of Doom's dungeons? A weapon, then. But a weapon is only deadly in the hands of whom wields it. *To* the one it's aimed at. Only one of these women has an aim. A goal.

A target. It's not a struggle that Betsy has come to terms with, until she hears something. 'Blink.' Sound warps and twists in a solitary mind. She hears it fall numb and hard, like the slab of a gravestone toppling in a fierce wind. Mauve skin and textureless eyes form the first fleshly vision of another being Psylocke has beheld for weeks; and what seems far longer. The crashing tide jars her from a momentary revery, bolting the kunoichi upright inside her bonds.

After so long, it's hard to believe her eyes - let alone reach agreeable terms with what they present. A briefly urgent struggle lapses into a weak grunt, strands of sweaty, filthy purple hair falling across Psylocke's face as she settles back, the rippling muscles of her half-starved body settling in a twitching series of pops. Violet eyes meet those featureless ones as if crazed, pupils at once dead and *dancing* in the storm of suppressed emotions.

~Things are about to get complicated.~

In his voice, she hears it, as she's jolted from her bonds with a gasp, re-apparating before the vertical slab to which she's been bound only to fall immediately to her knees. Flesh and bone strike stone hard enough to draw blood, and send a convulsive shudder of pain - so distant, yet so palpably felt - through her frame. Granite, it seems, still retains the ability to feel. Clenching her teeth, drawing on the strength she's been harbouring within stone, Psylocke looks up at the figure before her, beyond the diminished monitors no longer hovering between them.

~I need you. Rei, needs you.~

Halfway through, the voice changes. Does she understand? Her lips twist in a violent scowl, and suddenly she's on her feet, a fierce kiai exploding from her throat. Those recollected wings of electric fire blossom about her pounding cranium, spreading so wide and vast to hammer off the interior walls of the chamber, cascading back inward as a dual wave of psychic force. But this isn't what she's been saving-- her hand holds that, driving a glowing violet counter to the neon pink of that probing javelin, in the form of a telepathic blade. It's not so fast as Psylocke would be capable of, with her full faculties, but it carries far more force and speed than it reasonably should. And it *burns* even without touching, every last trace of her guilt and pain thrust into this singular manifestation designed to overpower her captor in one destructive strike. An ace in her broken, burning hole of a soul. In a hand she can no longer hold.

"I understand--"

Her hiss is virulent, empassioned in a granite core as she seeks to drive the blade home.

"*Von Doom*."

From afar, to (Domino, Blink): Pete Wisdom IC | Pete to Domino over comm: "Shift checked in, is mobile."

The cloud of black, weighted just so by the more acute control Shift has gained over his mutagene, strikes solid ground and billows for a moment before taking the shape of a man again. Boots find solid ground, and the mutant quickly looks from side to side. Behind him is a massive fan, beyond which he glimpses the telltale glow of moonlight.

"Activate GPS," he mutters into the earcom, cueing Pete to remotely turn on his GPS unit. "Come and find me," he adds, before setting his chin forward and focusing upon that fan and the slits beyond. His legs vault him into the air, but before the mutant can strike the blades of the fan, he once again turns to smoke, only to reform inside one of the castle's many maintenance rooms. There are slits in the castle wall which he could get through easily, but the others could not. Then again, there is a door in the wall, along with a sophisticated piece of technology that keeps it secure, which of course has no power running to it.

"Door. Locked. Busting it out isn't quite silent," he reports.

Blink wasn't exactly sure what to expect. The burning flames, though, are all the warning that she needs to know that Danger Is Coming. Whatever Doom has done, it has obviously hurt Psylocke far more deeply than his efforts have hurt Blink. Whilst Betsy had tried to become the rock, Blink merely IS the rock. She has stayed impassive, cold, and unemotional as she can whilst she endured her captor's machinations. Psylocke's supressed fury is felt much more keenly as it explodes out of her in that one, singular, terrifying instant.

If she had been even a fraction of a second slower in her response, it would have hit her dead on. But, with the visual warning, Blink moves with a sudden and explosive ferocity all of her own. She does not have anger or power backing her up. But as she spins and drives her arm up and underneath Psylocke's, it is clear that Mister Creed's lessons were well learned.

The blade passes within a hair's breadth of one pointed ear; but if there is one thing that Blink has learned, it is that sometimes, a hair's breadth is all you need. And she responds not with more calming words, nor with any pleas for mercy. Instead, she responds with instinct that her teacher would be so proud of her for.

She responds by carrying the motion on through, and trying to smash her forehead directly into Psylocke's nose. And really, could there be anything LESS Doom-like than a good old fashioned headbutt?'

Rain seems to have a knack for places she shouldn't go. It's sort of her thing. One day, they'll find her in Doom's pantry or something. She's not sure how James Bond or Pete and his Black Addery ways do this. Sneaking seems so, so dangerous. If only she had a box to hide in. Harvey peeks out from her collar, but the two are silent until spoken too. "I'm not tazed, on fire, impaled or dead... good enough," She smiles meekly to Domino. For her part, she is quiet, watching the situation. She is quietly hopeful, but most of the humor has given way to business. She looks to Romany, concerned, though.

"Fine," Romany murmurs back to Domino in Rain's echo, her head turning now to scan Wolverine's movements. "If we spot anything that looks like our specialty area, we'll sing out." Thresholds are one traditional problem spot; but that could be any threshold, not necessarily this one ... or anywhere not a threshold, too.

"Might take a while," Wolverine warns Domino. "No tellin' how thick they are, what they're made of... if it comes down to /that/, we'd best pray we ain't in a pinch."

This, perhaps, is why he lingers with the rest of the group rather than charging at the walls and trying to make an entrance of his own: hacking through a fortress wall is stealthier than blowing it up, but getting bogged beside a half-completed entrance while the legions of Doom close in on them doesn't strike him as the best way to begin the mission.

Thank God for the inside man.

"Comin'," is his reply once Shift broadcasts his location; he's already crouch-running around a bend to work his way towards the signal as he sends that transmission.

There are a few breaks due to passing a little too close to roving guards, but soon enough, the door is found, and with a soft *snikt!* through its lock, it's then opened.

So far, so good. But these things never go exactly as planned, do they?

The first warning that something is wrong are splashing, heavy footfalls roaming closer to the entrance. Wolverine makes quick work of the lock; and beyond that, the hallway opens up beyond. All dark shadows, lit by flickering emergency lighting eerily similar to that of torches...

"HALT INTRUDERS IN THE NAME OF DOOM."

The prerecorded voice is that of Doom himself, of course, a horrifying touch which is coupled with a smattering of burning bright plasma energy flashing above the gathered intruders. The first six guard squad has stumbled across their position!

Romany and Rain, looking out for such things, may well note a certain pattern to marks and indents in the wall beyond, and the floor. Trapped between unknown danger beyond and certain danger approaching from a side passage... the fact that there doesn't seem to be immediate reinforcements or any human agent might be the only bright side to this sudden turn of events.

Moments before Wolverine cuts that lock open, Shift is pulling the mask up over his face. Game time may be upon them, and he could stand anything to keep himself from being identified by Doom or his minions. He has stepped aside as the others enter, taking a quick moment from behind the mask to observe who is present. Mostly familiar faces.

When he spots Rogue, his exposed mouth curls into a thinly pressed line, beneath which teeth are gnashing somewhat. However, he refrains from voicing his complaint, shoving it to the side of his mind and snuffing it out. They had a job to do.

When their stealthy advance is suddenly spoiled, Shift merely skids his legs apart, taking up a defensive posture while his head tilts upward to look at the lightshow above them. A crackling sound comes muffled from beneath his suit while he harnesses his anger to solidify his body in preparations for whatever comes next.

Hurt? Perhaps. More than Psylocke would ever know or admit, at this stage; because what pain can be greater, in the grand sum, than the utter loss of what makes one oneself? For all her reputation as a stern, often 'cold' warrior-woman, Betsy has been anything but discompassionate-- if anything more a slave to her passions, to love and loyalty in particular. Her apparent hardening has been a gradual process, and healthy in the main; a form of necessary protection against the horrors she and her allies must face. It's part of what made Clarice's predicament resonate so strongly. She can see herself in the younger mutant. Vice versa.

Through the closing fires of her telepathic assault, past the extension of the boiling blade as it fizzles dramatically and ultimately uselessly against the charged air, she sees it again now. A flash of insight, a nugget of overwhelming empathy that breaks through the thousand-fold shielding to her core, if only for an instant. A heartbeat. A flutter of a butterfly's wing.

But they're dealing in such times. Microseconds. Flashes of insight leading to action.

Blink strikes first, the diamond upon her brow seeming to magnify a million times over as it closes in upon the crown of Betsy's nose. Olivine flesh gleams with pent-up grease as she shifts in the gloom, attempting to turn as she sees the blow coming, but her slowed reactions and desperately-honed mind conspiring to lessen her. It's a conspiracy that favours circumstance. Bone beats cartilage, a sickening crunch emitting as a nostril flattens and the harder material alongside and beneath follows suit in a sputtering gout of blood. Psylocke falls away, continuing into the defensive spin she attempted, albeit uncontrolled, flailing...

But she's a cornered animal. A flail becomes a return, weary, doped muscles straining to propel her back into the conflict she's been waiting for-- craving, needing, ichor falling past rictused lips as she pumps her arms, that formerly striking still glowing with residual psychic energy as it retracts. The other moves instead, following the direct wake of Clarice's headbutt with a palmheel to the throat. A blow that would stop lesser beings in their tracks, turn the favour of broken cartilage into a clogged windpipe. Into the approach of death.

It's at the culmination of the blow, hit or miss, that she realizes. It wasn't necessary.

"Where's your armour, you son of a bitch..."

Her tone is laboured, angry, between panting breaths. Frustration weighs heavy in her subconscious; an animal she may be in this moment, but working on the frayed vestiges of a higher mind, self-aware without truly being. Full realization hasn't dawned, even as she frantically wonders when Doom's skin became pink, when he struck with physical force instead of irrestistible magicks or a keen, psychological shiv. And then a single sound comes back to her.

Blink.

Blink's arm meets the blow intended for her throat. It bruises, and she stumbles backwards, but she isn't dead, or dying. All things considered, that is about as good as she could have expected the outcome to possibly be. The young woman's other hand draws another slender crystal shard from her back, and the item is held between herself and Psylocke. A warning, more than anything. She doesn't have TIME for this. She only came here to try and lessen the amount of time she would have to expend later. Everything is measured in seconds, now. Seconds until this, too, becomes a lost cause. Until Doom's inexorable will reasserts itself and his domain reclaims its prisoners.

"I said I need you." She repeats, and this time, there is a quivering note of hurt in her voice. The physical pain is... nothing. It hurts, yes, but she had believed Psylocke to be stronger than this; how is it that SHE could keep her mind so well, and Psylocke could crumble? Did Doom go easy on her... or perhaps he just merely didn't consider Blink worth breaking. Or, somehow worse, perhaps he is truly as good as his word and meant only to help her.

But either way, she is no pawn; no servant to have her life guided by his hand. That is a kind of help that she doesn't need.

"So stop, being so selfish, and pull yourself together!"

The crystal javelin glints, catching the light beautifully as she raises it, prepared, if Psylocke comes at her again, to use it... and praying fervently that she won't have to.'

Oh good, they have their way in. Domino was starting to get slightly worried. She places herself last in order to climb through into the castle beyond, keeping a careful eye on the surrounding territory to make sure they're still in the clear. The way behind them is clear enough. The way -ahead,- however... Time for reconnecting with their inside man is short-lived. Busted, already?! Screw that noise!

"Shift!" Dom calls out, diving out to the side of their group while flinging a pistol over to the currently solidified mutant. He should recognize it, same FN .45 as before. Today it's fitted with its very own suppressor, too. Why should she have all of the fun, after all?

Before the thrown sidearm finds its mark there's the tell-tale chatter of a silenced rifle taking the first hastily, but accurately, aimed shots at one of the Doom Bots. Dom doesn't know if they're completely cut off from the others, if word gets through that they're here it's going to be an awful uphill struggle every step of the way. Best to cut them down quickly and decisively while they have such a chance!

"Fighters front, ranged high melee low!" It's bad luck to shoot one's teammates in the back. They tend to never forgive you for some reason.

Shift? Rogue glances up as she hears his name being called but she doesn't have time to say hello. Not when it's time for her to do what she was brought here to do. Assuming a place up front, she grins slightly, mentally prepared for whatever is in store for them.

"Ah hope they bring us the welcome wagon," she drawls to absolutely /no one/ in particular, the little joke spoken for no other reason than to purge a bit of nervous energy. "Ah think Ah need someone to dance with."

The last sound that comes from her is the sound of knuckles being crackled and an abrupt exhale of air. Yes, she's definitely ready.

"They ain't alive," Wolverine tightly reminds the group as his other five claws burst free. "So go nuts."

Just to prove that he's no hypocrite, the black-clad mutant springs into the air, twisting to avoid - or at least mitigate - the effects of the scintillating plasma flying around him; by the time he coils his legs around one guard's shoulders to try and neatly lop its head from its shoulders, a few strips of his uniform have been burned away, leaving angry red wounds along his ribcage.


 * "We're on down here!"| he transmits to the rest of the team over the roar of battle.

"Oh, please," Romany comments under her breath and drops into a crouch, shutting up as Domino starts to speak. She draws a silvery blade with her right hand, and a pistol that matches Rain's with her left... and doesn't shoot; instead, she makes small, precise gestures with both, watching the far wall. A delicate cut with the knife and elaborate arc with the pistol, and whether that's the reason or not, the voice of Doom does not repeat itself. "Halfway between Rogue and the far wall is a trap -- Rain, light that up if you get a breath? --" and then she's busy keeping from being a target for plasma or for flying robot parts.

From afar, to (Blink, Wolverine, Domino): Pete Wisdom IC | Pete over comm: "Balls! How many?"

From afar, to (Blink, Domino, Pete Wisdom): Wolverine IC | Logan over comm: "Looks like six--all machines! Gotta be more comin'."

Rain has loaned one of her relics over, it seemed. She smiles faintly, amused by something or another. She's attentive, violet eyes wide and alert. There's a pause, at that voice. It's enough to make you listen, at any rate. And friendly fire is still fire. It also still tends to put holes in people and organs. It's strange - being both easy and hard to concentrate all at once. Her eyebrows lift, as something is done with those gestures. Huh. "Oh. Sure," She nods. Rain is quiet, looking peaceful enough to put a zen master to tears with tranquility. She thankfully, does not drool or fall over. SHe just looks ... serene. Light can be moved, as can fire. There's a soft glow after a moment around the trap - just as she's asked. Though, she seems a little more quiet than usual.

Gunfire rings out, traps are marked, and chaos, as always in these situations, reigns supreme.

Wolverine's impact with one of the robotic soldiers is impressive in its brutality. Swiftly, the robot goes down, swathes of plasma having had little effect in slowing the mutant down, and adamantium proving surprisingly effective in getting through that notorious outer shell.

Of course, there's still five more. Gunfire is less effective; Domino's fire is met with a raised, armored gauntlet, enough to distract and harrass but not, immediately, destroy. The armored automaton returns fire itself.

The conditions here are cramped, darkly lit and difficult. This limits the amount of fire that can safely be brought to bear on both sides. Plasma sparks and spatters, bursting around the group and illuminating the sewer in terrible, flickering light. Two of the robots, however, are moving to engage Wolverine; bringing their weapons around in close quarters with clear intent to overwhelm with two where one had not been enough. So far, mercifully, there does not SEEM to be backup on the way...

In the end, 'breaking' Betsy Braddock was easier than anybody would have believed - perhaps save the self-absorbed and armoured bulk of Victor Von Doom himself. Possessed of a vast will and a bullheaded strength that's propelled her through so much in the past, it transpires that the best and fastest method of undoing the X-Woman known as Psylocke... is to cut her off from her telepathic gifts, and leave her alone in a darkened room. The greatest enemy she could possibly face is herself; her own guilt, her own regrets. Her own compassion. Even now, the rational portions of her mind disbelieve Doom's assurances that all her friends are dead, that she is being held for no reason beside his experimental whims. This isn't why she fights.

Snapping back into a martial stance, lips pulling to a hard line and violet eyes smouldering with a very different fire to the physical manifestations of her X-gene, Psylocke keeps her guard mounted because of the one thing that should have kept her stronger than all of them. She fights because to do otherwise is to be consumed by her failure; she fights because of her loyalty to the girl standing before her now, bearing a weapon aloft. She the target.

The light from that raised javelin catches the sudden cant of her head, the familiar sound of Blink's manifestation echoing as if from a vast, insurmountable distance. There's a stitch in time where Psylocke hovers upon the brink, between the pained conclusion that this is some further trick on the part of her megalomaniac captor... and the other, far more agonizing, that she's attempted to brutally assassinate one of the few people in this world of whom she would believe no ill. Of whom she didn't, even when the evidence were endlessly presented. Time and again she's seen Blink swear fealty to Doom, turn her back upon the woman and the cause that brought her within the perilous walls of Latveria. Not once has she believed it.

Selfish. That word comes to the fore, as if a siren call from her rational mind - reminding her of what she's clung to, that at least in this she was now alone, that Doom's continued containment of the kunoichi herself were some evidence that her friends were at least free on some term or another. Why else would he forget her? Yes. Selfish indeed, she's found solace in accepting that she's alone, that her sacrifice can be complete - but that perhaps, in taking it upon hard, cold terms, she could reap some benefit. Take the tyrant with her, into the fire.

"Need me..."

That comes in a very physical echo, spoken on lips suddenly trembling. In a dizzying rush, Psylocke comes not only to full understanding of the presented truth, but recollects how weary she is, how broken she has become-- a discarded toy, thrown aside after a thorough rattling, left to gather dust and rust in the corner of Doom's magisterial seat. In that instant she wants to fall to her knees once more, forces herself to stand with an abrupt quiver that sets her heart to frantic, convulsive pounding. It's all she can hear. A resonant thumpthumpthumping that threatens to consume her. The knowledge of her mortality. Now, it transpires that Doom is not the tide she must fear; it's the crashing, crushing waves of her own emotions.

"You shouldn't have come back."

Despite her disorientation, the guilt and the shame, it comes out clear even on dried and bloodied lips, numbed by drugs. Forcing her back straighter, she draws her chin aloft, facing Blink levelly beyond the glow of her manifest javelin. Her chest shifts slightly forward, a subconscious begging for the weapon to come forth that she immediately regrets, teeth scraping one another as the sheer *weakness* of that thought disgusts her. That she's come to want death, now that her 'trump card' has been played to an empty table, hurts almost the most of all.

"I failed you."

But it's as nothing to that. Even as she stands tall, that's what makes her useless. A hand twitches and lowers to her side, fingers coiling inward to the palm hard enough to draw fresh blood, a spiking turbulence of slowed plasma bubbling to the surface, crimson darkening in the dim light. Beyond this, she remains motionless and unshaking now, facing her confession with the ramrod back and stiff lip that she was saving for Doom. Her blood strikes the floor, unheeded.

"I failed all of you."

Head darting to Domino, Shift reaches out with a surprisingly nimble arm, snatching the FNP .45-Tactical out of the air. He spins immediately to face the nearest of the Doom Bots, instinctively flicking the safety before spraying round after round toward the robot's head and upper body. He remains constantly aware of his allies, keeping them at his back and side while firing away at his technological foe.

That plasma, however, that could cause a problem.

Lowering the handgun, Shift drops to one knee to avoid being struck by a stray spear of plasma. He rolls to the side and raises the weapon again, releasing another couple of shots until it becomes clear that the bullets aren't doing much damage. The gun clicks as the final bullet is expended, and he ejects the cartridge before shoving the weapon into one his belt's flexible gear slots. Then, he charges straight toward the robot he'd engaged and, in true Jim Kirk fashion, swings two hardened fists in an arc toward the technological terror.

"Shut up."

Blink's words are surprisingly sharp. Her whole demeanor throughout this encounter, really, has been unlike anything Psylocke has seen before. Blink has been soft, she's been vulnerable, she's even been businesslike and brutal in battle... but she's never been so blunt. There's anger bubbling under the surface that she is working hard to keep in check. Because time is of the essence, and whilst she doesn't blame Psylocke at all... she doesn't have time to play councilor right now.

"Have more respect for us than that. YOU didn't let anyone down. We all went in with our eyes open. For our own reasons. Now listen."

Glad, at least, that the woman seems to be recovering, she takes two steps forwards, and points, with her free hand, towards the door. "Out there, there are a lot of prisoners who need to be released from their cells and gathered together. I need you to do that." She then takes another, deeper breath. Because she's plunging headlong in. Needs to carry on so that Psylocke doesn't have time to interrupt her. To take charge.

"I can't explain everything right now, either, but... Shift, betrayed us. And he's with the people coming to rescue us. I need you to find him, and point me at him, but DON'T let him know I'm coming, either. Can you do that?"'

Of course these silly, stupid robots would be difficult to pierce with bullets. Thirty caliber armor-piercing slugs. Short of bringing along a portable tank, it's what Domino has to work with. It's also something which she can afford to replace if it gets lost or destroyed. Too bad it doesn't do a whole lot! After watching her target shrug off the attack and return the favor she suddenly changes direction and lunges into the air, twisting about like a cat caught up in a whirlwind as she fires the rifle exactly one more time. The plasma shot vaporizes the spent casing that leaps clear of the chamber but misses striking the merc by the skin of her teeth.

Close quarters. Numerous targets. Several friendlies. Not even aiming at one of the robots when pulling the trigger. Impossible shot, right?

1 in 836,297, actually.

The slug hits the walls just right to ricochet with a tiny flash of a spark, caught within the confined space like a pingpong ball caught between two paddles. It could wind up anywhere. She's betting on it going somewhere beneficial to their cause.

It's a good thing that Rogue held off just a bit as the trap is now illuminated, making it easy for her to see where she needs to stay away from while making with the fighting. Hopefully Kwabena's fears will be quelled once she's seen in action, the oddly-haired belle by no means someone to reckon with.

The first punch is aimed for the closest of their enemies, that followed swiftly by a second and then a third. At the same time, Rogue's ire is raising, painting the world a lovely shade of crimson when the red haze takes hold of her vision. "Ah jus' hope these things ain't gonna surprise us and get back up," she calls out, her voice a counterpart to the sound of powerful blows making contact.

With the superhuman blur that is Rogue working her way around the room, Wolverine is even less worried about his assailants than he normally might be; it's just a matter of waiting for the right moment to shift from bobbing and ducking around their attacks to drive a boot into one guard's chest and shove him into the superstrong mutant's path to remove their numerical advantage.

"Whatever you ladies are here t' do," he shouts to Romany and Rain with a quick turn of his head, "if you're in a position t' do it..."

Rather than complete his thought, he twists his head and body both towards his other attacker to drive his right arm - claws, fist, most of his forearm - through its metal torso.

When it's all said and done, he's earned a few more plasma burns, but--what's a little plasma to a healing factor, right?

From afar, to (Blink, Domino, Wolverine): Pete Wisdom IC | Pete over comm: "Oh. Six. You lot can take care of /six/, Christ. In theory all communications but ours are down, so there shouldn't be any-- FUCK. Faceheel. Beadwindow 6, out."

"Already done," Romany calls back to Wolverine. "Alert's bypassed, trap's lit up --" That glowing area on the ground /there/, waiting calmly to ensnare an unwary foot, but visible to the nonmages now. Easily avoided. Or easily used to drop one of the guard into. She passes Rain the second of her relic-guns, returning her to full power, and keeps down out of the fighters' way. Watching every moment for a sign that they might have missed one of the magical protections.

They strike like a haymaker between the eyes, those words, drawing a hiss of breath from the frustrated, near-broken woman standing before Blink. Her blood continues to drip, from shattered cartilage and punctured flesh alike, as she remains there in her sweat-soaked rags, hair lank and countenance at best a pained expression of her former beauty. But remain she does, hearing the words and understanding them; they're words the like of which she's uttered to herself, before. Before the solitude drove her to despair. Before she defeated her own convictions.

"You're right."

She refuses to hang her head as she says it, taking the judgement she deserves, and knowing why she deserves it. Rather than continue to dig her own grave, she takes one metaphorical foot and plants it upon the outside. Sometimes, tough love is the only love that can possibly matter; that can have any kind of effect. Betsy doesn't need *nurturing*. What she needs is to believe, for the instant where it counts, that she can do what's now asked of her. Demanded. By duty. Blink's leadership is a necessary illusion, veiling necessity behind command she wears well.

But can she do what's asked of her? Can she betray the betrayer she betrayed?

There are few minds she knows so intimately. It's disturbing in the extreme that Victor Von Doom now counts among their number; men and women she has reached out and fully explored, at least as much as propriety and the contraints of time allow. Whose minds she understands if has not entirely chronicled. Remaining undetected from Kwabena is no great trial-- though he shared a like unfolding of her own hopes, desires, and perils, he possesses no particular talent for or familiarity with her powers. Only a tiny number of people do. It's what makes her so dangerous.

Slowly, Betsy draws a breath and nods, violet eyes no longer brewing with barely-constrained madness - but the tired conviction of a warrior bowed but not broken, knowing what she must do - as they meet Blink's own gaze. They've met now on all three levels; Psylocke with the strength, on terms as near equal as they could ever be, and now with Clarice as the rock in a storm. Perilous, but standing tall and firm. The kunoichi refuses to cling, but she'll lean, at least, for the few moments it takes to now marshal her ailing strength. To slip through the astral...

To lose herself in it. There's a moment, like the changing of gears midway up a hill, where she's unsure she can bypass even the weakened defenses of Doom's thrall, but then she finds herself suddenly flying. Her voice reaches out to Blink in the last instant.

|"Open your mind."|

She needs this to be as easy as possible, because every action hurts. She's too slow. Not strong enough to do what she's about to do; but do it she will. As she flies upon the astral to find Shift in the technological chaos of the darkened palace, she also steps forward in the physical plane, a puppet upon her own dancing strings, each muscle triggered in its individual turn to propel her past the mauve-skinned mutant and through the door behind her. It's locked, of course; but she's running on borrowed time, stolen power, and hesitates no longer than it takes to manifest a blade of electric fire and scythe through it like separating chaff. Metal, deprived of its mystical shields, tears so easily as to be nothing. And Psylocke keeps soaring.

Finding Shift is the easy part. Sending Blink the telepathic signal, the picture that she needs to work her own arts in locating and dealing with the apparent rogue... it's easy, too, in theory. In practice it drives Betsy just a little deeper into her shell.

But as she wreaks havoc upon the next door before her, she remembers.

They're doing this because nobody else will. Whatever the cost.

There's no time for regret.

Rain shakes her head. She'll gently nudge the relic back. Just in case something happens to her. "I can channel okay, so it's fine. Just in case I fall into a hole or something." That would be her luck. Doom's Specially Placed Holes(TM)'ll get cha every time. She nods at Wolverine, and points to the soft, gentle, amber glow. She seems to have chosen something subtle - but obvious when you look at it. It's like those lights over head. No one really thinks about them, but when they go out... well. She smiles faintly to Romany. She whispers, "The gun is just a wand. I'm fine really." Honest! "Just be ready to shoot if something gets way close or something," She notes quietly. But she too, is watching. And contemplating - what could she do to help out? Set one of the baddies on fire? But that seems a bit cruel. A lot cruel. Hmm. She watches the tide of battle and for traps now, then.

The robots are falling hard and fast. Rogue's fists send the nearest staggering back under powerful fists, the first two have it reeling, the third staves in the armor plating enough to cause significant damage. Between her and Wolvering, a further three of the advanced warrior robots are reduced to so much scrap and twisted metal. Thankfully, Doom did not program these robotic likenesses to feel pain; for such is the will of Doom that nothing which bears his visage may ever twist in agony, no matter if they happen to twist under powerful impacts.

Domino's bullet finds its mark... in the eye of the fifth doombot, which makes it shake its head. The armor-piercing slug has punctured its eye, and is now sparking in the circuitry of its brain. "DOOM'S VISION... IMPAIRED...!!"

Which leaves just one more Doombot. Of course, the team has no way of knowing that the more they destroy, the more potent each Doombot becomes individually; as it becomes smarter and able to access higher reaches of intellect with each destroyed member of its collective. "FOOLS!" The robot declares, raising one gauntlet'd fist and marshalling powerful magical forces. "DOOM SHALL BURY ALL WHO OPPOSE HIM!"

And indeed, the sewer walls are starting to shake and crack... oh dear...

In their fully hardened state, Shift's fists are capable of punching a hole through a reinforced tank. As such, they're able to put a good solid dent in the Doombot, but no circuitry is exposed as he'd hoped. Instead, the final Doombot spins about and takes him by surprise. The African's body bursts into a flurry of thick black smoke as bullets are poured toward and right through him, but every time his body tries to reform, more attacks are thrown his way.

In a brief moment where Shift's masked face is visible, his exposed mouth snarls in defiance. He finds his footing long enough to launch himself at the enemy, and manages to wrap himself around the mechanical creature just before shifting again into his gaseous state.

Tendrils of dark smoke start to pour into the various creases, crevasses and holes in the robot, until Shift has all but disappeared. The Doombot starts to flail about, swing its arms at nothing, while sparks start to fly all about. It falls to its knees, and a beat later, it crumbles into pieces as if torn about from the inside.

The man-shaped cloud reforms, and aside from a few lacerations visible on his chin and half-exposed face, he seems little worse for the wear. A beat later, he's kneeling down to grab for the pistol that had failed to enter the Doombot with him...

BLINK!

The portal disappears almost as quickly as it formed. A few pieces of robot shrapnel are scattered in its wake, but the handgun remains, and Shift is gone.

In another part of the castle entirely, Blink shares a brief nod. The darkly clad girl twirls her crystal, and focuses. Perhaps the woman she's leaving behind doesn't believe in herself... perhaps she's making a horrible mistake, and will return to find everything a shattered, ruined mess. But the fact is, she has to ACT. The time for indecision is over, and now, she knows where she has to be.

As the bright pink portal fades away, Blink, standing in all her dark ensemble-clad glory, somehow manages to make eye contact with Domino. There's still that one remaining Doombot - staggering around half blind and mad with rage but not quite dead - and then there's her. For all the world looking like Doom's latest henchwoman.

She does speak quickly, though.

"There was a mole here. He's gone now."

You paged (Shift, Psylocke) with 'Okay you two - Shift, you're in an airtight room in the dungeons. Psylocke, when you get out of your cell (the door is unlocked) there are a lot of other cells and there was a blink noise from one conveniently close by.'

"Gonna impair a lot more than your eye in a moment," Domino taunts the machine. That's what she's down to. Best shot she can make right now and it just impairs the vision of one of those machines. Short of breaking out the shaped charges, she's down to spectating and trying to keep tabs on everything.

Like Shift, who takes that one bot down from the inside out before disappearing into thin air by a familiar teleportation trick.

Blink's alive..! Blink's--HERE.

Domino's earlier fears are made concrete as soon as the newly arriving mutant speaks out, prompting another muttered curse as the merc woman tries to figure out what in the heck to do about this. Her first instinct involves leveling her rifle at Blink, she really -has- been compromised. Does anyone think it's a good idea to tick off a teleporter, though?

Fudge, this is going to set everything way back. She could always try to tranq Blink, but would they ever find Shift again? "At least he didn't defect to the other side," Dom counters. "Damnit, Blink, we came back for you guys!"

Crap, there's still another Doom Bot on the loose. She doesn't have time for this!

"Wait. A mole?" Gone. Blink said the mole is gone and that gets Rogue to look around hurriedly as she does a head count. Everyone's here... no. Everyone is here but one. "No..." Gritting her teeth, the feeling of betrayal hits, leaving her equal parts cold and hot, the latter when the anger grips tight. "How could he," she screams while lashing out, the sudden surge of anger putting a bit more oomph into her punch than there normally might be. Thankfully she sees the final Doombot as it means that's what her punches are aimed for, the strength put behind them almost certainly enough to rend it into so much scrap.

Or at least that is what'll happen if those punches connect.

Whilst the assault upon Doom's magnificent castle has unfolded above the black and solitudinous depths of Psylocke's containment cell, the so-named leader of a would-be revolution against the Latverian megalomaniac has been released from her bonds - and pushed further beyond limits she'd already prayed she could remain within, however tenuously. A full-blown psychic assault failed in its misdirected purpose, and though she stands now, she is bloodied and near-broken from the ravages of her imprisonment and what has followed. Moreso, because now she knows...

She knows not only the mind of Von Doom, but what has come of her companions. Her allies.

Her friends. Which is why Betsy Braddock now has a new mantra spinning through her skull.

~There's no time for regret.~

Granite walls encroach upon the overwhelming waves of compassion, of regret and doubt, and finally of the face of the betrayed's treachery. It's all that the kunoichi can do to endure now, forced to bundle her remaining vestiges of sanity into a repetition of the purpose by which she and those self-same allies, those friends, found themselves captured and scattered. Her psychic awareness has been extended for the first time in weeks, and in spite of her fragile state Betsy is now soaring on wings she hasn't flexed in what seems far longer. An age. An eternity. Though her body fails her also, she moves with something approaching her former speed and agility of purpose through the echoing underbelly of Castle Doom.

Stepping through the sheared remnant of a metal door, she spins the telekinetic blade in her hand, violet eyes reflecting the summoned weapon's eerie electric glow as she glances rapidly about the corridor beyond. Her mind tells her what the visual doesn't-- that there are others nearby, not just those fighting above but those constrained below. It also tells her before the telltale noise, that the mauve-skinned mutant who just rode upon her astral trail has returned... that another has come with her. Some temptations are too much to resist, even for the stony of heart and the icy cold of purpose. Betsy turns upon her heel.

But it's Psylocke who drives forth the blade once more, a hiss of violet flame sparking against metal as she destroys another part of her hated captor's palace. Chunks of metal flay into meek strips before her fury, melting away with a fierce, hot stench and clouds of smoke that see her once-statuesque form silhouetted to the occupant of that tight cell, watching beyond.

She's filthy, clad in soiled rags and heaving with pants from the very effort of moving.

But as violet eyes search the gloom beyond, she's unmistakably, painfully alive.

A vengeful furie, lowering the sparking blade to her flank before she speaks.

"There's no time," she has to draw breath, using it to draw her further upright. "For regret."

Blink? Rain looks between the others, though. "... hey. There's a magical thingie on - whatsherface, Miss um," Rain doesn't quite- then it's yelled. "Miss Blink's armor. The crests of Doom," She offers quietly to those nearby. She looks to Romany for confirmations. "It feels like static and unchanging. Usually people like to use them to keep their homes and furniture new. I hadn't thought to put them on people..." She admits, her voice soft. Her eyebrows furrow, and Harvey pokes his head out of her collar, peering through imp-goggles. She watches for any other doombots or other various mechanical monstrosities then.

After pulling his arm free, Wolverine twists towards the wounded Doombot, but before he can advance on it--

BLINK!

--the situation changes.

He mostly knows Blink from what others have told him: mutant from an alternate future. Guerilla fighter. Teleporter.

Traitor.

"Rescue's off the table in five seconds," he states in a low, measured voice in lieu of advancing on her--for all the good he could really do against her. His claws stay at his sides--for now. "You went through hell; got your head turned around. I get it; you come with us peacefully, an' nobody'll hold it against you."

Romany twists at Rain's words, staying down, ritual knife and relic gun both in hand. "Background spell," she mutters. "Over the entire place -- the thing /focuses/ it --" And then her voice lifts, perhaps enough to be heard over the chaos around the last Doombot. For anyone who hadn't caught it from Rain: "The crest, get it off of her!"

"That's EXACTLY what he did." Blink snaps to Domino. Her frustration is evident in her voice. The purple-skinned mutant doesn't flinch at all when Rogue demolishes the last remaining Doombot, though up above, now, she can hear more booted feet coming. More soliders. The fight hasn't been a quiet one; even without comms systems, it doesn't take a genius to decipher precisely where the rescue team are coming from. There's still time, thankfully. Not much, but they aren't here /right now/.

Her attention, though, is soon turned on Wolverine. Because he's... approaching her, and those claws are menacing. She knows who Wolverine is. She needs to try and calm him down. But she doesn't, have, time!

"Shift sold you out to Doom. He KNOWS you're coming. He tasked me with stopping you. I'm not but--"

She is actually backing off, now, and one hand raises over her crest, holding it on as firmly as she can, glaring in the direction of Rain and Romany. "I can't give you this." There's... the team, or there's her own survival. She doesn't want to have to abandon Psylocke again but... what would Mister Creed do?

Really, capture by Doom hadn't been /so/ bad.

"Trust me or try to find her on your own."

He knew that sound. He knew it all too well. He should have seen this coming; they all should have, but nobody did.

When Shift appears, he's back in one of Doom's dungeons, of the airtight variety to which there is no apparent escape. A moment of instinctual shock falls into place as the masked Ghanaian spins about, covering the walls, ceiling and floor with his eyes until the denial of his echoed predicament sets in.

Lips open into a throat-ripping scream of fury, which fades into an echo as the Ghanaian's body bursts into smoke. The cloud flings itself about like a deranged rat in a tiny cage. Into every wall and crevasse it goes, searching in futility for some microscopic exit, only to finally reform into the humanoid form with a steadily heaving chest.

There is a momentary reprieve, before mutant hands and arms crackle with hardened power, stiffening skin, flesh and bone to that deadly consistency once again. With a silent snarl he runs to the door, throwing punches at it with every ounce of fury he can muster. They have spent weeks planning this, they have invested resources and brought people in to risk their lives, and for what? To go down with barely a fighting chance? No!

THUD! THUNK! BOOM-BAT-BAM!

Shift's merciless onslaught is utterly fruitless against the walls of his all-too-familiar prison, but regardless, the door is suddenly and inexplicably ripped to pieces by a blade that should be familiar to him, but goes unnoticed in the dying threshold of his anger.

Only when Psylocke steps through that door does the turn of events come rushing at him like a flood. A numbness borne of relief and grief combined settles upon him, causing his body to revert on its own. Having spent far too much time preparing himself for his role in the infiltration, Kwabena simply hadn't taken the time to prepare himself for what might happen if his hopes came true. Fortunately, this prevents him from letting Victor Von Doom's twisted manipulations from causing him to second guess her as some vision, hallucination, or machination of demise. Instead, her words seem to switch him into some form of autopilot. Finding the small SHIELD comm unit on the floor nearby, he snatches it up, fixes it into his ear once more, and follows. "Pete, it's Shift. What de hell is going on out there?"

Decisions. Action, reaction, consequence. The last of the bots gets flattened, thank you Rogue. Domino is left standing there, staring right back at Blink, at that crest she wears. Debating. What on Earth are the odds of her being able to destroy it and -not- ruin the mutant now clutching onto it? The crest does -something.- Is it worth taking the shot, risking a life, perhaps never knowing what it did, what purpose that crest served?

In short: No.

In a million other situations she would happily throw herself into the jaws of oblivion and leave fate to carry her through nice as she pleases to the other side. Not this time. She didn't come out here with everyone to fire upon one of the very people they're all trying to help. Without really understanding what it is that crest can do--

Wait. There's another way out of this. Blink doesn't yet understand. "We know he did," Dom flatly declares. "Shift ratted us out because -we told him to.- It's part of the plan, trust us or don't, but we need to round everyone together so we can all get the hell out of this country. Are you going to work with us or not?" The alternative she doesn't lay out in detail, partly because she has no idea what it might entail. She's prepared to knock someone out with a dart. She'd really rather not have to. Much like with the crest, there's no way of knowing whether it might work or not until it's too late.

Kwabena isn't the only one struggling with the line between reality and illusion; it's well-documented what weeks of absolute solitude can do to a person, less so how this is heightened under such extreme circumstance. Or by the solitude being continually breached by a maelstrom of conflicting, brutally painful and confusing images designed to slowly turn the viewer against their own internal reservoirs of strength. It's testament to Betsy Braddock's willpower that she even exists, burns as brightly - or otherwise - as she does now, within the shell of Kwannon. But she's in there, looking out from those darkly smouldering violet eyes, heeding her own words as her senses remain heightened and her composure unbroken by all she wants to say, and do...

There's no time for regrets, and absolutely no need to leap to conclusions. She's already betrayed Kwabena Odame as utterly as she could any man, throwing him into the furnace in an ill-conceived attempt at saving them all using his sacrifice. His pain. She doesn't need to steel herself against this, because she's already so steeled - but still it threatens to break her as she takes a long, slow step into the room, dismissing her summoned weapon with the flick of a wrist at her side. Electric fire sparks its last, as smoke continues to arise beneath her.

And then he's speaking, communicating with someone. She doesn't need to be a telepath to make the necessary logical leap, or to make the judgement call that Blink has been in no position to make. Just to make sure, her mind leaps from the astral to brush against Shift's, with a subtlety she normally lacks - the same, desperate air of control she's retained since directing the mauve missile of Blink at the man before her. Potential unleashed, at whatever cost.

"Pete?"

She mouths the name in a bare whisper, a frown creasing her brow outwardly as within she plunges deeper into the astral plane once more. Into the webbing network maintained now across Castle Doom, across the outlying vestiges of her expanded consciousness. And then she touches every mind within, at once, even in her fearsome level of control causing a jolt to all and sundry - like a flicker of static across the surface of the brain, jarring and disturbing. It's followed by the telepathic equivalent of a warm blanket across the shoulders, as Betsy releases all her anger and rage, lowers the granite walls for long enough to let her compassion seep through...

If only in preparation for a dissonant air of command to inflect the telepathically-delivered tone that follows. Unlike her physical voice, it doesn't lack her usual strength or conviction, delivered in crisp, unmistakably British syllables falling neatly into place.

|"Everybody retreat. We leave here *now*, and we leave together. Nobody gets left behind."|

As the last hammers home, she takes another step forward, extending a hand to Shift.

Pete Wisdom IC | Pete's mind is out there, yeah. Out there and strained, with the familiar mix of fire and ice, pain and impatience, concern and resolve. He feels the touch of Psylocke's mind and there's instantly a flood of relief as well. And then to telepathic message to everyone, and he thinks *really hard* at Betsy, ~Good. Are you with the others? Can you get out, can they get out? I'm having to do things I don't like, and you know how I get when I have to do things I don't like.~

At least they're given instructions to leave which gives Rogue a distraction from her emotions. No time to fall apart when you have to leave post haste, after all. "Alright," comes a quietly drawled sign that she has heard the orders, the troubled state she's in. But despite her desire to get away from here she doesn't move yet, instead she waits for the others to act so she can follow their lead.

Romany says nothing -- disputes Domino not at all; accepts her decision of what to do, starts to glance toward her ... is caught up short by a voice out of nowhere. Finishes the glance, but with her previous steadiness faintly disrupted, white beginning to show around grey-blue eyes.

With the last robot down, Logan is free to give Blink all of his attention--and despite whatever fears the teleporting mutant may hold, this mostly entails staring at her really hard, as if trying to will her into abandoning her defense of Doomstadt by sheer force of personality.

When it turns out that she may not actually be the most stalwart of defenders after all, he turns his head away and gives Domino's explanation a small, confirming nod. "Ain't got a lotta time to split these hairs much further," he lowly informs her. "We good, or--"

The tracker's mouth hangs open when a burst of psychic activity catches him off-guard; he never gets around to finishing that thought, but he does at least remember to slide his mouth shut after a moment or two.

|"Pete's got a turncoat top side,"| he abruptly informs the team, courtesy of Psylocke. Adjusting to accomodate psychic communication is second nature, by now, and while he may not have been expecting such a boon before even laying eyes on her, he wouldn't dream of turning it down. |"Comms are compromised. Blink might be clean; where is Shift?"|

Rain doesn't protest either. Her eyes are wide. She's trying to keep up with all of this. And then - she hears words. "Okay." She offers quietly. If Rain is disturbed, little shows. Harvey is just peeking out of her collar. There's relief as the last robot falls. Talk with your BRAIN, Rain. She's trying to keep track of who is where, and to talk with her brain. Maybe.

As though to help spur the team onwards, the booted feet get closer. The first to try and cross the threshold - and the only human so far - steps onto the glowing section of rock, not really realizing what a conflux of activated magical traps will do. Doom's defences are looking for SOMETHING to hit, and they choose him.

A very confused newt splashes into the sewer, before raises voices and readying weapons can be heard.

Blink doesn't have time to argue, either. She just nods to Domino - and incidentally to Logan, no matter how shocked he might be looking, and, directly in front of her, a person-sized portal appears.

BLINK!

And in that same moment, a portal appears in the dungeons.

By sheer bad luck, it is at this moment that Doom realizes Blink's betrayal. Tipped off by one of a hundred thousand little things which can ultimately only mean she has changed sides even without direct video evidence of this fact. The magic binding Blink to the castle begins to dissipate. Which means that the wards preventing the warping of space no longer see her as a natural part of the place.

Rather than just putting point A and point B in touch, as normal, now, Blink finds that she is struggling against the entire weight of the fortress. She physically staggers, brought low to one knee, but amazingly, the portal doesn't fail. "Hurry." She hisses. "Please. Hurry." And, in case it needs to be stressed. "/Soldiers/."

Within the numbness that has taken Kwabena's soul, the telepath who has ironically come to his rescue would be able to discern one very clear fact - that this was all about -their- rescue. To rescue her, Carol, Blink, and anyone who would come willingly or be drug along unwillingly.

No response is given to Psylocke's inquiry about Pete. Instead, there is a brief moment of hesitation before Shift takes her hand, his own gloves ripped to reveal bleeding knuckles from his futile battery of the now-shredded door. "Inside team is downstairs," he begins to explain while moving out into the dungeon's corridors with her. "Lowah level, main..."

And then another portal appears. Shift freezes in his tracks, a knee-jerk response in consideration that moments ago, Blink's portal meant ugly things. However, Logan's telepathic message was linked clearly to him as well, and it was something he'd also grown accustomed to. Releasing Psylocke's hand he suggests, "Bettah get dat sword of yours ready." Then he steps aside, ready to help the others through the portal should anyone stagger or fall.

Familiarity. Lots of things feel familiar, yet everything is marked by the distance of rolling canyons and unending sunsets, a sensation not unlike occupying a bubble containing Psylocke through every motion. Every thought. The astral plane at least makes more sense - a side-effect of the detachment she continues to sense with her physical form - and an incoming transmission from the missing operative reaches her with a wash of something... almost normal, if intense. Her powers operating at a level she can rarely reach in *good* condition, she replies through the intricate webbing of her raised 'network' even while Wolverine speaks across it.

|"We will get out. So will you. Whether you *like* it or not. Hold tight."|

Implementing Logan's efforts is a breeze; the usual effort just doesn't seem to be there. For all the physical has become that much harder, for all that she's forcing every individual motion, on the astral plane she's become a prodigy indeed. It's almost slightly bothersome-- she's even able to manifest another telekinetic blade, turning to walk from the tiny cell into the long, upward-winding corridor filled with so many more. But she does not fear.

Nobody left behind. No time for regret. No time for anything but salvation.

|"He's with me."| She responds to the telepathic query in kind, for the benefit of those not yet through that portal. And because at this point, it's simply easier. |"Now follow my last order."| That resonates with more meaning on the penultimate word than might normally be implied; she's still possessed by her failures. This may be the last she ever gives. |"Two of you, move fast behind me. The others *get out* while we free the prisoners."|

Nobody. Absolutely unswayable in this, she turns forth, free hand idly swiping the continuing flood of ichor from her broken nose as she moves systematically down the passage, the rending of cell doors and the urges to Doom's lurking captives becoming a blur of thought and action as she sets about undoing so much of his work. But she's been called selfish once today, already; and there's still a grain of truth in that. It's not until she reaches one particular cell, perhaps halfway through the black heart of the castle, that she slows down. Becomes human.

"Carol..." Even as chaos returns, as threat descends on them all, she can't keep back the flood entirely. Purpose is threatened by compassion, by guilt. It's pure-hearted, granite-stubborn conviction that might serve to save Psylocke and the SHIELD agent both; within moments she's slung over one shaking, sweaty shoulder, and the progress to their escape continues. The kunoichi's telepathic web is failing - and soon enough it's gone, though she's too absorbed to even notice, the physical effort of carrying two overwhelming her. But she continues on.

"Nobody," she murmurs breathlessly, agonizingly, "Gets left behind."

It's the third mantra today, and the one she's going to need the most.

..That really works? A simple explanation, and Blink is back on their side? Domino's skeptical, nothing is -ever- that easy. Shift is still gone, yet -Psylocke- is back. The mind of that telepath has only been felt on a few occasions previously, but it's still the only person to have ever graced Dom's thoughts before. Recognition comes in an instant. This mission still has purpose. It can still work!

They can also still get cornered in a very bad way if they stand around and burn through their time. The portal's open, open for the group. For how long? And just where does it lead? Being a leader isn't an easy job, she's usually happy to let someone else take it. At this point, time is not on their side. She's also not going to tell everyone else to brave forward into the unknown from the work of someone they don't know if they can trust yet or not. With danger right around the corner, Domino has another tough decision to make. Stay and fight long enough for the others to pass through, or make sure the place they're about to jump into is safe and not an ambush?

They have competent fighters on hand. Who to keep back? Someone who's fast, strong, and can take a lot of punishment. "Rogue, cover our retreat!" Pistol in one hand and rifle in the other, Domino jumps through the portal. This isn't over yet.

If there hadn't been so many little cues - her heartbeat, inflection, body language - Blink's struggle to maintain her latest, and perhaps most important portal would have been enough to seal the deal for Wolverine. There are /plenty/ of questions that beg to be asked, but there will - God willing - be time for them later, when the forces of Doom aren't bearing down.

Once he's emerged in the cell with Shift and Psylocke, he give the latter a long look, a solemn nod, and a low, "You look like /hell/," before turning his attention to the portal and stepping away from the thing to give the rest of the team some space.

And then, he'll allow himself a drawn out sigh of relief; all they have to do now is make it /out/.

Romany's attention flickers back to Blink, to the crest and her reaction -- but there's no time to process what she's seeing, the disintegration of the focus-effect and Blink's trouble matching themselves. Not right now. Time to move, right now. Domino moves for the portal; Romany moves --

-- silvered knife sheathed again; stooping low, and gloved hand reaching out, delving into the disgusting liquid --

-- kicking herself back toward the portal, fast, and catching her balance so as not to hit Domino or Wolverine on the far side; straightening up and clearing the way in turn as she tucks an apparently inexplicable wriggling green amphibian into a pocket and seals the newt in. One more on its way out, though whether that one was ever a prisoner is a little more doubtful. Pete probably won't complain.

The weight is crushing. It bears down on Blink heavier by the moment. But if Doom was thinking that the weight of a fortress would be enough to snap the elf girl, he is going to be sorely disappointed. The mass of the fortress is huge... but Blink has teleported people to the moon, and she doesn't need to move the whole thing. She just needs to bear it. To pit her willpower against its structure. It might think it knows how it is. But she will twist that reality for the moments needed to buy her allies safety.

Domino might be skeptical that Blink had been won around - the truth was, from the moment that she had learned he had lied about the death of her friends... Blink had made her decision. If he had only been honest with her, she might have been able to believe that he would follow through and save her world. But Doom had lied when he caught her. He had lied when he told her she could go free. He had lied about why her powers didn't work. And he had finally made it clear that she would never be brought into his confidence; that she is a /servant/ to him.

She would be foolish to believe that he would help her in any meaningful way. Even if it means sacrificing the only way to get back home... Psylocke had never once lied to her, and her faith in the telepath is absolute as a result.

When the last of them is through the portal, the soldiers burst into the sewer, and Blink goes through herself. Crashing to the floor in a heap, she is bleeding from the mouth, dizzy, and fighting to hang on to consciousness.

The actual dungeons themselves are devoid of guards; Blink having ordered the full complement out to scour the premesis for enemies. How long they have until Doom works out the ploy is another question entirely, but for now? For now, mercifully, they are safe.

"I'm sorry, Mister Creed... I don't think... I'm coming, home."