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EVENT: Mercenary Madness: Balkans
Event-icon Who: Deadpool, Domino, Gambit, Lunair, The Cuckoos
Where: Secret research facility, The Balkans
When: 4 AM, 06OCT2012
Emitter: Deadpool
Tone: Gritty
What: Deadpool and a handful of mercenaries travel to the Balkans to 'deconstruct' an internment camp where testing is being done on mutant prisoners. WARNINGS: violence, disturbing themes, languages, gore



The flight over to Europe was not a comfortable one. As much fun as first-class seats in a Leerjet are, for some things, cost has to trump comfort. Still, it's not the /least/ comfortable DC-12 in service... though it might be one of the only ones still flying.


En route, Deadpool had laid out the operation, bringing the newcomers up to speed on the operation as well as giving everyone, including Domino, the mission brief.


In short, the operation is a classic smash'n'dash. A hardened military facility in the Balkan states of Eastern Europe/Western Russia has recently been identified as having been converted into a meta-human research center. Unlike the McTaggert Facility, the 'research' here is being performed on meta-humans who are being illegally detained by quasi-government agencies. All over the world, in small numbers, the internment camps are getting set up. The operation is, simply, to take this one down.


Remy and The Cuckoos: Their mission is to get past the front gate and disable the permiter defensive systems. Use whatever means are at their disposal, but secrecy is essential.


Domino, Deadpool, and Lunaire: Field support. Neutralize the guards around the towers and walkways without getting caught. Once the main gates are open, Deadpool will lead the assault to the fusion reactor. Step 1: Place the bombs. Step 2: ??? Step 3: profit!


SCENE: A mountainous facility in the Balkans, tucked into a narrow, inaccessible valley well in the snowline. It’s surrounded by trees and dense, heavy brushes. Small hillocks surround the facility, which is surrounded by a chain-link fence protecting two heavy concrete buildings and a number of small mobile homes.


The three field members of Deadpool, Domino, and Lunaire are hiding in the treeline, well away from the lights of the facility. Remy and The Cuckoos have been sent ahead in a military vehicle, to fake their way into the facility.




Surprisingly enough, this is the sort of thing Remy has a lot of experience with. He's donned the appropriate uniform and insignia for a ranking officer, complete with official hat, medals, and campaign ribbons. He's shaved, which is a surprise in and of itself. He's also managed to subtly alter his image; a minute jutting of his jaw makes him look older and more severe, as does a slight, perpetual scowl.


Calmly, he drives them up to the front gate and waves an official-looking set of papers. "Security inspection," he informs a guard. No trace of his Cajun accent is present. "Take everything offline. Cameras. Alarms. Everything. I'll need a schematic of where every system is located so I can get this over with quickly. And open this damn gate!"





Being stuck in a plane with this crew is bound to reveal a couple of things to certain minds. Domino's in a peculiar situation of knowing Remy from other encounters (not all of them very friendly, for that matter,) while being in the same plane as three telepaths who probably know him as well. She's not sure whether to hang around the Cajun because he's a familiar face or keep as much of a distance from him as possible. Not a lot of places to hide, really.


To make matters more interesting, now she's also paired with someone she knows nothing about and has never worked with before. Good thing Dom's no stranger to long range killing, now kitted out with a stubby, suppressed Russian VSK-94 sniper rifle. She's already taking sight on the first elevated guard, quietly instructing Lunair "Call out any that you see. If you can take them from a distance without getting caught, more power to you."


The first of many heavy, subsonic bullets *thwips* out of the muzzle, the spent cartridge gently settling to the ground an instant before the first guard drops. Game on.





The Girls have been preturnaturally cheerful about the whole trip. Ribbons and kittens cheerful. They talk in the gestalt mostly, so it's an ambient sense of warmth that they project. And they tend to use Remy as a piece of furniture or a pillow or a favourite blanket when possible.


Come game time, they've settled down, back into their black clothes. And they look as though they're asleep in the back of the vehicle, or at least meditating... if one can see them. If you're not Remy, they're simply gone. They're tracing minds, picking people out, assuring them that Remy is correct, it's time to reset the systems, it's time to open the gate. They work their minds into all the others until the gestalt has a firm grip on those in command.


Then the gestalt reaches out to Deadpool. |"Are any of these minds of value?"| They'd very much like to reform some of these minds but they won't until they know whether or not they're useful.





Thank goodness Lunair doesn't get air sick. She's a good audience, at any rate. Her expression is difficult to read while they travel. But she seems polite enough and willing to help out, should someone need a weapon or ammo. Lunair looks to Domino, nodding. "Okay. Thank you," She murmurs. She looks thoughtful, as if she was considering which rifle to choose of her own. She will likely follow Domino's example, then, so it's easier to remember which kind to summon. She will mimic her partner's for now. And just in case, a small bit of ammunition - should Lunair get nailed over the head or something. She's hardly above assuming she'll get shot. Caution is a big word to her. She seems reserved and polite, but now it is business time, her expression as solemn and serious as can be. She'll be just far enough from Domino to hear any verbal orders without giving themselves away.




The guards at the front of the gate- across the facility from Domino, Deadpool, and Lunaire- snap to attention when Remy and the girls arrive. There is a quick exchange of papers, and the guards go to lift the elevated security gate. The truck can roll on... to another gate, which is more heavily fortified and has full-automatic weapons set to open a deadly crossfire from defilade. Two guards stand watch there, wearing heavy armor... and the sort of headware that people paranoid about psychic invasion usually done in a crisis. It's not as tough as some of the equipment out there, but it'll take a dedicated psychic assault to reach through their brains to throw them off. Neither of them look like they'll be impressed by the legendary Cajun Charm.





"What? Hell no, you can turn them all into vegetables," Deadpool says aloud, in response to the girls. The Merc With The Mouth is doing his ninja thang, slipping effortlessly through shadow and darkness to approach the fenceline.


Domino and Lunair might catch faint echoes of "Go Ninja Go Ninja Go!" from him as the obnoxiously pop-culture obsessed killer crawls along through the brushline. Occasionally, there's a soft but excessive curse slipping out as he slips on ice or stubs a toe on a rock. ...Lord only knows how, but Deadpool is cutting a swath right through the perimeter defenses, laying guards out with his swords and brutal hand-to-hand attacks. He uproots landmines, cuts tripwires, puts away children's toys that are just /begging/ to be stepped on in the middle of the night. He moves quickly up to the fenceline and uses security foam and a pair of tinsnips to cut through the chainlink in a hidden area. He presses a finger to his earpiece. "Support team, move up. I have the gate open. Lead Team, get inside the base /now/."





"Well," Remy whispers to the triplets as he eases them up to the second checkpoint. "Dis should be fun."


Then he's back in character. His papers are presented again. While his disguise relies heavily on his psychic support team, the papers themselves appear to be in order. At a glance, at least. Remy did some homework before coming up with this foolhardy and potentially life-threatening plan. He smiles coldly at the armored guards as he waits to be processed. "This is a surprise inspection. If you had a record of it, it wouldn't be a surprise." he snaps, attempting to bite off any protests before they can form. "I don't have time for this. Stand aside."





The Girls rarely turn people into vegetables. They do, however, give a theraputic dose of conscience and empathy to those they feel can be redeemed. It is, without doubt, one of their favourite punishments. However long these people live, some of them will begin to feel regret and sorrow and the pain of their victims--all from within their own minds.


But there is something else to which to attend. Dull blank spots in the gestalt's awareness. That can only mean one thing. Yes. Heavily armoured men, armoured mentally and physically. Their subordinates loiter around, looking bored. There is little all that armour can do for those guards, not against a military knife up under the chin and the hands of three their own men pulling them down and stuffing their bodies out of sight even before the light fades.


"Sorry sir." One of the subordinates steps up as though nothing has happened. "Of course you're welcome to go through. Your papers..." Not only are the papers handed back to Remy, so are the headpieces and identification of the guards.


The gates swing open, and the truck is admitted into the central marching surface at the center of the facility. There are bunkers, presumably for the garrison troops; mobile homes for scientists and ranking leaders; and two buildings. One, taller and heavily fortified, screams 'Headquarters'. The other is most likely the research facility. A few mobile homes are behind it, behind several security measures of concertina wire and electrified fence. It looks more like a pen than a prison.





Okay, Dom's gotta admit, Lunair's ability to outright copy an entire rifle, including extra ammo, is cool in a way which is difficult to comprehend. How does she do it..? Where does the material come from? It just boggles the mind! Right now, it's also incredibly useful. "Remind me later to get your help in making a few hundred spare sets of armor," she informs the other metafemme.


Another few shell casings melt their way into standing pockets of snow, vanishing from sight like the guards that go down like a bunch of puppets having their strings sheared off. When the call is made she does a quick glance over to her partner in crime, motioning forward with a jerk of her head. Not that it's necessary to do so, she's just in rookie handling mode by default. "Here we go, kiddo. Low profile." In the coms, however, she simply states "Field inbound."




Lunair's eyebrows quirk at the song. Just a little. She seems duly impressed as guards are cut down and thankfully someone has put up the legos. Legos at 3AM. Yeow. Happily, Lunair is a good listern and audience. "I hadn't thought of trying armor... not sure I can..." She looks sad. But she smiles a little. Maybe she'll be willing to -try-. And in time, new abilities are often discovered, right? She tucks it away as a good idea. For now, then she follows, watching and mirroring. She accepts being handled as such and maybe she is unused to working in a group - but certainly curious and willing.


She does seem reasonably trained, but not hugely experienced. She doesn't seem to carry much spare ammo - perhaps she is spoiled by being able to create it nearly on demand. She nods at the low profile and will start to move carefully, quietly and keeping low as she can.






Deadpool waves Domino and Luna through the hole he's cut in the fenceline. Once in, they take cover and start lining up shots. "I've got hostiles at two and two thirty. Domino, take on the two on perimeter at.. your one and your one-thirty." Deadpool, for once, is all business. No chatter.


"RISIN' UP! BACK FROM THE STREEETS. DID MY TIME TOOK MY CHA-NCES." For some reason, Deadpool is blasting 'Eye of the Tiger' through everyone's earpieces. As Remy and the girls pull into the courtyard, Deadpool brings his silenced WA2000 up and fires two shots. It hits twice, and drops both his targets. "Targets down," Deadpool announces over the music. "Bring up the Brain Tank. We need to clear our next two objectives," he orders Remy.


Once everyone's rallied, Deadpool backslings his bullpup and unlimbers a pair of Vector SMGs. "Ok. Cajun, Domino, and Luna. Your mission, if you choose to accept it: You three head towards HQ. All targets are expendable. You need to get to the facility director's office and download everything on his hard drive." He turns to the triplets. "You girls, you come with me. We're gonna plant the bomb on the main reactor in the facility." He checks both of his SMGs. "Any questions, class?"




Remy tosses his newly acquired toys into the center console, rolls his window up, and drives into the heart of the facility. A moment, a glance, and a grin are spared for his girls. "Have I mentioned dat I love it when you do dat? Because I love it when you do dat."


When he's parked and the team has assembled, he pulls his own radio unit from an inside pocket and fits it to his ear. The guards' radios and keycards are stuffed into the same pocket. "Don't worry about de data," he says. "We take care of it. You just keep an eye on de girls. And nobody touch de car. I bring along a lil' surprise."





The girls hop out of the car and each give Remy a kiss on the cheek on their way over to Deadpool. Foreign country, military facility, infiltration action going on... they're in a plenty good mood. |"Call if you need anything,"| the gestalt says to Remy, and the girls all wave before slipping over to Deadpool's side.


"No questions." "For now." "We might think of one later." This is all good work as far as they're concerned. They clasp their hands behind their backs and look very attentive. The gestalt, however, is prowling the facility like a cat, snapping off all awareness that anything might be wrong.





"Gah, what the hell?!" Domino practically rips the earbud off the side of her face when that music starts getting blared through, not helpful to her combat zen! Eugh, on the upside she's now getting paired with someone she's slightly more familiar with. Slightly. Cajun's still a big ol' mystery to her, even after picking through his bounty profile on a couple of occasions. "I'm still curious as to why you're on our team," she admits as soon as they're close enough to talk outside of the coms. It also gives her an opportunity to pass a wary look back at the Cuckoos as they go about their merry business. "So much for being the only girl in your life."




Letting Remy do the leading, Dom once more focuses on Lunair. "Here's where you get to show what you're made of. Anyone that isn't us or mutant is a fair target, use your best judgement on if they need to be put down. We only get one mistake." Even without knowing much of the other meta, she's determined to get her through all of this. In one piece, even.





"Well... it's encouraging I guess..." She offers quietly. Got it! Lunair shakes her head. She seems to grasp it well enough. Once they aren't needing long ranged firepower, Lunair quietly dismisses her rifle. She'll shift to a shot gun, then. She looks thoughtful, and will make sure it's loaded. A blink at the music played through. Her eyes almost go cross for a moment. She was not expecting that. Yes. She's looking on the bright side. They are all mysteries to her, some slightly less so than others. It's like being dumped on a strange land. Except the strangers are well armed, some are more friendly than others and you don't respawn should you get nailed - unless you're particular someone. Lunair looks to Dom, nodding again. "Okay." She semes willing to support and help Dom, though somewhat uneasy about getting the other hurt or screwing up. "... wait, should I put the shotgun back?" She offers quietly. But it's not likely they are sniping. She understands range, but being quiet... she wants to make sure.





The teams set, Deadpool beckons the Cuckoos along with him. He holsters one of the SMGs as they close on the research labs and draws one of his super-sexy, signature katanas. Which, according to the internet, can cut through a tree with one hit! Nice.


Deadpool checks the access door, peeking through a window. He surges in and there's a scream and a splatter of blood. Deadpool sticks his head out a moment later, more of his outfit now red than it was before. "Ok, we're clear. Coming, ladies?" He turns and jogs into the research facility, stopping occasionally to check out his portable map against the hallway markings. Once, he stops in the dining facilty, killing two guys in labcoats rather casually and taking their turkey sandwiches. Disregarding the gore he's covered with, Deadpool returns to the girls. "Hungry?" he offers, his mask pulled up so he can eat. "I brought you some food." He proffers three bags of nachos, liberated from the vending machine.





Remy's staff is thrust through the back of his belt, then he's ready to go. "I'm a popular guy," he says to Domino. "Speaking of, dis isn't de first time I been with two women. Relax. It'll be fun as long as neither of you clenches up."


With a grin and a wink, he takes off toward HQ. If they weren't on a time budget, they could scale some walls, cut through some glass, do some fancy spy stuff. As it is, there's only so many minutes between now and a giant explosion. "C'mon, ladies," he calls. "We're on de clock. We go in de front and straight to de top, which means keep de shotgun. I'll take point. New girl, cover de rear. Dom, watch de corners. We play dis like a smash-and-dash. Hit hard, hit fast, take what we want, and run like hell."



He doesn't leave much time for debate. He already has a trio of playing cards charged and ready to go. Rather than knocking on the front door, he opens it with a giant explosion. "Never get tired of that," he says, chuckling. Then he dives through the smoking hole and starts going to work on the guards. "You guys coming?" he shouts.






Domino gives Remy -such- a look at that first comment. The look of someone who is considering the pro's and con's of punching him square in the face. It's not the first time such a moment has passed between the two. "Just keep your head in the game, thief."


It's entirely possible that Dom might have objected to the Cajun's plan of attack. She tends to ride out the stealth factor as long as possible and -then- break out the noise makers. All she has time for is to tense her shoulders and look away as he blasts the doors open, slowly turning back to Lunair with the smoke and debris filling the air. "It'll be fine." Seems like the thief enjoys not giving people much of a choice, but hey. They are on the clock, after all.


With stealth gone the short rifle lands across Dom's back, her signature ten millimeter pistols coming out from beneath her shoulders. One gun for the left side, one gun for the right. Yeah, she's got this covered. "Nah, we thought we'd wait for you to get shot at first so we can tell where the fire's coming from." Another quick glance back to Lunair. Still together? Good. Forward through we go.





Blink. Lunair tilts her head at the comment Remy makes. "Wait. What." How does that even - why would you even - Oh, nevermind. She'll write the equation down and work the physics out later. Maybe he's a part time contortionist so no one gets bored. Who knows? She nods at instructions to take the rear then. She will fill some of her pockets with spare ammo, then nodding at Domino. There's a polite smile. "Got cha." She accepts it, then, and keeps her shotgun handy. She meets the glances back with a nod. She'll kind of walk turned a little to make sure she's watching their backs. Few obituaries are as embarrassing as 'failed to watch back. Head and backside filled with lead. Hah HAH'. She seems pretty decent, so far. Doesn't really lock up or make small chat. And follow she will. Peer up. Peer to the sides. Peer down, just in case...





Shortly after Remy breaches the entryway, alarms start going off. A quiet series of kills is a far cry from kicking down the door. Troops start swarming, though there's enough confusion that none of them are entirely sure where to go. There's clearly stairways that lead to the secondary levels where the administration's main offices are, as well as the base control facilities. A short run down the hallway leads to the barracks and security area.






The girls graciously accept the proffered snacks. |"You should really let us kill people."| |"We're tidier."| |"But less fun,"| they admit. When Remy blows the doors open, the gestalt rolls back and stifles as many minds as it can while paying attention to everything around it. |"What do you need us for, anyway?"| |"Eye candy?"| |"Because that's boring."|


They could be plundering minds for information but these minds are disgusting, honestly. It'd be like plundering a porta-potty. There might be treasure in there, someone's treasure, but you'd regret it forever and you'd be sure that everyone who ever looked at you again would know... just KNOW... that you once dove into a cesspool of crap on someone else's say-so.





Deadpool stops and peers at them. "What? You mean you haven't been turning people into vegetables this whole time?" He shakes his head. "Man, we need to work on, like, individual team initiative, or something. I officially order you to feel free to turn anyone who looks at us funny into a vegetable!" he orders them, in an official tone. Deadpool turns back down the hallway and kicks open the last door, labeled 'Storage'.


It's not for those crates leftover at the end of Raiders of the Lost Ark. Storage here, means... mutants.


Row upon row. Dozens of them. At least fifty meta-humans, suspended in a murky gelatinous substance. Some writhe in agony, trapped in terrible nightmares. Others, lay quiescient, barely functional and certainly not aware.


"Wow. Sucks to be these guys," Deadpool quips. The mercenary moves over to the fusion reactor coils, and starts slapping C4 onto the injector manifolds. "Ladies, if you'll cover my back for a few minutes, I'd appreciate it," he announces. "Feel free to liquefy anyone who looks suspicious."





Two guards are down by the time Remy's backup arrives and he has yet to draw a weapon. He picks up a coffee cup from the reception desk, hefts it experimentally to test its weight, then hurls it at a third man's head and takes him down. "If you hadn't noticed, we're not really planners. Our process is a little more organic. Just relax. Ol' Remy always bring plenty of protection."


That's when the Bad Guy cavalry arrives.


"Merde," the Cajun mutters. Then, without further ado, he leaps directly into their midst. Here, heavy firearms are as much a liability as they are an advantage. They are many targets, he is one. He's also a whirlwind of groin punches, throat strikes, and kicks to kneecaps. Whenever he has the opportunity, he bends a trigger finger backward until it breaks or presses the magazine release on someone's firearm. And he's laughing. The son of a bitch is laughing.


"You can stay for de party if you want," he shouts, narrowly avoiding the butt of a rifle, then grunting as someone's fist finds his belly. He responds with a open-handed strike that breaks his attacker's nose. "Or you can go get de data and I take care of de army. Ladies' choice."





Decisions, decisions... Domino knows that Remy's not too huge on straight-out murder, which is exactly the sort of work that she does. If he wants to keep the pile of guards occupied? Hell. Let 'em. Maybe they can beat some sense into the guy while they're at it. Back to Lunair she looks, motioning quickly. "This way!"


One less person to worry about, down to two. Okay, she can do this. Only one problem. Remy's still got those keycards. The next door blocking the way has a tenkey pad beside it, complete with those telltale red and green LED's to show if it's locked or not. This one is. "..Fudge."


From another intersection behind the pair comes a small handful of guards trying to cut the two off, right as Dom punches in the first cluster of numbers that comes to her mind. An instant later and the light turns green. "Hey, look at that." Grin. The door gets thrown open and in comes monochromed Death, pistols sweeping the space beyond.





Lunair may or may not be a fan of such, herself. Hard to say. She struggles to keep a neutral, even keel. She nods to Domino, sort of walking that strange-sidewalk to keep an eye on their backs. She blinks at the tenkey pad. "That was pretty neat..." Normally it seems a bit more involved to get one of those. Huh. Well, then. Deep breath. She tries to block out the mental images rushing back for a moment. Her eyebrows furrow and she hefts the shot gun. "Well. You could have run away..." She pauses, as monochromed Death comes around the corner. It's always neon Death that gets you. Either way, shotgun readied - it's time to clear the path and keep their backs safeish as one person with a shot gun can. Happily, this is an indoors shot and that snickering dog isn't around to snicker when she misses a target.


She's not bad - actually, pretty good with the dang thing as the shotgun is pointed at and promptly unloaded at the first hapless souls. Maybe they'll get the hint.





The girls give Deadpool the collective version of a mental headtilt. |"Vegetables?"| |"Why?"| |"When we could give them each the conscience of a saint and awareness of all their sins?"|


There's the crunching of nacho chips. |"We prefer to kill only when we must."| |"Which is not to say that there aren't casualties."| |"It's sad when the mind can't bear the weight of its own actions."|


"Of course," one of the girls says aloud. "Perspective *is* everything." So it is, as armed soldiers come ploughing through a set of side doors, weapons drawn, turn, and neatly shoot each other in the face.


"That wasn't us." Esme this time, pauses in licking the seasoning off a chip. "Well, we just pointed out who the real danger was."


"We're ready to work." The other girl who speaks has that hollow tone again. "Enough talk."


The gestalt mind emerges as though the veneer of childishness and innocence has just been ripped back and behind it is a mental storm that could wipe out a city block. They display to everyone with them the extent of the suffering going on in the tanks and holding pens. |"We have determined that majority are salvageable."|


The gestalt had to focus on other things to avoid fear and the carelessness brought by fear. Now, it can focus on putting mental blocks into the minds of the damaged, soothing the fears of those penned outside. Later, it will let the girls feel what they feel. Their thin undercurrent of terror is invisible to anyone outside their Inner Circle.





Deadpool is back to singing 'Go Ninja Go'. He's still arming the explosives, but he's also doing a pretty good Vanilla Ice impression. And he does that one arm-swingy sort of thing where he steps in place, but doesn't move forward.


He pauses for a moment as the gestalt awareness assaults his psyche. (But, what they don't know, is that The Pool is already nuts. As evidenced as when T-Rex tried to break Wade's mind in Issue #34, or when Taskmaster attempted to duplicate his fighting style!) Deadpool breaks into obnoxious song. "Hey, I just met you. -And this is craa-zy! But here's my number- so call me maybe!" He sings rather obtrusively over the intercom, but for the benefit of the girls, he also does the stupid little dance number.


"Oh, yeah, so- are we saving these guys? Is this happening?" He breaks off singing long enough to look over the containment facility. There's a big red button there that couldn't be more 'DO NOT TOUCH' if the big 'DO NOT TOUCH' sign was even bigger and redder. Hah, like you could tell Deadpool /not/ to press a big red button.


He hits the button with his fist, and the storage tanks start draining. Slowly, the mutants contained within start returning to life, some of them banging on the windows. A few of them come awake, screaming, and promptly smash their way through the glass. A few of the more durable and insane ones make it free, and start advancing on Deadpool and the girls.





"See, now you guys are in trouble," Remy says, twirling to avoid a tackle and driving his elbow into the falling guard's back. "'Cause de ladies are de nice ones. Dey just kill you."


As thoroughly outnumbered as he is, even he has to resort to unwholesome tactics. If he wants to survive, that is. Using his superior agility to stay just out of reach, he darts in and makes debilitating strikes, then veers off. Like strafing runs. Each time, he attacks with a cupped hand and collapses an eardrum, strikes a nerve cluster, or takes away someone's weapon and uses it as an improvised club. He's actually doing pretty well.


Then he tilts his head just a fraction to the side, as if listening for something. "Hang in dere, girls," he mutters.


The momentary distraction proves to be his downfall. Someone whacks him from behind with a submachine gun, dropping him to his knees. Someone else boots him in the ribs, which sends him sprawling across the floor.


His radio signal drops offline a few seconds later.





The facility did have a director, up until just recently. One shot destroys the sidearm in his hand. Four more destroy most of what had once been his chest. One more leaves a horrific new entrance clear through his head, front to back. At the other end of those two pistols is a grim looking Domino, jaw set and eyes narrowed. Normally it's just business, no big deal. This guy here? Grade-A bastard. "Shoulda left the muties alone, comrade."


The sound of Luna's shotgun going off brings Dom back around, diving for the lone terminal with her pistols resting at either side of the keyboard. Gotta work fast, girl. Work fast and enjoy the unspoiled drink sitting here, that is. "Password..always with the password." The desk's kept surprisingly clear, except for a bottle of liquor and the partially filled glass of it already in her hand. On the glass is a worn but legible name of a city, practically staring her in the face. Hey, it's worth a try.


Password accepted.


"How're we looking out there?" she calls to Lunair while her hands are on autopilot to secure the files. She doesn't get far before physically recoiling, eyes pinching shut as she shoves herself back from the keys with a sharp grimace and a low, pained groan. "The hell was that..!" Time to go back to the coms. "Was that from the test subjects? Wade, -tell me- you're going to get them out of here..." Her tone leaves no room for argument. Fortunately, letting them go becomes part of the plan. Dom visibly relaxes and gets back to work. Remy's falling out escapes her notice, but their immediate group does have a third...






Hmm. Lunair doesn't wince as Domino finishes the man off. "I suspect he had's had such coming for many years..." She agrees in a roundaboutway. The subject seems unhappy to her. Lunair quietly counts off the minions. "Situation not optimal. But... I have ammo and a doorway so ... it's really ... more of a barrel-fish situation. It's fine for now, there aren't many, but I wouldn't bank on that for too much longer. Depends on how fast they can sprint," She states simply. And how much they -like- the director is the unsaid part. Blam! Ugh. So messy. Maybe working on sprouting OCD instead of the Crazy Uncle eyetic is starting to work? She listens to the com talk for now, not offering much input. She is learning a good deal about working as a team, after all. Blam! "Eek! Hey!" No sneaking up! Blam! "Umm... they seem like okay sprinters, so maybe 10, 15 minutes? Depending stairs and..." She seems decent at factoring in things around her, but still. Well, at least it's a defensible position and Lunair stocked up on ammo - but it's still a little dicey.





The gestalt can only focus on controlling as many of the panicking mutants, they don't have time to scold Deadpool for letting them loose prematurely or anything of the sort. Without Remy to rely on, there's no one to guide their bodies if they enter the minds fully. They don't have much choice in what they're about to do.


Every last mutant in the room, save Deadpool, simply stops. They breathe, they stand, the brainstem activity remains, but their minds are cut off by a white block of mental energy. As far as the bodies are concerned, they are sleeping, the panicked minds dreaming. It is easier to do than it should be, because of the paralytics still lingering in the systems of the experiments. Dripping fluids like newborns, they line up to begin the march to meet the others.


The gestalt spares one thought for the others. |"Find Remy."| After that, there is simply too much to do. Seventy-five minds and bodies to move, meatpuppets from the motorpool to convince that they need to bring the cattle trucks around... they can't defend themselves and aren't even going to try. They simply have to move to make this work.





Deadpool has his katanas out, ready to turn one of the chargers into mincemeat, when they all just stop. The merc stands ready for a few moments, but once he realizes what's going on, he sheathes his weapons. He walks over to the girls and waves a hand in front of one, then flicks his thumb a few times in front of the others.


They're comatose. "Well. This should be... entertaining." Deadpool turns back to the girls, then looks around the room. Then at the C4 plastered against fusion reactor coils. "So, there I was, in a doomed military facility, with three hot triplets. Then they all turned their bodies off and left me sitting here with no one to kill." He kicks a trashcan over. He eyes the girls again. "Uh... ok, tour group, if you'll just /follow the sound of my voice/, we can keep the tour moving. Over here, is the /door/. We should go /through/ the door to go /out of here/. Plese don't let any of the crazy ones rip your arms off in the process."





"Dis not gonna end well for you," Remy says, coughing and laughing at the same time as he's hauled forcibly to his feet. He spits out a mouthful of blood. "I mean, dis probably not gonna end well for me, but dis /really/ not gonna end well for you. Even if you kill me, dere's three lil' girls out dere who aren't gonna like it very much. Maybe four. Verdict's still out on de pale one."


The largest guard (and thus the one most likely to be in charge) yanks the radio from Remy's ear and winds up for another swing at his gut.


"Wait-wait-wait!" The thief says, holding his hands up in the universal sign for surrender. Surprisingly, this keeps him from getting punched, at least for the moment. "You're gonna wanna see dis."


He raises one finger and slowly points it in the direction of his watch. All eyes are on the timepiece. When he reaches down and presses one of the buttons, the car he parked out front explodes. Dramatically. Whatever he packed into the trunk, there was enough of it to widen the hole in the front door and knock everyone off their feet, including himself.


Remy's the first one to get himself upright and sucking air. When he does, he's no longer playing nice. He stomps a man's throat before he can even get to his knees. Another guard has shrapnel in his arm; a second kick skewers that arm to the floor. A charged playing card blasts his third target into two pieces.





Copying, copying, copying... "I really hate computers," Domino grumbles while slamming the full contents of that glass down her throat then dropping the glass aside. Ten to fifteen minutes seems generous, especially given Deadpool and those explosive charges. And a fusion reactor. Yeah... Big badda boom. Subconsciously she pinches the bridge of her nose, her mind a peculiar torrent of nostalgia, worry, and second-guessing.


And then… The Cuckoos.


"Remy," she suddenly snaps back to reality, eyes popping open and head jerking upward. There's Lun--no, no, don't send the new kid on a run like that. She's going to need some fire support. Snap decision time. "Yeah, on it!" gets passed back over the coms, fingers anxiously drumming across the desk as the progress bar edges closer to completion. C'moooon..c'mon c'mon--time for another shot?--Done.


In a flash Dom's got the USB drive back on her person, a gun in either hand, and alcohol in her stomach. "We're pulling out, kid! Cajun needs a hand and you're on point, clear us a path!" She'll be here to take up any slack and provide the cover, but a shotgun? -That- clears a path. As do explosives. "Shit! Was that one of ours?"





Lunair pauses, hearing the chatter and looks over her shoulder, concerned. She nods, quietly agreeing. "I am an optimist... and they do not seem to like stairs, but ..." Their time may be running down. "Also, depends on Deadpool-" Pause. "Okay, maybe 10. At most. Did he drink soda this morning? Coffee?" She peers over. And again, the shotgun booms out. She pauses. "I - hmm." Her eyebrows furrow. She shakes her head. "Not that I can hear. I wouldn't take that as gospel... you're right. We should commence clearing. Please clear a path or lose your internal organs! Thank you and have a lovely day." She's probably one of the politest assassins in the history of shivving. WITH BULLETS.


It's ugly, but a shotgun is a fine weapon in a firefight. She may have to reload here or there, but slowly, surely, they either wise up or fall to sprays of leaden death. DEATH.





The girls are aware enough to follow Deadpool along. They have no choice but to be trusting. As it is, they're cobbling together this entire affair from years of experience and all the mental accuity they can muster. Along the way, the column of mutants is joined by the others from the pens--those have been released by the guards who were keeping watch.


This is so much more difficult even than directing a stadium of terrified people. They're performing temporary psychic surgery on dozens of minds, prompting and pushing others, keeping aware of their own bodies enough not to fall.


The mutants line into the cattle trucks, drivers and guards occupy the cabs. Even the explosion from the other side of the compound doesn't shake anyone, not even the girls. It's an incredibly orderly evacuation.






Deadpool hums the Ringling Bros. music under his breath, leading the girls along. Every once in a while, a guard takes a potshot at him, or a mutant with inadequate mental facilities simply rages through the blocks the girls are placing on them.


Deadpool, of course, responds with the most casual of motions. Headshot. Headshot. Headshot. TRIPLE KILL! The Merc With the Mouth looks kind of bored. "Hey, is the Cajun dead? Or do you need some help up there?" Deadpool shouts unnecessarily at the command bunker. "'cause I am REALLY BORED down here." He lifts a SMG over one shoulder and no-looks a charging meta-human, right between the eyes. "Sexy as hell, but bored still!" he adds.





As the explosions grow larger, the force attacking Remy grows smaller. It's like math, only bloodier. By the time Domino and Lunair get back, he's almost run out of bad guys. Unfortunately, he's completely run out of steam. He's taken cover behind an overturned desk and the handful of guards that remain have him pinned down. His nose is bloodied, he's got two black eyes, a cut across his forehead, and several bullet burns from extremely close calls. He's also pressing one hand protectively against his abdomen. Every so often he sends out a projectile with his free hand. Sometimes a throwing knife, sometimes it's just a piece of debris. They're near-blind throws and there are no explosions in sight. Right now he's keeping them at bay, but barely.


"I said I'd take care of de army," he shouts back, tossing a dart and catching one of the jackasses right in the eye. "Eww. Gross."





Yeah, about that whole 'you've got point' thing that Domino had said to Luna before? That changes once she sees the situation that Remy's gotten himself into. They've had their differences, they've had their moments of connection. Somehow, they've even managed to become friends. While she's a loner by nature, she's also one to look out for friends.


There's a sudden burst of speed as the black and white merc sprints past Lunair and kicks off of a wall, leaving a bloodied footprint upon its surface as she banks and rolls out through the room. Swinging limbs, incoming fire, attempts to tackle, somehow nothing manages to land a solid hit upon her. On the other hand, those matched pistols are driven by instinct as they carve into the surviving mob. She's barely used up any of her energy on this job, perhaps saving it just for a moment like this one.


Tumbling across the floor, Dom comes back up to a blood-stained knee with the slides locked back on empty sidearms. There's a second of pause before a chunk of the ceiling gives way, knocking the last of the guards unconscious with an unhealthy crunch. Lady luck's in full swing, but she won't stay forever. "You guys alright?"






Whoa! Lunair tries not to eep, her eyes widening a bit. Respectfully, she doesn't protest or say anything. Maybe she's figuring out what's going on or why. She is however, far more careful about her shotgun. She stops though, seeing the last of the guard fall. She'll take the chance to reload and glance around. She watches then, their backs and to make sure no one new approaches. "I - would ask the same thing she does..." Nod. She seems concerned, even if it's a touch muted in expression. Her occupation has definitely dented her psyche a little. Slightly. But you don't play bumper cars with real cars and bullets without a few dings, mental and physical right? Right. Though, the guy with the buick cheats. She seems pretty impressed, but for now, is a quiet watcher. Peer. Peeeeeeeer. ... no one coming out of the vent? No dancing ninja minions... so far, so good.





Poor Deadpool. Bored. The girls would love to be bored right now. They manage a tiny bit of bandwidth to ask |"Where is our transport?"| They have to decide if they're going with the mutants here on the ground or not.


The trucks are pulling out and headed for the place that--plucked from the soldiers' minds--seems safest. It's a nearly abandoned town that's got nothing left but a tiny market and a bar the soldiers frequent. The rest of the town was 'relocated' to ensure the security of this facility.





"Uhh... ok, so, this is your fearless leader, and we are about to have a /serious/ problem," Deadpool announces.


What, inevitably, is arriving is probably the backup from the outpost security facility. If only Remy had disabled the security intercoms! As is, though, Deadpool draws one katana, then another, as something that looks like if the Hulk had a bastard love child with a female version of Bane starts crawling out of a concealed lower-level access door. It smashes its way through the last six inches of the doorframe with a thunderous bellow that is more force than sound, resonating around the facility. It's also two stories tall. And grey and armored. And uuuugly. And mean! Meaner than Logan, and uglier, too. "So, yeah. Girls, I'm gonna need you to either hide or start running," Deadpool informs them. "Chopper won't land until we've secured the area. And this guy... I'm gonna need a sharper set of steak knives."


Deadpool considers his options. Advance team pinned down in the HQ, the girls paralyzed. "And me without my spoon," Deadpool announces grimly. He gets a running start, flickering his katanas through the air.


"AND ME WITH-OUT MY SPOOOOOOON!" he screams lyrically, leaping into the air and slashing at the creature's eyes. He tumbles, rolls, and flees, trying to draw it off the Cuckoos.


(This is /just/ like that one bit out of Starship Troopers where that bug crawls out of the ground, and then that guy blows it apart with a grenade. Only I am /way/ sexier than Casper van Dien.)





When Remy climbs back to his feet, everyone is down. His eyes are wide and his mouth is pulled into a small, surprised 'o' shape. "I'm sorry," he says to Domino. "I couldn't hear you over de sound of how incredibly turned on I am by what you just did."


Grimace. Grab belly. Sag slightly. Stagger toward still-smoking doorway/hole. "Okay, seriously. Let's get de hell outta here. We did our part. Now we just gotta--what de hell /is/ dat thing? Jesus, we gotta get out dere and help him."






Domino locks eyes with Remy for a second, her own thoughts starting to catch up as she works on reloading her sidearms. "It's a thing that I do." She just..has..to see it coming. Easier to do when their attention is focused on other people.


"God, -now- what? Can't we ever have a clean op?" Back to coms she goes, "What's the status on the weird three and the others?" Shit, this is why she likes to work solo. There's a big nasty ..thing out there and they've got a whole herd of people to evac. "Remy, I'm gonna get you to the girls, can you take it from there? Lunair, what's the biggest weapon you can throw together? We don't have time for this." Organize the troops, get things done nice and fast, and pray that she's not leading anyone to their deaths. Simple, right? "Let's keep moving!"





Lunair is watching, keeping her shotgun steady. "Um. I can create up to plasma weapons," Sci fi stuff. Space marines, eat your heart out. Or demolitions grade gear. "It would depend on your preference for extra or lack of collateral damage was well as any concerns about the building's structural integrity. Grenades are doable," She nods. She watches the two quietly now, though as DP's words sink in, her eyes widen a bit. Oh my. This is definitely a lot more intense and active than she's used to. Whichever weapon Domino requests, the shotgun will get slung over her shoulder and replaced or handed over for the new one. "I wonder if I could do a light saber..." That would be plasma minus explosives. "Let me know if you need anything otherwise," Until then, she'll wait for a response and create the appropriate weapon. "We will certainly clear a path, even if path technically means smoldering crater..."





Today is a day for doing what you do not want to do. The girls lock down their mutants, put them on autopilot, and turn their attention to Deadpool's opponent. They're not soft little girls anymore. They're not-quite blue, organic diamonds, and they are very, very cranky. They need to get this mopped up.


"This is where we get messy," one of them mutters. They are incredibly fast and hard to hurt. They can easily soak a punch from the Hulk himself, any of them, and are almost as strong. They're trained in combat enough to use all that strength and durability to tear anything apart that's in their way.





'Autopilot' for your normal human means 'stand there vacantly'. Maybe eat some nachos, watch some Adult Swim. Unfortunately, autopilot for a lot of these mutants reverts them to basic commands. Not 'hide' or 'forage'. But words burned into their conscience, like HATE and RAGE and PAIN and DESTROY. The moment the girls relinquish their controls, the most violent of them- the ones barely retaining their essential self- have no 'autopilot' to revert to. They immediately groan and stir and uprise, and speak and move their eyes. It would be strange, even in a dream, to see this mad men rise. Here- it's the stuff of nightmares, as barely coherent psyches immediately start slipping into whatever wasteland of the mind that this program had done to them. The girls can handle Mega Mutant, sure- but there's no tellign how many of the experiments will die before they've got him taken down.







        Deadpool is many things. He is annoying, loud, foul-mouthed. Inappropriate at dinner parties, bad with kids, has questionable taste in romance, and likes the films of Emilio Estevez. He is rude, mostly insane, slightly murderous, and bad at relationships.



Deadpool's fought thousands over people all over the world. Depending on your continuity, he's survived fights with Wolverine, Black Widow, Electra... Taskmaster, T-rex, and virtually any other jackass who's swung a knife or carried a gun.


And he's won. He's won with the skills he's showing now- perfection. Ideal form. Flawless execution. Every time the beast thrashes, he slips aside and delivers an eviscerating strike. When it retreats, he harasses and chases it. And when it tries to close, the motion of his blades becomes a gyroscope, sending it backwards with arcs of blood flying.


"You know, why can't I be that good with women?" Deadpool asks the creature. His tone is perfectly conversational, even mid-fight. "You know? I mean, I try- smooth lines, clever words." He ducks a clawed hand, cuts off a finger and elicits a shriek of pain. Deadpool rushes forward, between its thighs, blades flickering upwards. I don't care who you are, no male likes getting stabbed in the danglies.


"Remy, though, he's got that whole /thing/. Supernatural good looks, the accent. It's not /fair/." He turns, avoids a tail swipe and charges up the meta-monster's back. An abrupt exhange of blows ends up with a katana stuck into the meta's trapezius muscle, and Deadpool leaning almost conversationally on its shoulder (twenty feet in the air), using it as a balance point. "Whattya think it is, Mike? Can I call you Mike? Mike," he says, while the creature groans, pitched forward in pain. "Mike, I wish I knew what was wrong with me. Maybe I just oughtta stop trying. When the right woman comes along... I'll know. Right?"


'Mike' roars and with an abrupt motion reaches back and grabs Deadpool by the head. He throws the Merc with a Mouth about fifty yards and into a steel-sided building. Deadpool hits with a *splat* sound, then slowly peels off the wall and lands on the ground.


"Ow," he comments.





Remy's happy to let Domino take the reins. He's on his feet, but he's definitely one of the walking wounded at this point, and that hand is still covering his belly. Plus, we all saw how well his last plan turned out.


The flirting, the brash attitude, it all fades away for just a moment. He meets Dom's eyes and gives her a small headshake. "Don't worry about de girls. Dey can handle 'emselves. I'll still take a grenade, though. Just in case... of dat. Holy shit. It's mayhem out dere!"


For the first time tonight, the Cajun draws his staff from the back of his belt and triggers it. "I think we still on de clock, mimis. Don't worry, I can hack it. Go. Do dat thing you do."





Domino gives Remy a critical look. 'You sure?' Even through his peculiar eyes she knows that will to fight and forge ahead. "Call if you need me." She'll trust his judgement, here. Besides, it means she's once again back to handling only herself and their local Fabricator.


Her attention jumps back to Lunair, holstering one of her pistols. "Something simple, kiddo. Gotta know how to work it. Rocket launcher? Machine gun? Maybe those three girls can handle whatever's out there but I want a contingency plan if something goes sideways. If anything crosses us we need some way to take it down fast. Use your imagination, but think big." Until then, they've got some ground to cover. She leads on, and attempts to give that big thing outside a very healthy amount of space. Getting stamped into the ground is not on her list of things to try.





Lunair tilts her head. She will sneak in time for a grenade to Remy and a rocket launcher then. Something simple. Good old shoulder mounted cannons. "Do you wish to use this or should I...?" She asks quietly. "I'll go with this instead of something fancy for now." She might start looking a bit feverish though. She's been pulling a few weapons this evening, after all. She has no smile for nw, but there's a pause and a look to Remy. "Be careful." She's not really sure -what- to say, but people in books and TV say that when they're worried... so she'll go with that. Either way, things will be handed over accordingly. She's like Santa, but with more death and collateral damage.





"Sophie!" Phoebe's voice cracks like a whip. In diamond form their voices are as crystaline and perfect as their bodies. She doesn't wait for her sisters before she changes back to flesh and tries to stop one of the mutants by throwing herself in its path. She's the weakest of them, and the softest hearted, because she carries all their ghosts. The mutant backhands her and sends her sprawling before the gestalt can reform.


Once it does--drawing Phoebe's mind into it even though her body is stunned--it regains control of its charges and redirects them to their destination. Now, even the ghosts join the others, adding their faint strength to the whole. The ghosts remember a place like this and died to leave it.


The gestalt is left with enough strength to check on Remy and to let the others know, |"We cannot leave these yet. We will go with them and tend to them until they can be released."| With the help of the ghosts, they can pick up Phoebe and head for the last truck, to join their zombie caravan.





Mega-Mutant recoils and roars in pain from a sudden assault, putting an arm up to protect it's face. Two sustained bursts of automatic fire come from Deadpool's position. The merc clearly broke a few ribs when he hit the shed, as they're distending his costume. Deadpool calmly reloads, with practiced motions, and empties another sixty or so hollowpoint rounds into the giant. Even the high-powered .45 ammo serves only to irritate and hurt, but not wound, the beast. It drives an arm up, then roars and charges for Deadpool, who stands calmly in its path.


Deadpool locks his SMGs to his thighs, and calmly redraws his katanas. "Girls- run! Sorry to kill-steal, Domino, but I think this one is mine!" Deadpool stands with perfect composure, one katana across his shoulders, one blade tip resting on the ground.


Mega Mutant roars, leaps, and comes down hard on Deadpool's position, forearms and fists clubbing the Merc down to the ground. Mike goes still.


There's a long moment of silence, and then a red boot kicks one foot away, then the other. Deadpool stands with one katana perfectly straight above his head, piercing through Mike's throat and neatly severing the spinal cord. Mike chokes, then coughs once- a pitiful sound from the giant mutant.


Deadpool steps, whirls, and slices. With no significant effort, he slashes through both of Mike's major arteries in his throat. The big giant collapses, then deflates, bleeding out in a pool of oddly green-tinted blood. Deadpool walks away, sheathing his katanas.


"No- wait. Wait!" He goes running back to Mike, and does something with the corpse. He starts walking away, again, but more slow motion-ey, sheathing his katanas. He presses a button on a little device on his belt. There's a big explosion behind him, completely and un-necessarily enveloping Mike's body in flames. But it looks /totally wicked/.





Where the triplets go, Remy follows. Slowly. Using his staff as a cane. A string of curses fly out of his mouth when he stumbles on someone's dropped pistol. "...shit lying around everywhere. Be a hero dey said," he grumbles. "See de world, dey said. Can't see shit with two black eyes."


When he reaches the girls, he lays a hand on Phoebe's arm and gives it a gentle squeeze. "Is she okay?" he asks them. "Are you?"




Back out in the open, finally! Domino's not going to complain about any kill-stealing, she's just glad that the big thing is out of the way. Suddenly it's looking remarkably clear, and this gal's ready to get the hell outta Dodge. "Saw a motorpool over this way!" she calls back to Lunair, trusting in the team's complete mass of chaos and the facility's complete lack of organization to make a clean break for it.


What she doesn't count on is the patience of one soldier, with one long line of marksmanship tags and one set of very steady nerves, with the patience and a clear line of sight. They did a good job of clearing out one side of the facility. Most of it, but not all of it. The sound of the rifle bullet is a flicker of time away from the moment that it punches through that thin armored shell that Dom's rarely without, clean through the chest in what's somehow just shy of piercing her heart. She never saw it coming. Luck favors the attentive shooter.


Dom's still alive, if the string of cursing is any indication. Behind her there's a clear line of sight tracing back to one of those guard towers.





Poor Remy. Poor girls. Lunair is worried, her eyebrows furrowed. She nods at Domino. "Okay!" She follows along, then, eyes widening as Dom is shot. "Um!" She grunts. That rocket launcher is heavy! She frets a little, torn. "H-hang on!" Wait. Should she - oooh, distraction. It hits her like Mr. Clean's head shine. Carefully, she drops to one knee. It's a love that was meant to be. Rocket, meet tower and man in tower. At least there's no mutants or folks over that way - all security. She can rest a little easier. "Um. He paid for that..." And now, she'll tear off some of her shirt to offer to Dom to dab or staunch the wound as they go. "Sorry... I totally stole your vengeance."





The girls keep moving, managing to get most of the mutants onto the trucks. However, a number of them peel off and simply fall to the ground one after another, like rows of trees being felled. |"You can't come with us,"| the gestalt tells Remy. |"You're a distraction."| |"Injured."| |"Human."| |"You see what we must do with those who cannot keep up."|


One of the mutants, obviously fighting their control, twitches and begins to rave before he falls silent and blank. He totters toward the row of bodies and falls to join them with a quiet sigh.


Two of the girls, Phoebe and Esme, are getting into one of the trucks now. The last turns to Remy with her blue eyes glowing bright. |"We are not human now,"| she explains. |"We are afraid of forgetting that you matter."|





"Ok, so- Boarding the Crazy Train Express, over there," Deadpool says, coming up next to Remy. He waves the girls off. "You ladies, go, have fun. Try not to go insane and ruin everyone's brains, or anything." Deadpool turns to Remy, making sure the Ragin' Cajun is upright, then looks to Dom and Luna. Both are conscious, if not necessarily the worst for wear. Deadpool's ribs are already retracting into his body, as his kickass healing ability is wont to due. Hah, suck it, Logan.


There's the sound of helicopter blades overhead. Deadpool fishes in his belt pouch and produces a little laser pen while Lunaire and Domino join him and Remy. He aims it skyward. Someone perceptive to the IR spectrum might see a signal light going to the clouds. In less than a minute, the sound of the Sikorsky on patrol standby can be heard. The helo hits about a hundred feet off the deck and drops troop tie-ins, the sort used to making emergency extractions from combat zones.


"Let's buckle up. We don't have much time before the /serious/ backup shows up here," Deadpool shouts. He brings everyone in and gets them harnessed together, making sure no one's going to bleed out.


The girls begin their ride out with the surviving mutants. The ultimate fate of the experiments- refugees, now- will take time to tell.





WRAPUP:


1) Secure the security station, or attack head on?

Because Remy charged the upper levels, rather than securing the communications, the facility was able to generate a more concentrated response. The mega-mutant was released from his holding pen. Remy was injured by the counter-assault. The Cuckoos were affected by the stress, and found it difficult to manage the more violent of the meta-humans in the research facility.


2) The data tapes

Because Domino is a proficient hacker and computer user, she was able to download a significant amount of the relative data. But, due to Remy not locking down the security station, she was too distracted to secure extremely sensitive information regarding the precise experiments going on here and at other facilities, as the director had ample warning and enacted several security measures. The information retrieved will be available on the black market soon, and will indicate that this facility, whatever it was doing, is but one of many springing up across the world.


Saving the Survivors

Deadpool released all the survivors at once, without using proper decanting procedures. This made the more aggressive ones extremely angry and impossible to reason with. Because of the intensity of the firefight and the presence of the Mega Mutant, The Cuckoos were unable to focus on the mutants who were close to the edge of mental shutdown.


3) Releasing the mutants


Of the 75 mutants, only 50 were able to make the transport ride out of the facility. Ten of those will suffer violent psychotic outbreaks in the next three weeks, generating a rise of anti-mutant demonstrations across rural parts of the Balkan states. The forty survivors, given adequate therapy and support, will become strong and vocal opponents of the registration act, and their testimony will be damaging to the pro-interment camp position of Governor Sometimes.

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