Beyond Evolution

Mikhail was feeling a strange sense of deja vu. He stood here before, looking upon the walls of the citadel knowing victory was in their grasp. Usually fearless, without worry, Mikhail could not shake the idea that he might fail again. And then what? Who would that make him? Would he ever be able to recover? He had been through the vicious ministrations of the Worldly Avatar and survived. But he would unravel if he did not triumph for his people once more.

"You have your orders," Mikhail said, loud enough for those situated around him could hear. He had made a promise to his people years ago to never allow the same thing to happen again. And while there was a lapse in this promise, he could not see it unfulfilled.

"We take the citadel through the sewers. Once inside, Taxxu and the guards will pose the biggest threat. Tailiv's standing army is dispersed around the city because they expect us but they do not expect what we have to bring." This was said to the other mutants, wanted and accidental, who were brought with him. One day his thanks for their participation, though forced, would be known. But right now? ( Mikhail had nothing to thank them for yet. )

[ Open to ALL DIMENSION TRAVELLERS. Power inhibitors are off, jail cells are unlocked. Mikhail has some known friends and unknown friends in high places. Injuries allowed! Look under subthreads for your exit!]

Mikhail stood on a rock that served as a platform. There was little inside the cave system that could serve this purpose; too many twists and turns, too many low ceilings. He remembered fondly of living below Theia Prime's surface—all of their planning and battle strategies, the constant rendezvous with lieutenants and various officers elected through their battle-might, the hope that surged with every victory—Mikhail took it all in again. This was where he belonged, that constant buzz of praise and hope shouldered on him. He didn't know how to be anything else but the Chosen One. It gave him purpose.

And now the Worldly Avatar held something dear to him, someone he wouldn't speak out loud. He was also viciously paranoid of what he didn't know. It had been five years after all; spies were a concern. Any face he couldn't immediately place caused his suspicion to rear. Keeping Xavier's people out of the loop was a precaution, not a stubborn choice. But they never did look past their own noses. Their complaints were, as he had said, unnecessary.

( But tonight, they had a plan. )

[ OPEN TO THE DIMENSION TRAVELLERS. Feel free to use this as a reaction post or general conversations, or if you want to talk to Mikhail. No promises.]

The waiting was the worst part. Yana used to be used to this sort of thing, having to sit around and wait on someone else to deign to fill her in or let her out of a cell. But that had been back in the days of Belasco, when she’d been a young, scared girl. She didn’t like being back in these same circumstances now. It felt...claustrophobic. Belittling. It brought her back to a state of helplessness that she’d worked hard to never feel again. It had left her in a black mood, shifting back and forth between current injustices and ones from years ago that she’d never actually gotten over.

She was seated against a wall of the cell now, picking up pebbles and throwing them hard at the opposite wall. This was taking forever. It almost would’ve been easier to bear if they were being dragged out, or interrogated, or hurt. This unending waiting was a torture all of its own. And while she still had unwavering faith in the fact that her brothers would be breaking her and the rest of them out of this place, the waiting was hard.

Her hand went up to the bruise that had spread across her cheekbone from the backhand in the throne room, rubbing at it idly. She should have done something back. Spit on them. It would be worth the extra injuries.

She watched as Angelo was taken out and brought back, saw that they’d done some kind of surgery on him, and wondered how long until the rest of them were being taken to that room as well. She’d been on her way to getting ready to go to bed, to make this all the more frustrating. Leggings, no shoes, and an oversized shirt stolen from Tommy (as though there was much that wouldn’t look oversized on her).

Another stone was thrown, a little harder this time. “Can’t we at least grab one of their guns the next time they come in here? They’ll win, but fighting them would be fun.”

(Kitty!)

Angelo remembered being awoken from where he’d been sitting and dozing against one of the cell walls, when the sound of the door opening. When several guards came in, pointing their weapons and shouting at them to get against the walls, they did. The men fanned out, studying the mutants and making sure that they wouldn’t move. The one in charge, the one that hadn’t moved from the cell door, said something in another language and nodded towards Ange. He didn’t know what that meant? But he knew it wasn’t good.

A guard grabbed each of his arms, and his trying to fight away from them didn’t work; they were leaving the cell with him, whether he liked it or not. He cast one last look to the others over his shoulder before the door was shut and locked again, and he was taken down the hall, out of sight.

It was hours later when he was finally brought back, dragged between two guards who tossed him back into the prison, unconscious and with a bandage covering his right forearm, but otherwise seeming alright. After about thirty minutes he started to wake, the grey clouds fogging up his brain finally starting to part. His head hurt. His eyes squinted open and a hand went to his forehead, pressing against it to make the dull throbbing stop. Headaches were nothing compared to the migraines he got from over exerting his powers, but it was still annoying.

He sat up slowly, and then a dull throb made him look down to his arm, where the bandage was. Memories came back to him, hazily. Wisps of smoke that disappeared when he tried to grab them. Going down the hall. Being taken into some kind of sterile room, with doctors or scientists or something there. He remembered something going over his mouth. And then darkness. For a moment there had been a kind of white-hot pain, but then the same mask was placed against his nose and mouth and he was unconscious again within moments.

He wasn’t sure he wanted to take the bandage off.

A hand ran over his hair, shaking his head some. “How long was I gone?”

(Open to Kyra!)

Four years. Four years, give or take. At first he hadn’t been sure how long he’d been down in the cells. It felt like forever, although he knew that was likely also due in part to his powers making him used to everything going so much faster. The waiting was tedious and endless, it felt like. It was partially out of boredom one day that he’d picked up a rock and scratched a mark onto the wall. And then another the next day. And the next. And the next. He was just shy of four years, now.

It was partially his fault. After he’d spent a year shouting at them that he didn’t know anything about this rebellion they started to believe him, and stopped bringing him in for questioning. It wasn’t long after that they’d approached him with a new offer. He could live upstairs, like normal, if he made his services available to the Wordly Avatar. He’d agreed, only so that they would in fact take him upstairs, at which point he attacked the guard that was with him and tried to escape. No more offers after that.

He was still angry that he’d put himself in this position. They’d come at him while he was sleeping, the one time he couldn’t protect himself, and had gotten an inhibitor on him before he knew what was happening. He should never have tried to help those people fighting against the soldiers he saw when he’d first arrived. This wasn’t his fight. This wasn’t even his world. He should have stayed hidden, figured out where he was, and then figured out a way back home. But, sadly, much as he hated it, staying hidden simply wasn’t a talent of JP’s. And now he was paying for it. His anger was like an Energizer rabbit though, still fueling him even this many years later, preventing himself from breaking under the pressure of this place. He would outwait them all. He grew more feral by the day.

No one else came to the large cell that he occupied alone. He was the only mutant that he’d encountered in all his time here, and the humans were kept in a different area. Solitary confinement. Which was why the sound of the door beyond the cell opening caught his attention so sharply. The guards were bringing people in. His eyes, more used to the dark than the light anymore, squinted some at the brightness of their torches. It didn’t matter. He had the impulse to rush at the cage door, but he knew it would accomplish nothing.

(Open to captives!)

The battle was over before it even started. The Worldly Avatar had watched from the safety of the throne room as Mikhail's forces and the rebellion camp were squashed, running like dogs. Tailiv had been successful, as always. And he brought gifts.

His subjects had always been loyal, devout supplicants. They stood before him now in the antechamber of the citadel. Captain Taxxu and her guard. General Tailiv and his lieutenants. A half dozen robed and shrouded nobles in a line behind the throne where the Worldly Avatar sat. All of them extraneous; the Worldly Avatar was more than powerful enough to wipe them all out should he grow weary enough to break things for amusement.

He had felt the arrival long before a single mutant set foot on the planet's ground. Mikhail was an explosion to the Worldly Avatar's senses, like a shark to blood. ( It had been easy to rally forces, to send them to take Mikhail and finish what they started five years ago. )


[ Open to HAVOK, MAGIK, SKIN, SHADOWCAT, AURORA, TWINKLE. Powers are off, they have suppression collars on.]

Mikhal Rasputin was an honest man.

He had only ever been an honest man. When he arrived at Xavier's his desire had always been made clear. He had no interest in the people here, even his own family caused him little want to stay. His goal was to return home, not to Russia, but to Theia Prime, to finish what he started. No one could claim that Mikhail wasn't true about his feelings on all things, or where he stood when the line was drawn in the sand. Every second he stayed trapped on Earth, was another second where that deep resentment began to build.

His family was the only bright spot in the dark recesses of his mind. But they had their own foolish weaknesses. Power was not their first priority. It was these human connections. ( Mikhail did not understand, and so he slowly, inevitably broke away from what should have mattered the most. )


[ OPEN to the DIMENSION TRAVELLERS. Battle will start immediately upon landing and powers are on. A selection of this group will end up taken by Tailiv's forces, via their mutation suppression devices. See subhead below for details. Don't worry, you'll have things to do there, you're not out of the plot! Eventually, rebellion forces will meet for backup and the remaining characters will retreat with them.]