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Sunday, August 15th, 2010
| Time | Event |
| 4:15p | Can The Wicked Be Redeemed? [plot continued from When All Else Fails...] The mutant floated in permanent suspension inside of the null-gravity containment field. Every hideous wound, burn, and bruise on his body was cured from the healing properties of the alien technology that powered it. Symptoms of Victor’s concussion subsided, and consciousness rushed back to him, anxious to welcome the feral back into the world. Unbeknownst to Victor, he had been trapped in this space aged cage for almost two days. Creed lifted his head and opened his eyes. He assessed his surroundings with a low, rumbling grunt. Excluding the dim, ambient, topaz colored hue emitted from the containment field, the entire brig was shrouded in total darkness. He sniffed the air instinctively, and gathered no other scent except his own musk and the filthy blend of blood types and dirt still latched onto his skin and long hair. Victor recalled each of the events that led him into this dreadful circumstance. A clawed finger touched the strong steel still coiled around his neck, and he sighed with disappointment. With nothing else to do, he looked around the room a second time, hoping he missed a clue that would be the key to his escape. Futile desires of freedom led him to try and pull his collar off, and even search the empty pockets of his jeans for something – anything – that could aid him. In a foolhardy gesture, Creed made the motion to run forward. Unfortunately, that thrust lifted his burly, but weightless form even higher off of the ground. The blonde toppled head over heels like a circus acrobat nearly twice before the force behind that momentum weakened. Again he grunted, and repositioned himself until he “stood” upright. Despair poisoned Victor’s resolve. Dirty blonde locks draped over half of his face as he hung his head. He cursed himself in his mind for allowing the X-Men to capture him, especially after displaying a rare moment – to them - of genuine faithfulness to the cause of mutant life, liberty and prosperity. For now, he regretted coming to the mansion in his darkest hour. And he passed the time plotting revenge on each one of the X-Men who put him in this predicament. |
| 4:19p | Death is just the beginning It all happens within mere moments. First relief over a mission well done turning into shock as the giant robots with their mask-like faces crash through the woodwork. The X-Men snapping back into fighting mode. Wolverine is the first to confront them, of course. Canucklehead might be the smallest, but that certainly won't stop him from jumping into a fifteen foot tall tinman head-first. Then, suddenly, there's more of the robots. Lots more. And they're aiming at Wolverine. Instinctively, Morph charges forward, crying out as he does so. "Wolverine! Fall back!" He pushes him and Wolverine yields, jumping out of the way, hopefully out of the robots' focus for now. However, Morph forgot a very important point of the plan, he realizes, as he lifts his gaze. No time to beat himself up over it, because that second, the force blasts hit from four sides, and it's all over. It didn't even take a minute. Morph was fading in and out. The unstable molecules, so hard to truly destroy, kept a flicker of life in his battered, broken body. Not much of a mind anymore, though, just pain and fear. The force blasts had knocked him down, and one of the robots must have kicked him to the side, because he was lying in a small ditch, arms and legs in weird angles. The fighting had stopped long ago, it was quiet now, and dark. He wondered where the X-Men were - where Wolverine was. Surely, they would get him. Retrieve his corpse, at least, he thought with a detached sort of astonishment and sadness. They must. They were a team, right, and friends, too. The grass rustled next to his ear. If he could have, he would have smiled. Someone forced his eyes open with their fingers. It was not an X-Man. An indefinite amount of time later, Morph was fighting for his body and losing. Whatever it was the man, the creature, had done to him, it was trying to take him over. Feelings that had been numb as he was about to perish were reawakened. Hatred. Loss. Sadness. Anger. Disappointment. They burned him, and he pulled back, he didn't want to share his body with this destructive force. It felt as if his head would explode and it felt like an eternity Suddenly, it stopped, and he opened his eyes again. Morph laid on the lawn in front of the X-Mansion, every muscle hurting as if someone had put him through the meat grinder. But he could move, and at least his unstable body kept itself human. Morph staggered to his feet, looking up into the clear dark night sky. Whatever had happened, he wasn't sharing this form with any intruder, as far as he could tell. And he was alive, for reasons yet to be determined. Surely not because of the intervention of my faithful friends. Morph hesitated. The X-Mansion was simultaneously the only place he could return to and the last place on earth that he wanted to be at right now. Should he just knock on the front door? Current Mood:  disappointed |
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