17904/Mutant Presidents

Mutant Presidents
Date of Scene:	15 May 2024
Location:	The Smithionian Institute
Synopsis:	X Presidents get clobbered by the heroes defending the capital but Jason stays one step ahead.
Cast of Characters:	Jason Wyngarde, Fred Dukes, Neena Thurman, Piotr Rasputin, Cain Marko, Madelyne Pryor, Lorna Dane
Tinyplot:	Too Hot To Handle

---

Jason Wyngarde has posed:
"So this is a Solid Light Holo Emmitter?"

The man in the pinstripe suit smiled to the Friends of Humanity member, "That's absolutley right! Which is why we're in a room full of Ninjas...."

The Ninjas all looked at each other, "We're keeping you nice and anonymous so the muties dont find out who we are. I'm showing my face, but assure you that I am not that guy from the Music Man."
5rThere was a light chuckle, particularly from the older members of the room who had actually seen the movie. What? Bigots can enjoy musical theater too.

"Alright, everyone.....press the RED button to activate your Presidential Mutant mode..."

One by one the 46 bigots turned into mutant parodies of Presidents, Washington, LIncoln, all were present...even Presidents you never heard of.

"Now add your special facial security camera reflectiion unit so the muties cant read your iris!"

One by one they donned the small silver reflection that the hard light drive covered, but to any security camera was a paper plate with string and a presidential face in Crayon.

"Alright....let's do this..."

one by one the 'terrorists' got into trucks and drove to various destinations around WAshuongton DC

......

The city was exceptionally tense right now. Various anomolies with different security agencies reporting odd behavior by senior members and people having meetings they didnt remember having was causing tons of people to freak out, and security was absolutely at a maximum....

All according to plan.

Fred Dukes has posed:
"Jason." Fred says, before the fight. "We've been in this ridiculous game together a long time. You tried to sell me to Arcade. I threw you off a waterfall. You know, friendship. We can be honest with each other."

"Three layers is a lot." Fred says. "You're gonna get distracted or one of those fool kids is going to get all Mutant Town and like, it's not like you want for ambition. Pissing off the whole ass Chinese government. Real Mastermind moment. I got yer back, partner, but please have an out."

Now, Blob is sitting in a truck. He's dressed as William Howard Taft. It's a little frustrating. Blob isn't an idiot, though he will play one for his own benefit. He knows Taft isn't real.

"Boy I hate mutants." Blob says, "Especially that fool Sumo. He shot my cop father and my cop mother and my cop son. What kind of fat bad guy uses guns anyway. Unprofessional one."

"Anyway I'm gonna steal every gem." Blob says, stepping up off the truck and just walking towards the precious gemstones wing with a bag with a dollar bill symbol on it. "You know, for Creed's dumb kid or whatever."

Neena Thurman has posed:
It was an odd job which came through the wire, but odd jobs are kind of Domino's favorites. It's like that whole 'box of chocolates' thing except the chocolates might contain explosives. A high profile robbery with political seasoning and a unique twist no one would ever see coming? Hell, alright. With the pay being /this/ good how could she say no?

Being pulled 'from the outside' as an independent operator sort, her role in this operation is a bit different. Using one of those fancy hard light emitters she's going in under the guise of a tourist, primarily to keep an eye on matters and offer some guidance on the ground as necessary but also as a wildcard should things go far enough off the rails for a timely sucker-punch.

Perhaps the strangest part of all, however? She's going as a blonde.

"Yeah, I really don't see what all the fuss is about" she thinks to herself while looking in a mirror. Peroxide look, normal hued skin (which is a big enough shock for her right out the gate,) and a distinct lack of a property mark in the form of a black tattoo around her eye. It's the most 'normal' she's ever looked in her life.

She also kind of hates it. She had long since taken what the Project had made of her and made it her own. To now pretend to be something else is just weird. Wrong, somehow. She's not the sort to hide! But whatever, the job calls for stealth so stealth it is.

To everyone else she's some 20's something gal with a retro style camera here to do artistic touristy things and is certainly not carrying a weapon instead of a camera.

Piotr Rasputin has posed:
What could be more sedate, less action-packed and topical than a day out at the museum? These sort of cultural landmarks have been a fascination of Piotr's for some time now, across this nation and around the world. Just now, the large Russian man is clad in black denim with matching leather shoes, and a simple white button-up that's most of the way buttoned, and surveying the exhibitions of Natural History.

Because comic book artists are going to draw giant skeletal predators and not African artifacts, and not for any metaphor about the unfortunate, chaotic decline of a peak in evolutionary history, Rasputin regards the Hall of Fossils with rapt fascination.

Piotr is, to put it simply, a tourist. He is gobstruck, intrigued, taking perhaps too many photographs on his smartphone... and perhaps slightly too oblivious to the gathering of suspicious, and in some cases even more titanic than he, nay'er do wells converging on the august museum...

Cain Marko has posed:
Outside of the museum, a certain red haired brute is seated casually upon a bench, swamping over it with his monstrous arms spread out on either side of him, sun glasses hiding his ice blue eyes and a bored and disinterested look resting on his face as he allows the world to go by around him.

Even without his full 'Examplar' mode on full display...he cuts a significantly visible figure to those who move along the paths leading up to the museum entrance, bearing the sort of bulk and presence that would make an entire defensive line shrink back in intimidation ...but he pays little to no attention to any looks sent his way and something about him keeps any from being willing to engage with him for any sort of conversation. A wise choice really.

Now The Juggernaut is no stranger to the use of subterfuge, confusion and stealth when it suits him - but it's not his preferred method especially when there are a number of layers involved that one trigger participant can easily cause to go sideways. The idea of wearing a disguise may have flickered some degree of amusement in the back of his mind but in the end, he's simply' too cool for school' for that sort of thing unless he's just -really- motivated for the sake of spite or personal amusement. But he was asked to be involved, to watch out for trouble, to be a WMD as needed...so he watches and waits, his earpiece tuned in to any chatter on the Brotherhood frequency.

Madelyne Pryor has posed:
Madelyne, when she gets her hologram emitter just stares at it. "So this is ... a frame job?" She stares at it some more, rolling her eyes. "And here I thought I was gonna be, like, mind controlling people or something."

She huffs in disappointed derision. She still switches it on. There's a light hum as the disguise settles over her, the readout telling her what she looks like.

"Green Nixon?! Who gave me this!?"

A few moments later, hopefully no one notices that Green Nixon is floating towards the Museum of Popular Culture.

Lorna Dane has posed:
"Cain," a crisp, measured voice crackles in the Juggernaut's ear.

"Are you in position?"

As Queen of Genosha, participating in a triple-layer heist plot is, as they say, a bad look. Directly participating, anyway; supporting from a distance...

"We don't want to tear the place down, much as I know this probably goes against SOME part of you-- so just. Make sure things don't get too far out of hand."

... and making a few suggestions, here or there...

Her attention and the line shift: "Blob," she transmits. "Try to focus on the list I gave you. Every one of them's a piece of somebody else's history that these people felt entitled to show off, like trophies, so we want to make SURE that as much of it as possible goes missing."

... offering words of encouragement...

"Maddy..." suddenly fills the redhead's ear, a notch warmer than her other directives so far. "... just do your best to stay focused. Backstop Mastermind's illusions where you can-- and try to keep it to nonlethal subdual. You'll get to cut loose for real soon; promise."

... or just trying to keep up with all the plates this plot has spinning...

"Domino-- we need to talk," the Queen transmits to the luckbending mutant. "Soon. For now... you're the ace in the hole."

... well.

There's nothing wrong with that, is there?

Jason Wyngarde has posed:
To Fred he says, "Trust me, we're using Bigots to frame us...I'm making this as idiot proof as I possibly can...but I have multiple contigencies...I can't make it totally fool proof, but think of it as playing the lottery, sure its long odds but if we win..." he cackles...


To Madelyn he smiles, "Oh you can totally control minds... keep the idiots in line....why trust their feeble brains to follow the plan...."

Fred, Domino and Cain are all in the perfect place....but the heroes? That he wasnt counting on. He has never been one to actually believe in the occult, selling magic potions to be sure, but now he is a little....well...he is glad Lorna is here providing leadership...maintaining the moving parts of this plan is hard enough without someone guiding the team....

He does send out via the comm to the team, "We do have a special request for Captain America memorabilia from Mystique....Try not to hurt anyone, let the idiots do that...but feel free to screw up the would be heroes here...our fake cause is fake just after all..."

And so he gets to work...the trucks drive on to the range, but President Van Buren extends his Murphy Field over the city of Washington making everything most definitely NOT OK (Illusionarily) Traffic lights go wrong, wheels come off police cars, and general mayhem goes on everywhere. The presidents move into five buildings with the most valuable commonitities, its an insanely ambitious plan, that only a madman or a genius would try and Jason is no genius...but he is a carny and carnies can cheat...But...well...Spoilers!

In the museum of natural history Mutant President Lincoln traps guards in giant log cabins that prevents them from moving. The rubes think its hard light but all treat it is as totally real.

An axe wielding Mutant President Washington walks into the main librariay and takes a vibranium axe and slices open the Hope Diamond display like it was butter...

Mass Panick ensues, screaming civilians run around and scream while heroes are called to the National Treasures.....

Fred Dukes has posed:
Fred puffs out a breath.

Fake President Taft sort of looks at Fake President Washington with a giant glowing axe. They switched out the hope diamond? Who did Jason call on for this caper? And what are they going to ask in return?

A panicked guard shoots Taft. Fred turns to look at the little human. He picks up the man's gun, smiles, and takes a bite out of it, spitting the ruined pistol onto the ground. He then rips a display open, chaotically stuffing the contents, glass shards and all, into his bag.

"Nothing moves the Taft!" Blob experiments, and frowns. "Naw that ain't shit."

Neena Thurman has posed:
"I'm flattered" is Domino's initial response, covering the fact Lorna's request catches her somewhat off guard. "It can be arranged." But not so off guard as to not want to pull on that thread when it's presented, of course.

To Mastermind, she has to ask "Do you think any of his old shields on display are legit? Asking for a friend."

Viewing exibits is all fine and dandy but she's also mapping out guards, cameras, security checkpoints, restricted areas, all of the usual fun stuff, but also the people already here. One never knows who or what they might come across. Yeah there's the usual collection of bored looking guards who clearly don't want the civvies pestering them with silly questions like 'do you know where this exibit is?'

Some people stand out a little more in a crowd. Some people stand out quite a bit more in a crowd. Some people like Piotr Rasputin are in yet another tier.

A curse slips out from under her breath. "Heads up, crew. We've got a Colossus on the floor."

In fact, she's going to wander on over to Piotr to keep a closer eye on the guy. Don't mind the slightly shy looking blonde cutie who's passing the big Russkie a smile.

Then everything starts to go to Hell. Game on!

"That sounded like a gunshot!" Not-Dom tells Piotr with a note of alarm.

Cain Marko has posed:
One minute he's Justice League Dark and saving the world from invading extra dimensional horrors. The next he's aiding in a heist after already having helped to 'steal' a certain Lady Liberty. He's going to have to up his rates for how in demand he is.

"I'm here." rumbles Cain's heavy voice in response to Lorna's inquiry and then to her request she gets silence at first as he purses his lips. A sort of 'well what the hell am I doing here?' creaking across his features. Unseen due to the fact he's alone outside. But likely clearly heard in the heavy silence of him not answering back.

But then: "You're the boss." he responds, affirming his acknowledgement of her request and yielding his usual method of operating carte blanche for now. Besides, she signs the checks he's been getting so yeah. The boss.

"This shouldn't be that hard for you folk, right? I'm here for the moral support. Go team..."

Madelyne Pryor has posed:
<<Right....right,>> Madelyne thinks, choosing to telepathy at Lorna rather than speak back. Because Richard Nixon, Green Edition doesn't sound like some angry redhead.

She arrives at the museum of popular culture and hurls the doors open with a telekinetic blast. She clears her throat and affects a gravely, Futurama Nixon voice.

"I'm gonna wreck up the place!"

She skims across the ground to the gift shop and grabs a handful of overpriced canvas tote bags before she delves into the museum to begin the smashing and the grabbing.

"I always thought Mystique was a Batman kind of girl," she mutters under her breath as she hunts for the choicest loot.

Piotr Rasputin has posed:
"Bozhe Moi!" Piotr pockets his cell phone-- in its reinforced case-- and his attention shifts suddenly from the exhibits to the entrapped security around him, to the panicked attendees rushing for suddenly uncooperative means of egress.

"Everyone stay calm, stay low!" He calls out in a booming baritone, his gaze snapping to and fro as various ruckuses ring out... and the most immediate threat seem to be... Abraham Lincoln?

"Please, uh, Mr. Lincoln-- no one has to get hurt, here." Piotr steps forward, then again, towards the X-President, still in flesh and blood hominid form. His hands extended, palms open, soothing gestures. Peaceful, stalwart body language; despite ample confusion in Colossus' eyes. "Stay back, Miss." Piotr advises Domino, not even looking back to her. "Just take what you want and leave these people alone."

And the priceless artifacts as well, plzkthx.

Lorna Dane has posed:
It's chaos.

Presidents of all shapes and sizes - even presidents who've only ever existed in the realm of fiction, like Howard 'The Tub' Taft and his bottomless appetite, or IKE, the adaptive tactician practically floating through security staff as one hapless guard after another trips, stumbles, and falls over their fellows in their vain efforts to catch up - have risen up to strip-mine the collective memory of the nation's jaunts around the globe.

Luckily (?!) the X-Presidents chose the heart of the nation itself to assault, and here - here, of all places - there are measures in place to protect its treasures from all manner of dangers. The trip-lights and isolation shutters are all dead; none of the alarms are reaching past the perimeter; the cameras are next to useless, because the threat? is EVERYWHERE.

But the Smithsonian - the Nation's Capital - is not helpless.

"Now, correct me if I'm wrong, son," thunders from half a dozen feet behind the smashing, grabbing Blob, "but all that there-- I reckon it don't belong to you," mingles deftly with the steady, resonant click of patent leather soles on hard marble floors.

"Does it?"

Eyeing Taft up and down without an ounce of fear in his eyes is no less than a wiry, 6'6" vision of raw American muscle, sinew, and gumption pulled directly from countless posters, texts, screens...

"You go on ahead and put it down, and get the rest'a these boys on outta here, an' I won't lay down the hearty ass-whuppin' you've gone ahead and cut yourself a heapin' ol' slice of," he insists, rolling his star-spangled sleeves up as he advances on the tower of flesh. His stovepipe hat gets a brisk, jaunty adjustment once he's done-- and out of good faith, he plants himself just two feet of the Blob, arms folding across his chest.

"How's that sound to ya, big fella? You wanna help ol' UNCLE SAM out like a good ol' American boy, an' knock this mess off?"

As the avatar of the Nation itself approaches President Taft, panicking civilians gradually, but steadily seem to vanish from the field, amidst the chaos. Particularly observant eyes might catch a...

... lot...

... of the same unassuming, brown-haired man in a skin-tight neck to toe black bodysuit with white gloves and boots winking into existence long enough to rush civilian after civilian to cover, his/their eyes all covered by dark blue shades. Might; the Silent Majority's job is not to draw attention.

Then again: the Silent Majority's rescue operations are taking him closer, and closer, and closer to where Madelyne's working her way through the museum to hunt for loot-- and that means spikes of aggressive intent coursing right along the very edges of Madelyne's thoughtscape as several instances of the Silent Majority fix their attention on her and commence closing in.

Meanwhile, snow-white feathers begin raining throughout the museum, very sparsely and very spontaneously.

Jason Wyngarde has posed:
Jason is impressed...Uncle Sam is...he's one of those forces he doesnt like to attack....President FDR moves forward and, telepathically assaults Uncle Sam. "Let's have a fireside chat...." as he tries to make Uncle Sam feel he is on fire (yes a mental illusion within a mental illusion...turtles all the way down!!!!)

Washington rolls up his sleeves and growls chopping through several guns that security guards try to bring to bear with totaly unnarural skill...

President Millard Fillmore suddenly is coered in a steam powered armor and tries to take on the Silent Majority....

Other presidents are loading up in other buildings....

Jason is of course, a humble janitor in the corner making this all happen and "Looking terrified"

President Jefferson throws quill shaped shruriken at the feathers, worried that there might be an invisible eagle...

Police are losing wheels around the city....

Jason whispers through the comm, "Heavier than expeted opposition...there is a contingency...prepare for teleport in 5 minutes....fight, make an impact, dont get knocked out or caught and if possible be where you arent seen when teleported...."

Fred Dukes has posed:
Blob just sort of stops.

He's 'genoshian' now but part of Fred Dukes will always be a Texan. There's a part of him that always wanted to be a good American.

"Where were you?" Blob steps forward, poking Sam in the chest. "How dare you show up to me now? When I'm this? Where were you when it would've mattered?!"

A pause, and then the massive man laughs. "Aw I'm just kidding fella I'm just the Blob. I guess I should say something about how this is all stolen or something but y'all paid for most of it and for the rest."

"Might makes right." 'Taft' says, swinging a chubby fist right at Uncle Sam. "So take it from me, hoss."

Neena Thurman has posed:
The part which Piotr meant for Domino was 'stay back, Miss.' The part which she is happy to include is 'just take what you want and leave.' She has to try so hard not to break character and grin like a fiend!

While the big X-Man is trying to de-escalate, the masked albino is jogging in that 'oh my god I need to get out of here' way while in reality she's retracing steps in a route which will take her to the Captain America displays. The others can all have their smash and grab fun, but to have an opportunity to lay hands on Cap's shield? Serious frickin' bragging rights.

She may need to take a selfie later, self-incriminating evidence be damned!

"Guards're goin' apeshit, not sure which direction to turn" she comms in. "Piotr's being his usual cuddly bear self. I'm moving to the Captain's Quarters now."

Thanks to the work of other unseen actors it's going proper bonkers outside. As a civilian bystander she'd be forgiven for seeking cover elsewhere in the building, surely!

...Wait, was that /Uncle Sam?/ "Ooh yeah, it's a party." She hasn't seen this much frantic energy since Deadpool accidentally dropped a live grenade in the middle of Saint Margaret's!

'Accidentally.'

A five minute warning is given, prompting Domino to set the timer on her watch. "Five, confirmed."

Cain Marko has posed:
The Juggernaut - doesn't move. It's not the same sort of immovability that Blob has no. That's his and his alone.

This is the more petulant 'I'm not helping. I'm not helping. Do you see me not helping?!' sort of immovability of an annoyed older sibling listening in and looking on as his chaotic younger brothers and sisters get themselves into a world of trouble he'd rather they just get themselves out of.

But he -is- on the clock after all.

"The hell is happening in there..?" he rumbles, voice a menacing annoyed growl as he hears the comm chatter and then sees the crowd of people fleeing in a panicked chaotic torrent from the entrances and exits of the vast musuem.

"What sort of opposition? Who is it?"

He grimaces, frowning and remaining still. A lone mountain range in the sea of the masses that are running for their lives.

"Hrrnnngh!!!"

Cain Marko stands up, slowly, and begins walking towards the museum.

Piotr Rasputin has posed:
In the lack of overt violence or confrontation, Piotr does what a true hero of the people does: the casually well-dressed, towering Russian tries to keep struggling, panicked people calm and guide them to the exits.

Since nothing is properly locking down and Presidents are thieving and confronting Uncle Sam outside Colossus' immediate field of view, getting as many civilians clear as possible seems to ideal move. So it is that barring blockaded guards, this particular Hall is soon much quieter than it began, with the X-Man surveying the grounds from a side exit-- an emergency door with, presently, no klaxon. Convenient!

"Go up the street, keep your heads down." Piotr offers in hushed, but commanding tones. "Tell emergency responders to keep their distance; there are superhumans here." It's the only thing that makes sense. ... not that this, you know-- MAKES SENSE.

A Hall down, and his Russian-tinted yet superb English is intensely directed towards Dukes and-- Uncle Sam? One more bizarre vision, or subscriber to these strange shenanigans. Obviously. "Too much art is at risk here! Do not fight over that which is -priceless-!" It's plaintive, passionate, spoken with all the tin man's big, heartland heart.

Madelyne Pryor has posed:
Madelyne can feel the fuzz of impending aggression in her mind. This isn't too unusual except that it's multiple instances that are functionally identical. -That- is weird. Green Nixon frowns and the Dead President starts to pull things into the tote bags with telekinesis. Cap's original helmet. A hunk of Tony Stark's first suit. Bits and bobs of superhero history that she literally doesn't care about.

She skims quickly, pulling at random and tracking the impending violence. Or what she assumes will be impending violence. She's also trying to decide how hard to fight against it.

Lorna Dane has posed:
There are 46 X-Presidents robbing the Museum.

48 pure, white feathers fall from high above, in all-- one for each X-Pres;

and one for Domino, touching down on her shoulder as she snatches the most famous shield in the country;

and one more for Cain Marko, the trudging Juggernaut.

NOTHING moves the Blob.

Not even patriotism--!

And that's fine: as the avatar of America, if there's one thing Uncle Sam is most definitively NOT, it is 'afraid of a fight'. Blob swings, hammering the wiry symbol right in the gut with his powerful fist and doubling the man over with a wheezing groan that crumples him over the giant's arm.

"... hh-- heh," he grunts, doubled over and unsteady. "Y'know, son-- fair enough--"

Still crumpled, Uncle Sam cinches his arms around what he can of 'Taft's gargantuan midsection.

"-- can't fault a red-blooded Texas man from backin' down from a fight, now can I--?"

The thing is: 'what Uncle Sam can reach' appears to be a moving target, because fingers that were gripping the beginnings of lovehandles just moments ago are now winding around the Blob's back, while those steel-corded arms just get tighter, and tighter, and tighter around his body.

By the time he grunts, "... 'cause I sure as hell ain't never backed down from one neither-- no matter HOW big'a one it was--!" Uncle Sam is nine feet tall and rapidly counting, trying his damndest to engulf Fred in his sheer bulk-- to hold him down, if dislodging him isn't an option.

All he has to do is figure out how to pin a man who's never taken one that he didn't get paid handsomely for.

"... an' as for you, son..." he hisses, eyes shifting just enough to lock unerringly upon FDR.

"Jus' like ol' George ain't never told a lie, Uncle Sam ain't one for tricks--!" he thunders through the flames licking invisibly, heatlessly all over his body, insistent that they're real.

Nevermind that - even as he grows, and grapples with Fred, he is buckling-- shuddering, beneath the strain of trying to wrestle a titanic body, coupled with the flickering psychosomatic strain of flames that his consciousness knows are fake, but the human flesh around it does not.

Out of nowhere, Maddy's assaulted by a swiftly moving body on her left, seeking to elbow her in passing. A split-second later, another comes for her legs, trying to chop-block them out from under her; and then one tries lunging for her upper body; another, for her arms...

In a matter of seconds, the Silent Majority is an army intent on bogging Madelyne down, even as several more of him are handily wrapped up by the armored Fillmore.

President Jeffersom, meanwhile--

President Jefferson is gone.

President Jefferson is screaming.

President Jefferson is wearing a face that isn't his-- a face twisted in inchoate, neverending rage that drops him to his knees where he claws, helplessly, to free himself of it.

In another wing, another President - Cleveland - wears another face still. Sinking to the ground next to the ruins of a display, he clutches his knees to his chest and rocks back and forth, sobbing-- shaking, violently.

Out on the periphery of the madness, a third face - mad, grinning with deceit - SLAMS directly into Cain Marko's head. Unlike the dupes drawn into Jason Wyngarde's scheme, however, the face has a much harder time finding purchase on Cain's body, in his psyche: it babbles endless, burbling schemes and plots that only he can hear-- ambitions of treachery that try, desperately, to overtake him, only to clash against the ruby gates that Cyttorak himself has erected around his mind. Frutilessly, it flows, thrashes, gnaws at his body with teeth sharp enough to shatter diamonds between them--

Lorna Dane has posed:
-- and all the while, its master - a small, spindly man orbited by four more ephemeral faces twisted in various states of emotional excess, with a comb where his mouth should be and wooden tiles bearing the letters 'B' and 'H' instead of eyes - erupts through the contours of perception, lunging at the Juggernaut to assail him with a furious onslaught of thundering blows and a storm of teeth, at least one set of which are wickedly pointed.

"Die already," the monstrous half-man John Dandy emanates, despite his lack of a visible mouth, "just die--- you're a DISGRACE--!"

Oddly, this is punctuated by one of the faces assaulting Juggernaut vanishing.

Odder still, for Domino:

A cackling, uproarious visage flies towards her, intent on corrupting her with its psychotoxic influence and breaking her will down with hideous laughter.

Jason Wyngarde has posed:
Jason is horrified....he expected opposition, and didnt even have the great ten show up...clearly America has assets he didnt expect and he accelerates the teleport..."Teleport in 60 seconds..."

the Bigots of course, are pawns and always were pawns...he has, of course a successful back up for all of this...

Flashback

"So of course protocol Zed means we replace these items with Hard Light constructs and deposit them in the new vault..."

"Are you sure?"

"I trust this official completely..."

"Alright sir...you heard him folks...transfer these goods..."

The real Heist? Yeah that took place 24 hours earlier and the Government moved all of it....to where trucks now move the stored items in the...not as real locations as expected to waiting ships in the harbor, all while replicas, made more real by a Jason that has been running this illusion for WEEKS....

Flashforward....Jason cant adjust the illusion right now, not yet or undo the damage, but he can try to coordinate and say, "Find out who the feather horror guy is...counter attack!" If the mutant X presidents can do doom, let them do it....

Fred Dukes has posed:
Blob watches Uncle Sam grow, genuinely impressed. "That's some good witchcraft." Blob admits, struggling with the Spirit of America. Size is a problem; Blob is a big man (and likes a big cereal) but he can be outsized by a shapeshifter which means his all important control of the ground is threatened. Blob does not move: the ground shudders, even with all the wealth of America reinforcing the building.

Then fucking Colossus. Always fucking Colossus.

Whatever lie Mastermind is spinning will probably work. Even then he's just the distraction. But Rasputin'll know him. They've been fighting on and off since they were kids. Fred scowls as Pitor calls for the preservation of art.

"Everything I break in here." Blob says, tiny, piggish eyes narrowed, "Is dedicated to you, Colossus. Art ain't real. The only real thing is force and what you can get with it. We're living proof of that."

Hearing the call to escape, Blob grins savagely at Uncle Sam, giant and hugging him, and pulls his head back to smash into Sam's chest. A headbutt is fifty points.

Madelyne Pryor has posed:
One moment it's impending violence. The next, the Goblin Queen is swarmed by a horde of the same person. She is, while fairly fit, not a fighter. The strikes hit her and she's dragged to the floor, buried under a press of bodies. Luckily she's not claustrophobic. Still, it's a lot. She can't see, she can barely breathe, it's pretty terrible.

It just makes her mad, though.

The thing about Madelyne Pryor is that she is a genetic, exact copy of Jean Grey. Which means she has the same potential. The same limits. (Ignore the flaming space bird, it's not in this equation.) She just lacks the practice and the training. She lacks the soft touch.

In her is power.

Green Nixon erupts into green and violet psychic flame, and she roars in defiance and rage. With the roar is a telekinetic shockwave, hurling the Silent Majority away from her, shattering windows and cracking walls. Nothing in the same room as her is unscathed.

"Don't you fucking touch me!"

She ascends, in all of her Nixon-y glory, wreathed in psychic fire. "How dare you try and confine me! ME! I am the G--Tricky Dick!"

She vents more psychokinetic blasts and waves, heedless of the destruction she's causing. She just wants to hurt the Silent Majority very badly.

Though the alert that the exfil has been accelerated makes her skim backwards through the air, trying to round a corner and get out of the duplicator's eyeline.

Neena Thurman has posed:
The Shield. THE sh--well one of them. "Cripes this thing weighs a lot" Domino hisses while dragging the former Captain America relic from a now shattered display. "Respect for the biceps."

She's good on time, hasn't yet lost her cover, and is moments away from a speedy and subtle exit and -- feather? Wait /what the Hell is THAT?!/

Blondie's brown eyes immediately grow wide a split second before she turns and /runs/ from that horrid awful cackling THING now chasing her! "Shit's goin' south fast, I'm Oscar Mike for exfil! Where's my ride at?!"

She's seen the news, watched Captain America's moves. Now with what she sure believes is one of his actual shields in hand the first thought to come to mind is to flee the scene by shield-bashing her way through a window like a cannonball.

On one hand, Luck be a Lady, this shield may honestly be legitimate and not one of the decoys.

On the other hand, the person behind it lacks the original owner's strength.

Rather than crash through the windows in dramatic fashion the pale mercenary lady and shield both bounce right off of the now cracked glass and is sent tumbling, landing in a wholly unexpected but incredibly fortunate shield-slide straight down a stairwell before colliding with another display. Looks like it might have been a replica of Wolverine's claws. Surely THOSE aren't legit. He's still using them, last she knew.

It's as she's getting up that something unexpectedly smashes into the shield, bleed-over from other fights (probably from Madelyne over there) but the shield deflects the debris and lets Domino keep her head in one piece.

"Really lookin' for that exit!"

Cain Marko has posed:
Fruitless, perhaps, to a degree - but not completely - for Cain in his arrogance and standoffishness to a heist he found 'beneath him' had failed to don his armor and helmet and so pays a certain price for his arrogance and lack of commitment to the efforts of The Brotherhood in this place and time. Lesson learned, hopefully. Maybe.

"Nnrrrgh! Get out of my head!"

But his body? His strength? That is inviolate. The armor of The Juggernaut - even the added size of his full Exemplar form - that's all just visual dressup and an expression of ego and might of Cyttorak. The size at least. The armor -does- have its uses but that's not what makes Cain invulnerable despite assumtions to the contrary. No, he simply -is- that strong and invulnerable. Always and forever the Exemplar of Physical Power and as the claws slash and teeth gnaw at him and tear at his form, shredding his garments and clawing at his eyes, they find no purchase on his form which now stops its forward approach to reach massive arms up to grasp for the swarming figure to pull it free and if a successful grip is obtained, to whip an arm around and hurtle it away. It's in no partcular direction as Cain doesn't care at this point. Maybe a tree, maybe a car, maybe a wall, or even a crowd of peole may be in the way or maybe his attacker will just wildly sail clear across the entire grounds of the museum and beyond until gravity pulls it downward into whatever waits for it upon the ground.

In the wake of this, red light flashes and mystic energy crackles, engulfing the titanic body of the giant and increasing his size double, triple fold and then some - now armored and in full regalia and his eyes full of rage.

Piotr Rasputin has posed:
"That-- that doesn't even make -sense-."

The somewhat camouflaged Blob does not seem to have rolled a compelling speech check on Piotr. It does however momentarily flummox the massive Russian; or maybe that's the chaos escalating all around them. "Lenin's Ghost! Why must we all be so ready to -destroy- for avarice and hate!" Colossus would shed a single, manly tear, but innocents and artifacts remain in danger.

Heedless, Piotr steps in the way of a falling chunk of masonry that hurtles through the hall's wall as Madelyne unloads on the alleged Majority (he hasn't checked the math). Where an instant before a being of all too squishy flesh and blood, bone and sinew stood fearless between a fleeing family and falling rubble, a coursing energy surges from inward out, suffusing Colossus.

In that blink of an eye, nearly seven feet of Russian becomes nearly eight feet of Russian. His jeans tear at the ankle and up each calf, his finely pressed shirt shreds from his body, and fear not true believers and fans of PG ratings-- his belt has give for just this occasion! A human forged of pure, form-flexing bands of organic osmium steel uppercuts that rubble to dust, consciously turning -away- from Dukes to do so. That fight does not need to happen... here. Lumbering, footfalls like encroaching thunder, Piotr advances on the fray surrounding Cain outside.

Lorna Dane has posed:
"Art's what separates us fr

"HROOOOOOGH--!"

Even National Avatars need to breathe, and Blob's head-ass head has successfully impeded Uncle Sam's ability to do so by cracking two of his ribs. He staggers and releases, just long enough for the fleshy titan to slip free-- and the Spirit of the Nation's need to keep a size advantage means that while he has the benefit of long, loping steps to chase after 'Taft', the cramped environs make maneuvering nearly impossible.

And that's without accounting for the chaos unleashed by John Dandy. There is no accounting for the chaos unleashed by John Dandy: Uncle Sam has no clue who, or what in tarnation a 'John Dandy' even IS, because HIS briefings included the Silent Majority and the rest of the Force of July as stand-bys, not--

(Pres. Harrison's blood-curdling screams can be heard in all five buildings of the Museum as he flees for his life, wearing one of those faces.)

-- this.

Domino is fortunate, in that her shocked, but dynamic and ultimately fearless response not only earn her a narrow escape by the skin of her teeth-- the cackling face on her heels banks to a stop just as it breaches the window behind her, nostrils flaring as it catches the scent of Hoover crawling away with a ripped loot sack. As the albino woman flees, her pursuer snaps right around to home in on new, sweetly terrified prey.

Outside, Cain experiences a similar, if infinitely more progression of events: one by one, those faces fruitlessly biting at his unbreakable skin wink out of existence, hurtling at X-President after X-President to incapacitate them with crippling envy, shame, gluttony...

Eventually, this just leaves massive, ruby-armored Juggernaut and willowy John Dandy looking way, way up at him with 'F' and 'Y' in his eyes. Even without the features for expression, the pregnant moment where he sizes the Destroyer up-- considers how long he'd have to gnaw at those massive ankles to fell him-- says it all-- as does the annoyed snort that precedes him hunching onto all fours and springing away, loping towards the museum in search of easier -- more fearful -- prey.

He certainly won't be finding it in Nixon's vicinity. He won't be finding much of anything but seething rage, burning wreckage, and melting, protoplasmic flesh barely bound by semi-intact bodysuits, as Madelyne Pryor zips towards egress, leaving what's left of the Silent Majority in her wake. A scowl actually crosses his impassionate features; a fist balls at his side, trembling-- but alas.

Not only is she faster than he is--

"-- ourselves a problem over here, Maj--!" crackles over his comms, booming so loudly as to be audible even beyond them. Why?

Because even though it's absolutely wretched for pursuit, Uncle Sam is still growing-- only now, it is to do his best to sweep up screaming, crying, maddened X-Presidents and the devilishly nimble thing spawning them, detaching faces from the broken and sending them onwards to find new victims.

The teleport signal is impending, and - thanks to the complications introduced by the Museum's defenders - largely unopposed.

Jason Wyngarde has posed:
BWEEEEP and just like that the Brotherhood (And almost Domino but she has her own path) but including Cain Mark are teleported to a nearby barge, cloaked and heading out to see with a plethora of literally priceless treasures on board...its hard to put a price on the priceless but...lets say...Air Craft Carrier range...Jason smiles widely as he looks at DC vanishing behind in the setting deeping night sky as the sun sets and confused bigots all over DC are arrested...gonna take the FBI a while to sort this one out but unless they are INSANELY thorough it looks pretty damning for he bigots.....

Fred Dukes has posed:
"What." Blob says, a little punch drunk from headbutting a demigod. "Hold. Hold on there."

Blob sits down ponderously. "Okay so I was threatenin' to cause more damage if you didn't back off, Pete, while implying how we all solve our problems by punching shows Magneto's original 'survival of the strangest' philosophy is the most accurate to our troubled world. None of that weepy Acolyte shit."

"I think my head's bleeding." Blob says, staring at the Wright Brothers's plane. "Never got to go to this as a kid. Couldn't afford the bus fare."

VOIP! The teleport grabs Blob.