12287/15 Fears: The Dark Flames of War

15 Fears: The Dark Flames of War
Date of Scene:	04 August 2022
Location:	Gabby's Room - The Roost, Gotham City
Synopsis:	Gabby is visited by a nightmare of another world. Another time. Another life. And at the end she makes a fateful choice... to stay herself and not let anyone control her and to forge her own destiny. But she pays the price for such defiance in novel sensations of agony.
Cast of Characters:	Gabby Kinney, Chas Chandler

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Gabby Kinney has posed:
The room in the Roost was well kept, though there wasn't much in it these days. In one corner there was a lawn statuary of a duck standing guard for no apparent reason. It currently had a hat atop it's head bearing the logo of one of Gotham's local sports teams. For those times she needed to appear 'local' when out. The only other decorations were a replica of a WWII era Captain America promo poster, and an aged poster with cats on it being adorable.

A desk was next. It was strangely meticulous. There was a lot on it, but it was all neatly arranged and clearly had it's own spots. The laptop which was flipped open though the screen saver was on in some swirly generic abstract pattern that was, really, mesmerizing. There were also papers carefully arranged, and a little sewing kit pushed back against the wall. A container FULL of sharpies that had been arranged in a cool/warm motif instead of spanning the rainbow. The chair was pulled out to the side half-under the desk ready to be sat in at any moment.

The closet was filled with clothes, some newer and still with the tags on. Others more tactical, clearly older. A white kabuki-esque mask with red lips hangs off one hanger.

The last thing was the most important for any bedroom: A nice, cozy bed. It was larger than a Twin but not a Queen. One of those odd in-betweenie models that could fit two if they REALLY wanted to be cozy, but for a singleton it was pleasantly roomy. The pillows were plain, the bedspread a simple blue, but on it was a very large plushie of a badger.

Gabby comes in from the bathroom with her toothbrush still hanging out of her mouth as she meanders around. She'd changed into yoga pants and a t-shirt. Something easy enough to fight in if need be but also easy to change out of quickly. Barefoot she pads around the room while brushing with one hand just looking things over. She pauses by the desk to flick her fingers over the screen of her phone checking messages before letting out a sigh. No updates, that meant she could relax. It was so quiet though.

Dipping quickly into the bathroom she spits out the mouthful, rinses, and then splashes water over her face. A quick pat-dry with a towel and she's out in the room again. "Computer," she speaks up, "Tell me a joke."

As she clambers into bed, the joke is told. A horrible dad joke. "What kind of platypus has blue blood? An aristo-cratypus."

Gabby gives a giggling groan at the awful, awful joke. She tucks her legs under the blanket, and then pulls the stuffed badger close. "C'mere, Jonathan," she mumbles to the well-loved plush that she tucks beneath her chin while bodily hugging onto.

It seems she's almost ready for bed, finally, when she pauses to reach up to the cat poster on the wall to peel back the edge. Beneath it, behind it, were a series of photos. The same face repeated over and over--Her own. Only older. All had been altered adding different 'scars' in various configurations so they were all different. Only one photo was actually different; Bellona's. The albino could take her own photo after all.

"Night, sis. I miss you all. Still doing good though. Haven't forgotten any of you." A soft, sad smile is offered as she nuzzles down into the top of Jonathan-the-plush. The poster is allowed to fall back into place as she curls up onto her side spooning the plushie.

Chas Chandler has posed:
    The dream has been going on for almost three weeks. Every morning after, the dream is hazy. Visuals indistinct. The contents blurry. But the feelings it generates in undeniable. A bloodlust that borders on frenzy but fades moments after waking. While awake, the memory of the dream is thranslucent, but in the dream itself the repetition is undeniable.

    Gabby is in preparation for a battle. She's been in the war for as long as she can remember. The sky is a perpetural smokey haze that obcures the sun. The enemy ensured that darkness would cover their world from the start. Gabby doesn't remember what a sunrise looks like anymore. Sure she's seen pictures and video, but there's something special about seeing one yourself. She doesn't have that memory. She wasn't released from the tank before it was done. The smoke and darkness has been her sky her whole life. It didn't matter. It wasn't the point of the war, survival was the point.

    She suits up: a black tactical suit with deep violet accents. A red X at the shoulder joints. Her mask goes on next. Finally a carbonadium cap, fixed with a single sharp spike goes over the stump of her left wrist. She doesn't know when it happened, she wasn't awake. But a malfunction with the tank caused an abnormality in her growth. She doesn't have a left hand. Never did. It didn't matter, they made her a weapon that was suitable all the same. It matched her right hand well enough.

    The signal would come any minute. The objective was clear. Her team was to get to the target zone; set the charge; and get out. She'd lost her family for this chance. Laura, Logan, Bellona, and all the rest of her sisters had died to give them all this last shot at destroying the enemy's stronghold. But she had a new family now. Her team. Her X-Force. And this was the final shot. One last shot at victory.

    All they had to do was succeed. The echo of an old friend, a man she considered her brother, sounds off in her head. His final words before he was obliterated from existence. She heard it before every mission: "Maximum effort, Gabs. Maximum effort."

Gabby Kinney has posed:
The tanks. How could she ever forget those? The cold, clinical nature of it had always been there. Labs had always been there. No matter how much she tried to get away from it they were there, ever present, as a part of her life. Having known other things she certainly missed them all the more now that they were gone.

The sun. The laughter of a friend... Laughter? Gabby pauses to stare at her missing left hand knowing deep down something wasn't right with it. The damage was done though. But why hadn't it healed? Why had her healing factor failed her there? It didn't matter anymore. All that mattered was tonight and getting through it.

The memories of friends and family long gone cause her chest to clench as she begins to press forward. "Maximum Effort, Wade," she responds to that memory. Her voice didn't even sound right: Rough and emotional yet the emotions were ... She wasn't sure yet. This one moment mattered SO MUCH. She couldn't screw up or all else would have failed. It would all have been worth nothing.

Her friends and families lives were NOT worth nothing. She would see to that.

Clenching her fist she takes a deep breath, and starts off to where she needed to go for this mission. One last one. They were all the last one weren't they? Yet she had to keep going.

Chas Chandler has posed:
    The command comes over her comms. <<Alpha Force. Go.>> That would be the diversion team. A group of sacrificial lambs, led to the slaughter for the slim chance of victory. The explosions come moments later. A series of detonations as each member of the team activates their suicide bomb at the moment of their death, ensuring the mutual destruction of their foe.

    <<Beta Force. Go.>> The second wave, another diversion. Air support to weaken the defenses with overhead strikes. The anti-air fire from the enemy strong hold fills the sky shortly after their start their bombardment. More explosions come. More allies die. It has to work or it would all be for nothing.

    <<X-Force. On your mark.>> This was it. The moment they had prepared and planned for. This one moment. The adrenaline kicks in and a song is heard on the wind. High whines and thrums of electronic music. Of dubstep. Another nod to a man she used to know who dedicated himself to the war, but why was it here?

    She doesn't have time to linger on the why before another command comes over the comms. <<X-Force. Go.>> She's flushed from her staging area onto the field. Already the enemy is prepared. An army of artifical soldiers, each with a pulse rifle, greets the oncoming force. The energy blasts cover the field of battle and a three of her team--her family--die in the first instants. She is hit with a blaster shot, but she doesn't even flinch as the burn seals itself shut almost instantly. She can feel pain, a side effect of the purge from her system, but she's had so many injuries in her life that a shot from a pulse rifle barely registers as more than minor discomfort.

    Her claws, the left carbonadium, the right modified in the same manner as her father's cut and tear through the ranks of cybernetic soldiers one after another as she makes her way across the field.

    All she has to do is make it inside from there everything will be easier and she can end this once and for all. Fifty feet to go--two more of her team fall; six are left. Thirty feet--another one dies; five are left. Twenty--two more die; three are left. Ten--one more falls; her and another. She's at the door. Her remaining member is getting swarmed, if she turns to her, she abandons the mission and it's all over. Again that thrumming dubstep beat lingers on the wind. Abandon the mission and thrive in the violence that will surely lead to eventual death? Or discard her family in the fires of war and carry on?

    The choice is hers to make.

Gabby Kinney has posed:
No. They're down. Too late. They had no healing factor like her. She had to press on. No. Another down. Another. The pangs of pain and guilt that hit her are worse than any plasma blast that might temporarily sear a hole through her flesh. And another. By the time she reaches that door her heart is screaming out in pain at being unable to stop and help.

They had led the way here for her though so that this could be finished. Finally over. ... But if she were the only survivor, for what? What was it worth at that point? "I'm sorry."

They did this for a reason: To save others. She was willing to risk her own life for it, as were the others. It was this important. She would remember them, and if she could... if she could she'd find a way, somehow, to bring them back. Or give them some kind of peace. Somehow.

The luxury of being able to choose family over fight had ended a long time ago though. Her head ducks down and she presses onward feeling bile rise up in the back of her throat as she goes at her own choice.

Chas Chandler has posed:
    The door to the facility opens as the screams of pain from her remaining team member rise up. They're cut off as the bomb is detonated in her chest, ending her life and the life of her enemy in a single blast. The building rocks with the violence of the explosion.

    More anti-air blasts rock the foundation more, shaking dust from the crumbled ceiling tiles. The heart of the enemy's AI mainframe is in the basement of a nondescript office building. If they can destroy the computer in the basement, they can end in the war in days, instead of generations.

    So many have tried and each team has not even breached the stronghold. That's why she was called in. Her team had a habit of getting the job done no matter what. Her team. It was laughable how easy it was to throw them all away. The cold fire in her chest wouldn't die down. Would it ever after this?

    There is no resistance inside. A decline down a delivery corridor to an elevator and then down into the basement. From there? Intelligence failed.

    The elvator is silent for a moment before the low hum of its movement comes and the decent starts. Then, in the silence, that same damn song. She isn't as much of a fan of dubstep as her old mentor was. It is just too noisy for her heightened senses. But it reminds her of him. His determination. His grit. His blood. Why is it here? In an elevator? Or... no. Not in the elevator In her mind? One thing is certain, it kept her blood pumping. That heat keeps her going even as ice continues to crystalize around her heart.

    The doors of the elvator open into the heart of a machine. Wires, cords, and monitors are everywhere and there in the center of it all is a large figure seated upon a metal throne.

    She's had the face of the enemy drilled into her mind over and over since her mind was strong enough to comprehend faces. Blue, skin, the muscluar frame. The metalic armor. The red cloak. He looks just like the dossiers and reports describle him. And he's here with her.

    Alone.

    "Ah..." Apocalypse says as he opens his eyes and fixes them on her. "The ever persistent Scout. Here to do what must be done." His voice is deep, resonant, and confident beyond measure. He rises from the chair as wires and cords disengage from ports on his skin. "hat is what you are here to do, isn't it? Destroy me? Destroy all of..." he gestures around him, "this? Save the day? Or did you come here to burn like those you abandoned outside?"

Gabby Kinney has posed:
That music. That music... Maybe she'd gained a bit of Wade's insanity along the way. Maybe just a bit. The beat of the music helped to keep her motivated while her heart just felt cold and the lump in the pit of her stomach ever-present. This isn't how she wanted to live in any way, shape, or form. Nor was it how she wanted her friends to live. Which is why they fought. THEY couldn't live how they wanted, but maybe just maybe, they could give that option to others.

If she just pressed on.

Her arrival and introduction to the literal face of the enemy causes her to pause as he turns to address her. She COULD just give up, she could. The question though earns a snear held behind her mask at the sheer audacity of it.

"I'll burn in time. We all do in time. Not before I get rid of this though. We all fought for this and I'm not going to let their sacrifices go."

"I remember them. All of them." That cold chill in her heart tightens. She could hurt later. She would mourn later.

"When was the last time your family fought for you?" If he was going to try to dig at her, she could dig back. However weakly.

Nothing else is said though as she launches herself toward him, claws popping out from her good hand. She was small compared to him. That had never stopped the fight in her, not ever.

Chas Chandler has posed:
    Her claws cut and stab and tear at the massive form but nothing seems to even phase the most powerful mutant ever the adamantum cuts him just fine but his body regenerates at a rate that while not as fast as her own, is still remarkable. He let's her attack him for a time before a swing of the massive arm catches her in the stomach and knocks the breath from her body. She can feel her ribs break and even her spine snaps from the sheer force of the blow.

    "Don't you see?" he says stanidng over her. "It's futile. Even your mission here would do nothing? It was all for nothing. Destroy this place and my ship in orbit above this pathetic planet would instantly vaporize every military stronghold your puny army has."

    He steps back from her and holds his hands out. "There are only two options left for you. One, you continue this farce. You fight me here and eventually I win. I will keep you alive, so you can watch as your world, everything you know, is turned to ash. As I leave it a charred husk of what it was. Or two, join me. Become my Horseman of War and turn that anger, that hatred you feel on those who deserve it. Those who put you in this world of pain. This world of fear. This world of slaughter. Take it to them and show them what they squandered in making you their tool."

    Both options held merit. She was so tired of fighting. So tired of setting up the blocks to watch as friends, family, and allies are reduced to atoms or puddles, or worse in seconds. It was too damn much. Would it be so bad to just watch the world burn?

    Or she could take her anger, her hate, her pain and redirect it on those who used her? Did they use her? Was she really just a pawn? Even down here. If Apocalypse was not here to stop her. She sets the nuke and then... what exit strategy is there? The bomb had a 30 second timer. The elvator ride alone took longer than that. They were going to leave her to die. Another martyr for their ever growing pile.

    Or was there another option? Something that didn't result in her demise or the demise of her very world?

Gabby Kinney has posed:
As she lays there in agony listening to the calm options given to her she just... listens. Just breathes. The pain was annoying, distracting. Could she remember a time when she wasn't in pain lately, one way or another?

The music in the back of her mind echos. Pointedly she chooses to think of another song that was played once a long time ago. About a fighter with mud on their face... a disgrace... Kicking your can all over the place...

"No choice huh?" Someone told her once there was always a choice. And there was. There always was. Destroy those who had used her... Or... watch everyone be destroyed? Wouldn't he be using her then?

"It's the same thing either way. They used me, now you want to use me... You're no different."

"Why do you want to do this anyway? What's the point?" A memory nags at the back of her mind in such a way that she grins, defiantly, as an idea strikes her. That song grows louder seeming to match the stamp-stamp-clap of Queen ringing in her mind. She works to her feet where she rises up to stand taller she rocks her head one side to the other loosening up cracked and broken bones that were now beginning to heal.

"Though..." She trails off as if seriously considering the offer. Moving slowly, so as to let her bones knit and reset with audible pops as they do. Slowly... Until she states quite simply, head turning toward Apocalypse.

"All right. I've made my choice." Lifting her hand out toward him she holds it there as if agreeing to take his hand and join him.

Only for her claw to pop out and she spins in place, crouching low, so that her adamantium claw slices through the array of computers behind her seeking to do as much damage and destruction to it as she can. To delay, to waste time, to do something that might still help--but was her OWN choice.

Chas Chandler has posed:
    As the computers explode around her the roar of Apocalypse echoes and crashes through the room, destroying all of it utterly. The dream world shatters as well, leaving Gabby--the true Gabby floating in darkness. She falls, and falls, and falls. Would this be her life then, forever falling in the empty void?

    But no. There is a song in the darkness. Not a song she knows but the feel of the tune is familiar all the same. It's a battle march. It swells and grows and then a figure is there beside her.

    He looks like a soldier from a war, a modern war, assault rifle, tactical gear, bandages over his brow and his arm in a makeshift sling. But even as she looks on the soldier she can feel the weight of something bigger. More powerful than even the figment of Apocalypse she fought moments, days, lifetimes, ago. "I could've sworn with your proclivity for violence we could come to an agreement." The soldier says, his head shaking in disappointment. "A true pity. One I am sad to say you will regret more than I."

    The roar of a fire sounds behind her, but there is no light from it. No warmth, the black flame is barely visible in the void of the dreamscape. A flickering shift in the darkness. There is a person in the flame, unharmed and yet standing in its burning midsts. "Oh come off it. She wasn't made for The Risen War. She's too pure, too trusting. Violent, sure, but your violene has always been senseless. Unmotivated. She is a being of motivation and internal pain. Which is why I offered to let her watch the world burn. It's all pointless in the end, after all, isn't it? Everything burns in the end. I just want to be there to roast mashmallows." The second figure laughs. "But I don't have any, so you'll have to do!" Fire sears across her body and even with the deadening of the nanomachines in her system she can feel it. Her skin peeling away, the flesh boiling underneath, her bones cracking and bursting under heat that turns them to char in seconds.

    "I'm sure we'll both be seeing you soon enough, Ms. Kinney" the soldier says, even as she burns. "Until then, let me leave you with a parting gift.A simple taste of what we are capable of." He beats her then. Brutally and mindlessly in the void. She can't even fight back, the pain overwhelming everything. Bludgeoned and burned and torn about in the void. It lasts for days, hours, seconds, does time even have meaning here? The final thing she sees is a military boot coming down onto her skull the barest sharp impact connects with her face...

    And she starts awake in her bed. Her arms still tingle with the blisters that are there and her body feels like she was put into an industrial tumbly dryer on high setting. It's bizarre since she shouldn't feel pain, but whatever happened to her... they were able to overcome that. But she is still herself. She is still free. But at what cost?

Gabby Kinney has posed:
As the two surround her going on about how she had rejected their offers--Such shitty ones at that--Gabby can only grin. The memories of HERSELF flood back even if the fake memories still lingered. Even that Gabby triumphs in the reawakened memories knowing her loved ones were fine, her family was here, and there was still reason to fight. To keep them safe. To not give in.

Crossing her arms over her chest she proudly flips off the soldier and the flame alike with a laugh. "You're both old and outdated and your offers SUCKED."

It's all she gets out before the flames engulf her. Burn her. Before the beating begins. It was pain, it was agony. It was...

It wasn't unfamiliar. Somehow, between screams, she manages to laugh on occasion. Memories she repeats over and over in her mind to remind her of who she was. Who she cared about. Why she was strong.

Even so it's tiring. Exhausting. By the time she wakes up screaming, still vibrating with fading agony, she feels like she needs another nap all over again.

"Fucking... Fuck." Her hands clap over her face to scrub a time or two before she risks stumbling out of bed. She had to get her phone, and quick, before she forgot.