20376/Of Aliens, Telepaths and Poor Choices

Of Aliens, Telepaths and Poor Choices
Date of Scene:	05 April 2025
Location:	Abandoned Apartments
Synopsis:	It's a good thing Power Suppression Collars made for Mutants really aren't effective against Symbiotes!
Cast of Characters:	Christian Frost, Kim Hayes

---

Christian Frost has posed:
Christian Frost has not spent much time in Mutant Town since coming to New York. He's a fan of the Saints and Sinner's Club and has a lien on a particular detective agency's building, but most other experiences here have been decidedly negative.

After all, he looks out of place among the destitute and visible poverty of the area, prime picking to be robbed, and the general area has been recently preyed upon by mutant traffickers. Mutant Traffickers he might have walked into the hands of a few weeks ago and only saved by, as far as Christian is aware, his own panic. This, as far as Christian is aware, resulted in one of his astral monsters killing the three men who attempted to collar him.

It was a first. First time his own astral nightmares didn't try and kill him. First time they'd targeted someone else. As far as Christian is aware, he panicked and killed three people. It didn't matter to him that they had meant him harm, he lost what little control he has and killed them.

And Emma wouldn't get him a power-suppression collar.

Emma was willing to help with the addition, block his power temporarily and advised against a power-suppression collar. But-Christian wanted the week without power to work.

Christian Needed the week Emma was granting him to Work.

He killed people.

He's been trying to ease off usage already. Waiting as long as he can stand before the craving becomes painful, taking as small of doses as he can manage to stave off full withdrawal and silencing the world again. A power-suppression collar would give him the chance to try and sleep without the Ketamine, to try and get to a group session without hearing the press of everyone else's problems, to try and see if he can fight the cravings if he's not fighting the press of society. Start trying to ensure that when Emma was protecting the world from him, he would actually be able to make good on the opportunity.

A power suppression collar meant he could practice powerlessness and ease back on 'recreational' suppression Before going cold turkey.

The only place Christian Frost has ever seen a power suppression collar was Mutant Town's mutant trafficer's attempt in the moment before the 'astral monster' broke it and they were eaten (Astral monsters don't eat, right??? He doesn't know.). If Emma wouldn't get him one, if being involved would hurt her connections and reputation, that's fine. Christian would get one himself.

Christian Frost has posed:
Now, Christian walks the streets of Mutant Town slightly dressed down. He still sticks out, still too clean, his clothing too crisp and a few dollars too much. But his gate is easy, as if headed toward the Saint's and Sinner's Club like usual, the vape the only thing keeping any grip on himself.

His head hurts already. That awful prickle of stress pressing against his heart, his head, hands clenched in pockets, jaw set, eyes shielded behind sunglasses shift uneasily. This is the rare attempt to use the damn curse of an X-gene. Christian is listening, looking for someone who's searching.

He's not good at it, can't reach deep or filter through things, but a scan for someone looking for victims. Something that stands out-someone who might have a damn collar he can take.

There's so many people here-this is stupid. How's he going to get the collar once he finds someone hunting mutants? He hadn't gotten that far yet-But he's in his right mind this time, surely he can keep a grip-right?

It's not like he's ever managed that before-

He's not going to think about it-last time he was approached first-someone who'd looked like a dealer-

"You looking for som'thin?"

Christian stops and stares at the man. Silent.

The man looks at Christian and sees an the crumpled sleeve that is rolled up and down too often. Sees the gauntness without the strength of a fitness nut. Sees the wealth and gate of someone looking for something. Christian can't push deeper, isn't sure this isn't just another dealer. He does Not Need another Dealer. "No Kick."

The man flinches, glancing around as Christian speaks openly, but it's enough for him to immediately fill with relief. Good guess, wealthy mutant, he might be worth a lot and could be ransomed if the 'gift' is useless. Only mutant addicts care about if anything is cut with Kick. The man shakes his head, "No, no inhalers, not-no. First try free."

Kim Hayes has posed:
    'If at first you don't succeed, try, try again.'

    The age-old adage is absolutely antithetical to Kimberly Hayes's inner nature. A more personally appropriate phrasing for her might be, 'If at first you don't succeed, why did you bother in the first place?' (With an exception clause, of course, for video games, being an easy source of dopamine.)

    And yet, the brunette finds herself once again following along in the wake of Christian 'Price,' almost hugging the brickwork as she ventures into Mutant Town, trying to keep a reasonable distance without losing the trail.

    When she sees the blond being approached by what looks to her like a probably dealer, she slips into an alley and leans against the wall to spy on the ensuing conversation from a distance, heart pumping in her chest.

    << Haze: We do not protest your delicious fear, Hayes, but we question it. >>

    << Kim: We're stalking a literal telepath, dude. I can't believe he hasn't spotted us already. Not to mention, that Kit Kat still isn't hitting yet. >>

    << Haze: They don't have enough chocolate to energize fully. >>

    << Kim: Not what I meant -- hey, shush, dude. This is perfect. We're gonna catch this dude scoring. >>

    She pulls her smartphone out of the pocket of her hoodie -- a purple one this time, because she's not dumb enough to wear the same hoodie /again/ while stalking Christian -- and starts pulling up a camera app. Not wanting to be too conspicuous, she pulls out her own vape pen and starts taking a drag while pretending to doomscroll, waiting for a chance for a good blackmail shot.

    << Kim: If I can get this right, you won't even have to meet the guy... >>

    << Haze: You rarely let us meet anyone, Hayes, even though it went so nicely when we met your friend. >>

    Under her breath, Kim mutters, "Yeah, well, this dude's not my friend."

Christian Frost has posed:
"I said No Kick. Not in any form. Nothing."
"Right, right, no Kick, I promise no Kick. But please-"
"Tell me what you're selling."
"Not here-Not here. Just around the block, we have a little party set up-" The man is already starting to step away, waving Christian to follow him. Words easy and sure, "Taste-testing. Sir, we can't be sorted out here-"

The man is annoyed that Christian is so unabashedly willing to deal openly. But the emphasis on no Kick seems to make the man think that Christian must be pretty powerful, whatever it is he does. No matter, collars work all the same.

Christian just stares at the man, watches his steps slow as he waits to see if Christian is willing to follow.

Is he really going to do this? What's he going to do? Try and summon another blasted monster in order to leave? It's not like Christian can control the things. Or summon them at will. Or-is it even summoning? Making? Projecting?

The man thinks Christian is hesitant to try something new, the smile is immediate, hands up, "Okay, okay, not interested, I get it. No pressure, it's just around the corner. You can leave if you don't like it."

Get a collar, get out. Emma never has to know, this is ensuring that the second chance will work. "I'm interested."

The pair move away from the more populated areas of Brushwick, as promised only a block or so away. Christian quiet, the man's words empty assurances.

The abandoned apartments are even more decrepit than the surrounding buildings, half of the lower floor open to the elements. This is skirtedd, navigating away from this raw and open ruin toward the area of the building more structurally sound.
As they move from many minds of the mainstreets to fewer, Christian's attention remains on the thoughts of the man he's following. Sure now this is a trafficker, but unable to see a plan, unable to push past the surface and see where they are going, who will be there- However, something itches off. Like hearing one's name in a crowded place, or thinking that's a familiar form in the distance, some sense of familiarity that is nearly impossible to put a name to.

Or maybe that's the clawing anxiety and stress that comes with the barely-sober that he's working with right now.

Christian stops and looks around, not a good enough telepath to be able to reach out and scan mentally, and not yet entering the building.

The man with him stops, looking back with a growing annoyance, "What's up?"
"We're being followed." Christian is sure of this, unsure of who, someone familiar, someone he's talked to, but he spoke without thinking, the man is looking spooked.

"You a cop?!"
"No!"
"Who then-"
"No, no, just-um-just a friend! Just-shit man, not everyone is chill, even in Brushwick!" Christian's hands are up quickly, not willing to let this chance at a collar slip through his fingers, familiar mind or not be damned.

Kim Hayes has posed:
    The soothing sensation of the vapor entering her brain through her lungs combining with chemicals already imbibed before and the relief that her trouble in Monkey Heaven might be just about solved is enough to lull Kim into a sense of temporary bliss. She lets her body relax against the wall, closing her eyes and consciously taking a deep breath through her nostrils. Unprompted, she finds herself slipping into a montage of highlights from her recent encounter--

    << Haze: Hayes. Hayes! They are leaving. >>

    "Whuh?"

    Kim's eyelids flutter back open, and she turns around and leans past the brickwork to see that Christian and the dealer wandering off. She raises the phone to quickly snap a picture or two, but it's a blurry shot, and nothing incriminating beyond mere association.

    "Fuck!"

    Still a bit lightheaded, but with a renewed sense of both frustration and purpose, Kim shoves her hands into her pockets and starts pursuing the pair, her steps verging on too obviously brisk. With a little luck, she might be dismissed as having a sensible haste for a woman walking through a deprived neighbourhood. She has to pick up the pace as they round the block, coming around the corner just in time to find that Christian and his dealer have stopped only several feet away, and to hear the exchange:

    'We're being followed.'

    'You a cop?!'

    'No!'

    Kim sees the glint of a weapon on the verge of being drawn as things seem to slide into slow motion.

    Suddenly, a memory flashes through Kim's mind.

    'Hey, that wasn't nothin' to do with me! They had nothin', man -'

    'And now you bring a fuckin' UCO to my patch? Fuck you, Carlos!'

    *BLAM*
    *BLAM*
    *BLAM*
    *BLA-*

    << Kim: NO! >>

    "CHRISTIAN!!"

    There's thunder in her chest as Kim is suddenly crashing into Christian, throwing her arms around his neck.

    "DUDE, you didn't wait for me!" she says, loosening her arms but still keeping herself in overly-familiar proximity to the blond as she turns to face the dealer. Knitted beanie, hoodie, glossy eyes, flushed cheeks, overly-delighted smile, poor sense of personal space; the only reason that Kim could not be mistaken for a junkie is that one would not be mistaken for thinking her to be one. She's being an incredibly method actor, here - only feigning the friendship for the sake of putting herself in between the dealer and his mark. She's much more confident in her own ability to stand up to getting shot than Christian's -- and the last thing she would ever allow is another gangland murder on her head for being in the wrong place at the wrong time, even if the guy is kind of her nemesis right now.

    "You've got enough for both of us, right?" she asks the dealer with a glazed smile.

    The bemused hissing of the Symbiote in her mind is barely noticeable over the rush of adrenaline.

    << Haze: And now you act, when for once, inaction could have solved your problems... >>

Christian Frost has posed:
GUN?!

Christian isn't sure who's mind he's getting the rush from, but he sees that flash of metal moments before arms are around him and he's stumbling back. Though Christian catches himself and-Who-? Wait. What?

Christian just stares at Kim.

That's work-life. That's work-brain. That's cocaine-brain and fumbling through the apparent clarity of cocaine-thoughts while not hopping-here he is struggling to remember anything important about this person who should not be existing in his personal life.

Oh she is Highhhh and-what?

The Dealer is just as stunned, but the gun is not fully yanked out, the appearance of the stranger not enough to fully take the man's wariness away. Could be a set-up. She's not dressed as nicely as Christian is-Christian wasn't expecting her. Might be risky-

Shit, the dealer is going to back out. No Collar for Christian. Shit! Shit! Shit!

Christian's arms are around Kim in a moment, hugging her tightly, almost scooping her up with a laugh, "Hey hun! Didn't realize you'd be out today! You scared me! Text! Please sweetie!"

The dealer's grip on the gun in his pocket loosens, this might be okay. Might still be worth it, but still weird an openly wealthy mutant walking around this area, this chick appeared out of no-where-

The dealer isn't convinced yet.

Christian is surprisingly apt at fitting in socially where he needs to-when he cares to put the effort in. Suddenly sure the effort is needed, all alarm gone. All the disregard for personal space leaned into, a kiss on Kim's forehead and pulling away from her grip only slightly to beam down at her. His tone the bright teasing of familiarity, "Texxxttttt! Remember? I'm just trying something new, but You're kinda out of it, maybe shouldn't double-dip today?"

"Yeah, it's a party, more the merrier!" The dealer's words are easy again, Is this two muties? Is this a jackpot? He's just been looking for one, "Come on, just through here-"

Christian will hum, arm linking with Kim's as the mild horror of what he's just done settles on him. The dealer watching them both more carefully, but moving again, waving them into the apartment building.
This was not the plan.

As doubtful as Christian is that he can defend himself, he is doubly unsure he can defend Kim. This just became more complicated. Was she a mutant?! Was he dooming her? This is bad.

Collar.
Kim.
Collar.
Kim.

The dealer knows his face now and was barely convinced. Christian might not have the opportunity to get a collar on a second attempt. Traffickers might avoid him. Might-He doesn't know. He can't push into this man's mind, can't tell how scared of the law he is, how the organization works, what backing out now will do to Christian's own chances to try again.

Damn it.

As the pair follow the dealer, Christian leans down, his demeanor all smiles tone still bright, just a guy whispering something fun to a friend! Nothing to see here, but words much softer, "Kim sweetie, I'm kinda in the middle of something and it'd be great for both of us if you weren't here, can you do that for me? Be, Somewhere Else?"

As they move through the building, the number of minds is felt rather than heard. A lot of Minds.

Loud. But indistinct in the push.

But they are, Very Loud, jumbled. Like a loud bar. Nothing to pick out, but that doubt is back, Christian going tense despite wanting to keep up the act.

He isn't able to keep the thoughts of others out at the best of times and this? It feels like they are walking towards a raging concert of thought. Thoughts that are Screaming.

Minds don't usually scream. Christian thought he would risk it if it was just him. He's not sure anymore. Arm linked with Kim tightens, steps falter and though his tone will remain honey-sweet, he's slowing . "Honey, maybe neither of us should be here."

The Dealer notices the slow, "It's okay, it's okay, not much further. Whole afternoon free, if you don't like it, you can go."

The man is lying. Collars never fail. The dealer wants them just a few more steps, an apartment

Christian Frost has posed:
The man is lying. Collars never fail. The dealer wants them just a few more steps, an apartment to the right. There are drugs there, there are collars there.

There are other victims there. Lured in with the promises of a nice time, collared the moment the stuff has done it's magic and made them docile.

Christian is not a hero and at this point the the clamber of thoughts is almost deafening. He doesn't want to be here, but they are so close. He sees the dealer's patience is a wire, strung tightly with stress and greed. The man only sees money when he looks at Kim and Christian.

Kim Hayes has posed:
    Thinking on her feet is getting harder for Kim with every passing moment as the narcotics are starting to hit together, mixing with the mellowing effect of coming down from the blood rush. Technically she'd probably be triple-dipping if she were to take something else at this point. Maintaining the separate identities of stalker on a mission to incriminate Christian and drug-happy tagalong who doesn't want him to get shot at the same time is also getting trickier -- so she decides to commit to the one that takes less thinking (and, at this point, less acting).

    "Yeah! The more the merrier, dude!" Kim echoes the dealer, squeezing Christian's side.

    Her brain is surprisingly quiet as they wander further in. It seems that the anxiety overload that drove her to action has faded to a fuzzy loop of USS's 'This Is The Best' playing on repeat to self-soothe. Haze is also remaining silent - instinctively aware that communicating with its host will almost certainly give its presence away in these close quarters with a telepath.

    Christian's private admonition, though, seems to at least partially rouse Kim's consciousness, and she looks up at him, mouth slightly agape in her intoxicated state.

    "Look dude, I'm not gonna get you in shit," she assures him. Sure, she had originally planned to get him in shit, but then the shit had gotten a whole lot deeper than she was comfortable with. "I'm cool."

    She knows how to navigate this kind of situation; she's gone to all kinds of sketchy lengths to get fixed before.

    She's also totally unaware of the fact that this isn't just a drug den.

    That's why, when Christian starts to slow, she slips his grasp despite its tightening and staggers forward, through the door on the right, casting a glance back over her shoulder and smiling. "You coming?"

    A few steps into the apartment, she suddenly comes to a stop, her head tilting slowly to one side. There should be somebody waiting for them with the drugs, right? But there's a couch, a table with half-used piles of narcotics, like somebody left without finishing. "Yo, where's...?"

    She doesn't notice the collar being clipped into place around her neck until it hums with activation.

    She looks down, raising an eyebrow. Her expression is more one of confusion than anything.

    "Uhh, dude. Nobody told me it was gonna be that kind of party..."

Christian Frost has posed:
Wasn't this Miss Loud Mind? Christian isn't sure right now, everything is loud. Everyone is loud. He is not accustomed to needing to be brave.

And then she's gone. The dealer holds the door open, she's beaming like things are fine and he can hear the minds of so many screaming-

Darkness, hands tied, can't scream, best shit ever, big payout, can't scream, can't move, best trip in weeks, worst thing,

The snippets of whoever else is in this building are too much, Christian rounds the corner in time to see the collar activate around Kim's neck.

"Yeah, yeah, That kind of party-" The dealer who brought them here's voice is easy, the another man in the room stepping forward-

But both immediately see that Christian knows better. Christian stands in the doorway, eyes wide and staring in horror at Kim, even knowing this was coming, the panic freezes him in place. This time he's sober enough to function, this time he knew it was coming, this time he brought someone with him to be victimized and this time the apartment is filled with the panic of whatever there are victims awaiting transport, people picked up off the streets, people no one would miss-
help, someone help, dude freakin, should have drugged him before, collar them all, not ready, best day, take a hit, fine all fine, dark, no one will look for me, I'm sorry, genefreaks, never had anything this good, must be an empath or something,

"Shutup!Shutup!Shut-I can't-" The words spill out of him without thought, one hand at Christian's head, the other he attempts to grab Kim's sweater and yank her back, but the two dealers are faster. One gun out, the other skipping that and forward, slamming Christian back away from Kim and pinning him to wall of the hallway.

Christian Frost is not a fighter. He is a 35 year old drug addict who gets by on end white collar crime and is not allowed to have a normal mid-life crisis. Thank you uncontrolled telepathy.

Then it happens. It's the matter of seconds. The collar is around Christian's neck and it snaps shut. The hum of activation.

Silence.

Christian can't hear the screaming minds of the other mutants here. He can't hear the frustration and hate of the traffickers. He can't hear anything but the pounding of his own heart.

This is the first time in 10 years that Christian has been mostly sober and not been able to hear the thoughts of others.

And the fight is gone from him.

The dealer sees it too, but the words remain soft and threatening, "You going to behave yourself?"

Christian's eyes flick to Kim and then to the man with the gun, and finally the man who has collared him. No words, just wide eyes and a single nod.

There is no fight as Christian is let go and walks into the room, one arm immediately linking with Kim's again, not looking at the gun, words soft, "Honey, this is a trafficking ring and I'm no longer able to get us out."

He might not have ever been ever was able to.

Kim Hayes has posed:
    The reaction from Christian barely registers in Kim's ears. The drugs are working too well. She can rarely afford the good stuff these days; with the delayed onset, sometimes it's hard to judge amounts. She scarcely notices the glint of the gun as it comes out, the collar going around Christian's neck. Her eyes are focused on the table, the drugs, the empty bottles. She hears screaming, whimpering, whining. Maybe it's from the rest of the apartment. Maybe it's in her head. It all seems so familiar. Why?

    'Honey, this is a trafficking ring and I'm no longer able to get us out.'

    Then it clicks into place. It's something she hasn't thought about in a long time.

    It reminds her of home.

    A creeping sensation of powerlessness, of dread, of sickness in her stomach starts to fill her to her core.

    A brief moment of pure, lucid horror penetrates her stupor.

    << Kim: Haze? >>

    Her thought echoes back like a hissing reflection.

    << Haze: Hayes? >>

    << Kim: Are we fucked? >>

    << Haze: Hayes, for once, you will listen to us. >>

    << Kim: I'm listening. >>

    << Haze: You are soft. Feeble. Needing protection. You have always been. But we are impervious to their weapons. We cannot be contained by this trinket. The only things we fear are fire and noise. What do you feel around you? What do you hear? >>

    Kim turns her head slowly, focusing on her senses.

    << Kim: Cold. Silence. >>

    << Haze: All that it takes is a thought, and you are us. A single thought, and you'll realise that they are the ones who are soft, and feeble, and have no protection. So why would you possibly believe that you are the one that is 'fucked?' >>

    Suddenly, Kim starts to laugh out loud, her expression cracking and her entire body rocking, as if someone had told her an incredibly hilarious joke.

    The one who's drawn a gun points it at Kim warily at the tension-snarling outburst. "What the hell are you laughing at? What's so funny, bitch?"

    Kim turns a smile that meets her half-glazed eyes toward the gunman as her laughter becomes a snigger, a suppressed giggle. Barely able to breathe, she says, "Dude, I just had a thought."

    Suddenly, the purple sweater she's wearing turns to liquid, engulfing Kim's body in the time it takes to blink. Almost instantly, her hair has been replaced by a mass of green tendrils draped in front of her face. Her form appears sleek, feminine, but constantly shifting, dripping, viscous. Her fingers elongate, flex, their tips turning to talons. She continues to titter, her voice splitting into multiple pitches, like a chorus of children joining in with her own laughter.

    "What the fuck?" the gunman bellows. "Why isn't the collar working?"

    "That's not a mutie, man!" the other trafficker realises, reaching for his own weapon. "Just shoot her!"

    *BLAM*
    *BLAM*
    *BLAM*
    "AHAahAHaHAhA-"

    The woman only laughs louder as the bullets lodge harmlessly in the goop.

    "What's the matter, dudes?! Don't tell me you're not still into it!" the multi-tonal, slurring speech of the monster taunts the traffickers in a sibilant sing-song. "Well, if you want it to stop, just say the safeword!"

    The willowy tendrils part as Hayes's head tilts, revealing half of a decaying, razor-toothed smile and a single wild, whorling eye. A faint, horrible smoke starts to rise from the creature where the bullets have struck the flowing flesh. The crushed projectiles now drip to the ground one by one, corroded and hissing.

    "Oh, wait. You don't use one, do you?" the creature says as she swiftly shoves one of the traffickers up against the wall, leering close. "Your mistake."

    *BLABLABLABLAM--*

    The other gunman empties his weapon into the monster's back before bolting for the door. A tentacle lashes out from the creature's side, clinging to the fugitive trafficker's hand and adhering it to the door handle. He starts trying to yank it free, to no avail.

    "Our session's just ssstarted!" the chorus insists.

Kim Hayes has posed:
    As the one pinned against the wall starts to inhale the narcotic smoke rising off of the creature, it forms a fist and drives it into his diaphragm, forcing the wind back out of him.

    "Don't breathe in, babe. I want you to feel this!"

    << Haze: Do you want us to take over for this part, Hayes? >>

    << Kim: Does 'compound interest' mean anything to you? >>

    << Haze: Not really. >>

    << Kim: Then, nah. We're good. >>

    The creature's other hand pushes against the man's throat, flowing like liquid gum to cover the lower half of his face and constrict his breathing as the inky purple ooze starts to fill his facial orifices.

    It muffles the screams as talons start to rake slowly up the dealer's stomach, drawing rivulets of blood and causing him to spasm and kick violently.

    "Ooh, you're ticklish. See? Isn't it so much more intense this way?!"

    The creature's long, drooling tongue lolls out of its mouth as it starts to cackle again with riotous catharsis.

Christian Frost has posed:
Christian jerks back at the laugh.

No clue what that is about-wow that's terrifying and nice. And-No mostly terrifying.

Well, Christian has a collar now, if he can just Leave and bring Kim With Him then that will be good. Will he be able to sleep at night knowing the minds he can no longer hear remain behind? Will he be able to sleep at night anyway? Debatable, but-Oh no, now she's talking-

Christian jerks away from the transformation, stumbling back to the far wall, putting as much distance between himself and-What the Hell Is That?

Kim isn't a mutant and-WHAT IS IT?! It's-

It's-Christian has hit the ground as the gun goes off, hands over his head, trying to find some cover, get away from the monster and-

Hey, it's an Actual Monster! This is not some nightmare that Christian has brought to life, this is the real deal, this is-

An inner door of of the apartment opens, another man with a gun joins the fray. He looks like he's been partaking in the products, but immediately upon seeing the dropped forms of his coworkers, a gun is yanked out and fires on the monster.

    *BLAM*
    *BLAM*
    *BLAM*
    That door, however remains open-Christian stumbles to his feet, darting toward the potential exit and barely makes it far. That man was a guard-This room is dark, filled with crouched, hunched forms of people. Bound, many gagged, the buzz of power-suppressor collars on many of them, but many without as well-Traffickers of all kinds it would seem. These are hunters, not organizational powers, catch and sell whoever might have a price-humans and mutants alike.

The poor, the forgotten, slipping through the cracks of this city. These are people who are paid and provided with the resources to hunt, this level of criminal shouldn't normally have this many collars, or this variety of narcotics.

Christian just stares a moment. Then is in motion. Into the room, the nearest form, trying to untie, ungag, anything-shit he doesn't have a knife. Pull, tug, how?!?! HOW DO YOU UNTIE SOMEONE!? Okay gag-that's easy-Hands and feet-HOW?!

This is not a normal skill most people have. Christian's hands are shaking, his mind silent and that cold drench of fear the only things pushing him. But finally, one person is released, someone to help him-

"Okay-OkayOkay, help me, come on-monster out there-" Christian's words are a tumble of panic, likely not needed, these people can hear the fight. Still the one freed victim seems far better equipped with the work of freeing their fellows than Christian is. Already that faint flicker of hope in eyes is visible, despite the words hissed through clenched teeth, "Shit-Window, get out the window call the-cops and-Howdoesthiscomeoff?!"

Kim Hayes has posed:
    *BLAM*
    *BLAM*
    *BLAM*

    The shots rattling off from the third gunman entering the fray draw a look over the monstrous humanoid's shoulder, bullets pelting her impenetrable purple skin distracting just enough for her talons to slip a little deeper than the curated agonizing caress intended. Teeth bite down on the sludge in the hunter's mouth, only to find that it's impossible to bite through.

    "Ooh! Three of you at once? Sure, I'm down!" the creature greets the new contender, drawing back its crimson-clawed hand as more blood spills. The hunter pinned to the wall starts to gag as Haze lashes out, limb stretching to span the short distance to the third gunman's weapon hand. The creature's slick hand envelops the gunman's as if giving a handshake - and then tightens.

    There's a sound of popping, twisting metal. The gun falls to the floor in heaps of warped components. Then the mutant hunter screams, more popping and crunching audible as the same metal-crushing force is applied to his hand and fingers.

    "Ooh, sorry. Not into hand stuff?"

    As the third gunman collapses to the ground, clutching at his mangled forelimb, the one that was trying to get out the door wrenches their hand loose -- with the doorknob attached to it. The monster realises that the one against the wall has passed out with the pain and oxygen deprivation, so she releases him to slide slowly down the wallpaper.

    "Looks like those guys didn't have any staying power," the feminine fiend says with a sigh as she turns her full attentions on the would-be escapee. The tentacle retracts into her body, drawing him stumbling into her embrace with the motion. Arms wrap around his body, almost tenderly; a leg hooks over his as a single puff of hallucinogenic air releases from the creature's mouth into his face. Pupils dilate as the symbiotic skin retracts, leaving Kim's comparatively beautiful and smiling face in intimate proximity with his.

    "You don't mind staying, right?"

    To the hunter, her giggling is like the sound of distant bells, bathed in euphoric disembodiment -- until the purple liquid starts to drip from her eyes, her lips, her nostrils, and the laughter turns to multitonal, mad giggling accompanied by nails on slate. He screams as he starts flailing in an attempt to escape, leaving his lower torso exposed for her limbs to tighten around and --

    *snap*
    *crackle*
    *pop*

    -- apply bone-crunching force to his ribs, causing him to instantly pass out from pain as they start to give in.

    Kim lets his limp body fall to the ground, wiping the back of a symbiote-coated hand across her brow as she exhales. There's no Haze goo dribbling out of her face.

    "Didn't think so," she says with a sigh of relaxed detachment.

    Turning around, she finds the one with the crushed hand still rocking in the fetal position and screaming.

    "Dude, does that hurt?" Kim asks, before stamping a foot down on the injury, eliciting more, higher-pitched shrieking. Kim grins. "I thought so."

    Bending low, she watches a little longer as the whites of the gunman's eyes seem to swell with fear. Kim bites her lip, then lets out a breath. It's the same concentrated narcotic that Haze breathes; a vapor that soon causes the man's eyes to flutter and roll back in his head as he, too, joins the others in Morpheus's realm.

    << Kim: What do you think? Their brains seem tasty to you? >>

    << Haze: This is 'compound interest?' >>

    << Kim: This is what 'fucked' feels like. >>

    << Haze: We won't be eating their brains. We are quite sated... and you are not yourself, Hayes. >>

    "If you say so," Kim says as she turns toward the door to the next room. She peeks her head through. "Yo, any more of them in -- oh, shit."

    Her eyebrows raise as she sees the mass of captives. As she steps through the doorway, the skin has already vanished, reformed into the shape of the purple sweater hanging open over her body.

Kim Hayes has posed:
    "Hey, Christian. We're all good in here. Wanna help me loot the bodies? They've probably got a key."

Christian Frost has posed:
There is no need to watch to know the chaos happening outside. One doesn't need to be a telepath to know that the monster out there is killing those men.

Still, despite the struggle, despite shaking hands, with each new pair of wrists released, it is more hands to free feet, to turn to neighbors and friends. Teeth find binding, the struggle is a quiet, but surprisingly quick one turns to four, turns to the room almost entirely free.

Window opened, some people trying to flee, then stop, realizing with horror the collars remain.

Christian's fingers fumble with someone's collar. They are made to latch, activate, then not be removable and taken off by the wearer themselves. Christian might not know it, but there are a few generations of mutant suppressor collars, just as there are with magic suppression or those more geared towards aliens or metas. Some designs require a key or a central hub to open them, some simply do not respond to the biosignature of the wearer or require a non-mutant's hand to remove them. Christian can't tell if it's his panic keeping him from being able to get the things off, but a look toward the others now trying to help release everyone, no one is succeeding.

Key Needed.

Christian's head jerks up at his name, wide-eyed and staring.

Kim is no longer a monster.

If Christian was high or in possession of his powers, he would seriously doubt how much of what he is seeing is real right now. He was Sure he saw her morph into a-Something. Something nightmarish, viscous and teethed and-

And there she is, far too relaxed, saying something-What did she just say?

Bodies, key. Right, they need a key. Yeah. Yeah. Key.

Christian leave the person he's been trying to get the collar off of, standing and stepping toward Kim. There is a marked wariness in him that only grows as he gets a view of the wrecked apartment.

For all the broken pieces that the place was before they arrived, nothing has survived this fight. The three hunters scattered across the room are looked at and-oh gods and hells and they're dead.

They're dead. Dead. She killed them. They are-Wait, they aren't dead. But might be soon. Oh shit, fuck, what the hell did she do to them? Or not her, that thing or-Is it the same thing?

Doesn't matter. Doesn't matter. Key. Key.

"Key." The word is short and sharp, directed toward the man with the mangled hand. When he realizes the man is unconscious, Christian steps forward, an absolute aversion to the blood visible in him a moment. Yet he does crouch, starting an inefficient shuffling through pockets, that adrenaline fueled panic settling into what looks almost an impassive neutrality.

Though the expression might be flat, Christian is shaking like a leaf. Do what needs to be done. Get Key. Get-There. Inner jacket pocket.

"Kim-" The word equality sharp, Christian turns, tossing the key to her with a graceless throw, tone attempting to soften when he actually looks at her again, "Honey, key, there help them-I'll check the others."

She's a monster, she was a monster, but she's on His side and he can't breath. She's not even His Monster and she's Helping and-These men are dying. There's another not-yet-body to check and a second key would speed this up.

Would it be so bad if these men die?

Yes. Maybe. Christian is looking for a second key without looking at Kim again, no check to see if she's going to do as asked or not. Key. Key. Please, another one. Speed this up, get gone. Key. Please. Where-Found.

Broken. Pieces in Christian's hand.

Kim Hayes has posed:
    Kim lingers for a moment, offering a small wave of her fingers to the prisoners, lips pressed together in a just slightly friendlier than neutral expression, before following Christian into the other room.

    He's straight to work, searching for a key on the body of the one whose hand she crushed. She doesn't want to focus on the bodies.

    Sure, she didn't kill them. But she did make them suffer. Crippled one. Offered them all on a metaphorical silver platter to her symbiote.

    And it came so damn easy when she let it.

    Instead, she's focused on the table.

    She's just finished filling her hoodie's pockets when she hears Christian's voice calling her name. Straightening, she looks over her shoulder.

    "Yeah?"

    He hands her the key, and she looks down at it. A moment later, she strides into the adjoining room, holding the key aloft. "Alright, bitches. Let's keep it orderly. I've got your key here; we're gonna -- HEY!"

    The mutants and misfortuned have become a mob, surrounding their would-be saviour in a crush, hands grasping for the key, groping, shoving, pushing. Kim's eyes widen for a moment before she's suddenly gone again -- replaced by the nightmare creature, clutching the key its talons, exuding the noxious aura of malodorous chemicals like a threatened mephitic mammal.

    Hands retract, bodies recoil, screams catch in throats as some start to cough on the narcotic fumes.

    "Chill, dudes!"

    When space has been granted, but before they can fully flee, Kim reappears, the symbiote receding back into her clothing. Assertively, she approaches the nearest captive, holding them in place and raising key up to their collar, feeling along until she finds the mechanism that releases it.

    "See? No need to call the cops; we've got all the time we need."

    A moment later, sirens can be heard getting closer.

    "Dammit, who called the cops?!" Kim demands, met with a sea of blank faces.

    << Haze: Thirty-two. >>

    "What?!" Kim says, forgetting to internalize.

    << Haze: We count thirty-two bullets. A new record for us. >>

    Of course. It doesn't matter where in the city they are; that many shots fired means the police know about it. Kim considers, then --

    "Christian. Stop staring at that broken shit and come on," Kim berates as she approaches him, holding the key up to start rapidly (but with enough cool not to be hindered by her haste) seeking out the sweet spot and unlock his collar. "It's fine if the cops find them. They're victims, these guys are douchebags. We're the only ones who need to not be here," she points out to the blond as she tries to help him out of his device so that the pair can escape the scene. "Alright?"

    If she can get it off, she'll toss the key back into the other room. Either they'll sort themselves out, or the police surely will.

Christian Frost has posed:
Christian Frost is a Civilian.

Despite the things that have shattered him, despite the twisting of fate that has left him a damaged package. They are private horrors, those that occur behind closed doors to the powerless. They are years of institutionally sanctioned violence, paid for by family, that resulted in the manifestation of a mutation as an adult. A mutation that made things worse. They are the damage that happens in perfectly clean rooms, smiling faces, pretty words while hunger and sleeplessness gnaws through one's stomach and mind. Where electricity and chemicals were considered treatment rather than torture.

The world that broke Christian Frost is very different from the world that he now stands in. Even if he is again powerless and in the company of monsters.

A dirty abandoned apartment, bodies of the dying, the forms of the desperate now feeling hope for the first time in days. Mortal terror, adrenaline and the dampening of gifts might push the mass of victims in the other room to panic mob Kim, flee, and still want the damn key that promises freedom.

Christian is on his knees by the dying man and the broken key unable to get his brain to work. The world is silent, he's sober, and he's so very scared.

He's so scared. Staring at the useless key.

The collar around his neck was wanted so badly and the key he has is so very useless and this dude is bleeding all over his shoes and pants and that girl he nearly doomed is a monster who saved them all and-

What does one do?

Christian, in the past, in the pain that he is familiar with: Runs away. Numbs himself. Hides.

All of these seem like appropriate solutions to this particular brokenness as well, as unfamiliar as it might be. That is what you do.

So there is no fight in him when Kim reappears with a working key. Just a groan and hands on his head as the power dampener is released and the flood of the rest of the apartment races in. So much fear, now being replaced with relief as the people in the other room also have their gifts returned to them and start breaking collars.

Christian curls into himself, broken key and working collar both clung to, a brief glance up at Kim and-She's saying something. What?

Leaving. Right. Time to run away.

But first, Christian is launching up from his knees and hugs her. It is a tight, words soft, "I owe you. Thank you."

Then he's letting go, scooping up collar and broken key and shoving them into his coat-his attention turning toward the room of victims, mentally listening to their joy in snapping, smashing and destroying all remaining collars and finally the working key. It's a garbled mess of thoughts in there, some slinking away before the police arrive, some content to wait, all determined to wreck the objects of their capture.

Shit. Collar he can't get off again was not the plan, but at least he's got half the goal.

And is walking out again.

Time to run. Time to hide.

And he does, a look at Kim and Christian is running, out of the abandoned apartments and into the network of Mutant Town backstreets and alleys.

Powers back, mind latching onto the nearest mind to focus. << You Okay? >>

Kim Hayes has posed:
    Calm and lucid are not adjectives one could normally use to describe Kim in a high-pressure situation. Usually, the more calm she is, the less lucid. In extreme circumstances, like walking into an unfamiliar coffee shop, she is sometimes neither calm nor lucid. But the cocktail of endorphins, anaesthetics, and adrenaline somehow works out to some kind of mathematical balance, the cathartic buzz of violence overcoming the haze of dissociation, the drugs dulling the edge of self-preservation instincts otherwise in overdrive.

    So, weirdly, right now, Kim is calm and lucid. Kim is cool.

    Until that hug happens, out of nowhere. Then, suddenly, Kim's tearducts are welling up.

    "Damn straight," she says, returning the hug with one arm and patting Christian on the back as she blinks back tears and sniffles.

    He's a half second out the door before she follows him, running as fast as her own numb legs can carry her. That white coat flapping behind Christian gives her something to focus on and pursue, to trust in while her thoughts are faltering.

    << You Okay? >>

    << Kim: Do you even have to ask? >>

    << Haze: It was not our question. >>

    << Kim: What - oh, shit. Christian? >>

    Of course. He said he was a telepath; that kind of thing must work both ways.

    "Do you know where we're actually going?" she calls out, then immediately regrets having expended the oxygen as her lungs start to burn harder.

    << Kim: Can you hear us? >>

    << Haze: Yes; we revealed our capabilities, so you should tell us of yours. >>

    << Kim: I might puke if we run much longer... >>

    << Haze: She is much more impressive when she is us. >>

Christian Frost has posed:
Tears. Good, she's not a monster.

Christian was not expecting a mental response. He was expecting something much more along the lines of Kim speaking verbally and some thread of thoughts about how weird it was to hear other people's voices in one's own head. That's usually how talking in other people's heads works. After all, it's weird to assume an average person you meet randomly can turn into a monster. Also weird to assume that an average person you meet randomly knows how to talk to telepaths in one's head.

A mental response would have been mildly surprising, maybe less so given the whole -Turning into a Monster- thing, but Chrisitian isn't clicking on all cylanders at the moment. A mental response Twice from two seperate? Distinct? What is this? This is-

Christian is also not a very physically able creature, it's adrenaline and fear pushing feet now, but that is rapidly running out. Attention jerking toward Kim briefly then just listens and runs. What the hell?

<<You are so loud, it would be difficult not to hear you.>>
<<Why are there two of you?>>

Does he know where he is going? Yes.

The run slows to a jog, then a stumble. Then keys are fished out of a pocket. Dropped. Scooped up again with shaking hands. Finally door unlocked. Thank you Dr. Phosphorus. Safe House Used Again. Shit, Christian is going to owe that damn guy more money.

Christian doesn't care, Kim is ushered in, panting, no words, but the little brownstone is safe apparently. Locked. This is Not a nice place, but it is safe. Apparently.

How much does one trust a super villain-type? Enough to be back here again. It's not like Christian has connections of his own in Mutant town.

Safe place. And has food and a couch and coats and-Christian drops onto that couch with a huff, not bothering speaking, coat peeled off sweat mopped, stands-Water glasses. Yeah. This is fine and normal.

<<Water.>> Glass offered, <<I know nothing about your capabilities. You turned into a nightmare and->>

Yeah. Moving on. <<But it was a good thing.>>

Kim Hayes has posed:
    Kim slows to a stagger as Christian stumbles toward the doors of the unfamiliar brownstone.

    << Haze: We are Haze. We consider ourselves a plurality of our own. >>

    << Kim: Is it really more than one of you if you all agree on everything all the time? >>

    << Haze: Klyntar have no use for such philosophic ruminations. >>

    Kim allows herself to be ushered in through the door to the safehouse. She ends up leaning against the back of the couch, gasping for air, until Christian vacates - then quickly slouches into the empty space on it, taking the water when it's offered and gulping some down.

    "Thanks," she finally says after ingesting enough to quench her thirst for the moment. Then, she explains, her words unsteady: "Haze is... an alien, I guess. A gooey space monster. And also my hoodie."

    << Haze: A second, superior symbiotic skin, when she needs us to be. Hayes is our vessel. >>

    "They totally copped my name," Kim mentions. "They totally didn't have a name when they showed up."

    << Haze: If we ever had a name, it was forgotten in the long years of darkness... >>

    "I don't usually go all 'killer slime monster' if I can help it, but I don't usually wander into mutant trafficking rings while stoned," Kim says between sips of water.

    << Haze: She never 'goes killer slime monster' at all. Usually, that is our job, and she is the passenger. But she insisted -- >>

    "Why were we wandering into a mutant trafficking ring, by the way, dude?" Kim asks, cutting off that subject abruptly. "And what's with the shitty apartment in Mutieville? I thought you were, like, hella rich."

    Running her hands along her sides, she remembers the contents of her pockets, and starts emptying them onto the table in front of the couch - various baggies, mostly, and paraphernalia. A pipe, lighter.

    "Fuck. I dunno what I was thinking. This stuff's probably all cut to shit anyway."

    << Haze: We know what you were thinking... >>

    She holds up a middle finger, pointing it at herself and staring at it for a moment - before realising that the gesture probably looks pretty stupid to a third party and putting it away.

Christian Frost has posed:
Christian will sink into one of the few other chairs holding his own water and staring at Kim with a flat neutrality. Okay, okay-he really doesn't do this much. Mental talking and listening and jeez his head hurts already. But at least focus on the conversation is keeping the thoughts of the rest of the surrounding populace at bay?

<<Alien. Alien host. Got it.>> Christian lifts a hand to his head, rubbing his temple slowly. He doesn't got it. How does that Happen? What exactly is the Job of an 'Alien Slime Monster'?

Christian does not ask questions he doesn't want to know the answer to.

"That sounds complicated. Sorry, to address both of you should I keep-"
<<Talking like this? You are both-awe->>

He stops, head fully in his hands. Headache rising. He hasn't had a hit of anything. The Adrenaline crash, loss of fear, using powers he avoids, he's too sober for this shit.

Maybe he has something stashed here-Christian is up again, starting to go through drawers. He was too stoned last time he was here, no clear memory if he used everything or left anything good here. The glance at Kim's haul is brief. "Probably crap, wouldn't trust it. I might have something."

"I'm moderately wealthy. But I live in Manhattan. This place is being rented by a supervillain who might be an okay guy. At any rate, he's pro-mutant." The words remain mild, life cannot possibly get weirder than it already is and Christian is looking forward to forgetting as much of this stress as possible as quickly as possible.

The question stills his search briefly, watching and listening to the self-flipping-off and managing not to stare. For Long. Right. Okay then. "Are you two okay?"

Search continues, a shrug, "I needed a power suppression collar, needed to get one alone. I'm trying to get clean."

Awwwww, fix kit found! Christian is back dropping the pouch and immediately opening it, sorting a needle and syringe for each of them, alcohol pads, a medical grade glass bottle of ketamine placed between them.

Christian sets the offer on the table, words finally pulling some emotion, a smile offered, hands steepled. "Okay, All of this has been Awful." He waves to the narcotics, "Do you want to talk about any of that crap or do you want to hang here a few hours and not talk? I'm voting for the latter, but you have two votes on my one. I say we chill here until things quiet down outside and go our separate ways. In fact, I'd rather not talk about this ever again, you don't know I have a collar, I don't know you have an alien."

Oh right, she's from work-life, "Andddd I guess Monkey Heaven Records can be discussed for later. Not now."

Kim Hayes has posed:
    "We can both hear you," Kim informs Christian, cringing inwardly a little. It makes her sound like a crazy person, doesn't it?

    << Haze: We don't think so. >>

    "I mean, they hear everything I hear. See everything I see. Sometimes things I don't hear or see? It's weird," Kim says as she starts sorting through the pile already on the table with a dubious look.

    Nope. She's not that desperate.

    << Haze: Not weird. A typical sentient-Klyntar symbiosis, to our knowledge. Perhaps with more 'drugs' and less consumption of cerebral matter. >>

    "We don't eat brains," Kim is quick to interject, rolling her eyes. "Stop making me look like a psycho, dude."

    She raises an eyebrow at the revelation that the safehouse is actually the property of a supervillain. That's not reassuring. It's been a long day. She decides she'd rather not know which one.

    << Haze: We are curious. >>

    "No we're not," Kim insists as she spots a chocolate bar inadvertently placed on the table along with the rest of the paraphernalia. She unwraps it and starts wolfing it down. An immense sense of satisfaction resonates from the symbiote. Perhaps from its host as well?

    "We're good, dude," Kim assures Christian of her relationship status with Haze. 'It's Complicated' might be more appropriate, but overall, they're copacetic. Symbiotic, even.

    Christian explains his reasons for the trip to the drug den. Kim tries to unpack that in her head. Why would somebody want a power suppression collar? Why would somebody want to get clean? Why do those things go together?

    "What were you gonna do if I hadn't been there to save your ass?" That one merits asking out loud, at least, even if it might well be rhetorical.

    But then that kit - clean and pristine - is placed in front of her, and suddenly none of those questions seem like a big deal.

    "...Yeah," Kim agrees, her eyes lingering. She usually avoids needles - not because she doesn't like them, but for hygiene reasons - but Christian's thoughtful enough to provide alcohol pads and everything. She's already rolling up her sleeves as he sets out the options. Hanging out for a couple of hours without video games or anything to distract her while keeping quiet would normally be a difficult prospect, but disappearing into a hole provides a perfect solution.

    Then Christian mentions Monkey Heaven Records, and Kim remembers she followed Christian for a reason. That she has a livelihood at stake. That this could be a chance to help her boss and friend keep the business they both love. That they are alone, that she is in control of her faculties, that this would be the perfect time and place to assert her demands.

    Her eyes fall back to the glass bottle between them.

    "Yeah. Later," she agrees, reaching for one of the pads.