2724/Telepathic Ninjas Cheat

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Telepathic Ninjas Cheat
Date of Scene: 01 August 2020
Location: Seedy Dockside Warehouse
Synopsis: Arthur saves the day and Psylocke tries to kill everyone and Bolo shoots a guy in the knee meanly.
Cast of Characters: Betsy Braddock, Jovian Anderson, Arthur Curry

Betsy Braddock has posed:
It's late at night. A Friday night, down by the docks, in the warehouse district. A rundown river hauler has docked in a privately owned berth well away from the regulated commercial docks a few miles upriver. It's not in the best of repair, this old boat. Small enough to still fit in the prohibition era slip, it may, in fact, have been new when Hitler was encouraging genocide in Europe. Okay. More likely, it was new when JFK was getting his head blown off in Dallas. Regardless, it's certainly *not* a new boat now.

*Now*, it's a leaky old tub that's largely kept afloat by duct tape, chewing gum, and the pure, malicious strength of will weilded by it's terribly unscrupulous captain.

He's a balding man of middle years standing at the bow of the ship as his crew ties the ship to the moorings on the docks. He only begins to move when he sees another man, this fellow taller, only slightly older, but a little softer around the middle, come walking down the quay, followed by a handful of armed men.

"Yevgeny?" he calls, moving to the lowered gangplank. His voice is actually pitched low, meant to carry only far enough to shore, but not up and down the pier. The man on land raises his hand in acknowledgement.

"Jaro. You're late, you know. The boss won't like that."

Stepping onto dry land to join Yevgeny, Jaro snorts indelicately. "Da, well, it's not like he's dealing with a hold full of shit like I've got. Herding cats is easier."

"And the reason you didn't sedate them is?"

"I did! Some are more resistant than others." Jaro flips a hand dismissively. "Nevermind. Let's just get this cargo ashore. I'm sick of the stink and Ruslana's working down at the Sandbar, tonight."

Yevgeny chuckles appreciatively for half a second but then snorts. "Da, let's finish this. The last thing we need is interference from some heroic do-gooder that just 'happens' to be around at one o'clock in the morning."

Jaro snorts again. "At least this is New York, and not Gotham. The Bat's worse than most of the capes in this city."

"So you say." Yevgeny doesn't really seem to agree. But, it doesn't really matter, either. He's nervous and that makes his men nervous. So, they're relieved when he waves them into action.

Less than 10 minutes later, steel cargo crates are being offloaded onto land by crew aboard the leaky old freighter, only to be loaded up on the back of transport trucks by the men onshore. It's a very smooth operation.

But not a fast one.

Jovian Anderson has posed:
Jovian Anderson sits watching from on top of a warehouse with Binocs. He has a backpack with actual guns this time. He doesnt want to use them, but he will if the bolos dont cut it. He can't count on luck to get through this and he isnt letting these guys get away with it. He knew he would be punching above his league with this, but this is an order of magnitude bigger than what he was expecting. Carefully climbing down the ladder he slowly gathers shadows around himself and moves in to the fray, trying to find a vulnerable point. He's actually MET other heroes at this point, why does he NEVER call them? He nonplusses as he mentally realized he used the word 'hero' on himself and cringes. He keeps going in.

Arthur Curry has posed:
    There is no shortage of old tankers and trawlers, cargo ships and haulers. On the river day to day close to the docks one can see all kinds of ships traveling back and forth into the berths and having their cargo moved off ship and then at times back on. It's what leads to some of the brackishness of the East River, causes it to carry that famous scent as well as the weight of the many many jokes New Yorkers make about it.
    But this vessel is definitely not helping things.
    Yet he trail of oil isn't entirely what draws the attention of the man in the water. Could be in part the way it creeps into its berth without being met by a tug. Or could be the time, considering the best stevedores were already off this late.
    But for the Atlantean that pulls himself up the metal handholds in the side of the ship, the main reason he boards that cargo hauler is the Cyrillic writing on the side of it. Russians. This hour. With this kind of ship. Rarely is it ever good.
    Until the tall man pulls himself up and over the railing. Little more than a dark silhouette on the side of the ship for now. Water trickling off of him and leaving a puddle there on the wooden slats of the deck.

Betsy Braddock has posed:
For her part, the mutant known as Psylocke -- garbed head to toe in stylish black because NINJA! -- stands in what should really be plain view atop the cab of a crane operator. Except, of course, that she's a telepath... and a very strong one, at that. No one sees her for two reasons: 1. She doesn't want them to. 2. Even if telepathy isn't all that effective on them, her ability to telekinetically render herself (virtually) invisible certainly helps. Though, really, it's the telepathy that's doing the heavy lifting here.

Once the latest cargo crate has been set down on the transport platform, she swings down off the cab roof and slams feet first into the cab itself. The crane operator is thrown sideways, right out of the cab and onto the ground several feet below. He lands with a painful grunt, the wind knocked out of him. He has no time to react further, however, because she's atop him in the next instance, slamming a psi-blade into his head and leaving him comatose on the pavement. It's doubtful any of his allies have even registered a threat, at this point.

The men on the deck of the ship continue about their business, heedless of whatever might be brewing on the shore. One fellow might come across the puddle Arthur leaves behind, however, and that might start him wondering just what's going on. Especially knowing just what the cargo is they're off-loading.

Bolo, mind, will likely find that the shoremen he encounters are far less likely to ignore him than they are to ignore the enigmatic British ninja currently sneaking over to investigate the nearest of the crates and ensure that it really is what she thinks it is.

Jovian Anderson has posed:
Jovian Anderson is difficult to see when enshadowed but its NOT invisibility and the men rush up to him, two of them and before he can even GET his bolos out to attack them he is very much surprsied, dodging and using his moderate hand to hand skills to block their attacks. One of them nearly pushes him into a small hole with exposed concrete rebar though but instead he simply becomes a shadow...

Both the men look shocked and Bolo takes advantage of the opportunity to punch one in the face, knocking him cold.

Arthur Curry has posed:
    That one who finds the puddle, even as he's looking around likely finds standing beside him a tall man still dropping some water, but in the dark of the docks not entirely easily made out.
    "Hey. Privyet." The Russian word of greeting doesn't come entirely easily to Arthur's lips as he stands there arms folded over his chest, one eyebrow cocking as he looks at the deckhand with what could at best be considered an uncharitable glance.
    There's a small snort from the Atlantean as he clears his nose and looks up and down the way, then turns to the man and states. "You're going swimming. Depending on how you answer my question determines how far I'm gonna throw you. And whether or not I tell the sharks to lay off you on yer way back."
    Then the tall man turns, broad shouldered and positively looming over the man, with one hand now heavily resting on the deckhand's shoulder almost companionably. "What's the cargo, Boris?"
    And depending on how the man answers...

Betsy Braddock has posed:
Given that Boris' general response the question directed at him is to gawp at the burly Atlantean before fumbling for the sidearm he carries at his waist? 'Wheeeeeeeee! SPLASH!' Yeah, he's got a really long, really uncomfortable swim back to shore ahead of him. If he lives so long. Apparently, the marine life in the river is feeling frisky, tonight. Who knew?

Sucks to be him, regardless.

Bolo, with his shadowbending ability, certainly has the advantage over the non-powered thugs that patrol the perimeter of the warehouse property and criss-cross its yards and buildings. As one drops, however, the other recovers and starts pulling out a radio in an attempt to sound an alarm.

Meanwhile, over by the cargo crate, Psylocke is applying strategic, if crude, telekinetic pressure to the locks securing the doors, using her psi-katana to do so. Hasps shatter and break, and she peels back the latches before lifting the cane bolts securing the top and bottom of the doors and swinging them open. Holding her katana high over her head, the radiance from the focussed energy of her telekinetic weapon casts a pale magenta light over the impoverished bodies huddled within. Several pairs of dark, fearful eyes look up at her and her lavender eyes narrow fiercely. "Stay here," she tells them needlessly -- it's not like they can go anywhere, given the cuffs and collars confining them. "I'll be back."

Once she's taken care of some business. Some very messy, very deadly business.

With that, she turns and begins moving swiftly towards the nearest cluster of guards moving to find out why the crane has stopped working.

Oh, yeah. They're in for a world of hurt. Psylocke is *not* feeling generous, tonight.

Jovian Anderson has posed:
Jovian Anderson is finally able to pull the dang bolo from his waist and with a remarkably quick twirl sends it right to the thug's radio hand while he tries to activate it preventing him from doing more than pushing the button. That might now stop the guy from shouting an alarm but the immediate flying kick knocks him into one of the many crates. They might not have information but the loud noises over the radio definitely are alerting them to ....something.

Arthur Curry has posed:
    Meanwhile, from the ship proper, there's occasionally a bit of sound now and again. The first shriek and splash may have been thought a fluke. The second and third not so much. Until a group of the ship's crew come running out of the conning tower, weapons at the ready only to be abruptly confronted by the tall tanned man who is... wearing chain-mail? Or is that just a tattoo? Hard to ell, even though he fixes them with a rather severe glower as his hair continues to drop over his shoulders, his bound beard doing likewise.
    "Which one of you assholes is the captain?" He asks, which likely doesn't get him far as weapons are brandished and bullets are chambered. A series of clicks and clacks are heard as the weapons are made ready. Which just causes the grim man in the black jeans to scowl and shake his head.
    "Big fucking mistake."
    Perhaps, in the next few minutes, the heroes will hear the sound of gunfire coming from the ship's deck proper as the gunfire lights up the bridge area with the rapid fire strobe flash effects of guns letting loose.

Betsy Braddock has posed:
Between the brief squawk of the radio, the delinquent crane, and the bodies flying off the side of the boat, both Jaro and Yevgeny are quick to assume Something is Not Right in the City of New York, this night. There is plenty of swearing in Russian and general orders to "find the intruders" and, of course, "kill them!" Such is the nature of evil men committing evil deeds in the dark of night.

There, on the dockside, the two men pull weapons of their own. Yevgeny signals his men to move out, while Jaro grabs the older man's shoulder. "If anything happens to my ship, I'm taking it out of your hide," he tells him. He doesn't wait for an answer, however, turning back toward his ship and racing for the gangplank. Sure, it's a rusty pile of junk, but it's *his* rusty pile of junk, damn it!

Psylocke dances like a butterfly amidst the four unfortunate souls that converge on her. They fire their weapons at point blank range, but she is never where they think she is. Such is the misfortune of battling a telepath. Their friends, on the the other hand, are totally where they think she is. It's a bit of a blood bath, really, and it's only just begun. Enhancing her strength and speed telekinetically, she races on to the next group, not even bothering to telepathically blind them. She doesn't care if they see her coming now. Her sword is a violet blur in the night. Their screams are cut off abruptly as they're left comatose on the pavement just like the misfortunate crane operator earlier.

Jovian Anderson has posed:
Jovian Anderson is more effective since he sticks to the edge of the boat this time and takes out another henchman and gets into the locked cages, and is....he's busted human trafficing before, but this is the first he's seen KIDS in cages. He is not happy and takes off the backpack. He sets it down and with grim determination takes out two large pistols.

Arthur Curry has posed:
    As for the mayhem upon the deck of the ship there is a moment or wild gunfire, bullets impacting hard with the bare flesh of the Atlantean even as he walks forward and wades into the group of six men. Most of them keep firing even as their rounds seemingly do nothing to the grim-faced man, while two of them decide they aren't getting paid enough and start to make a run for it only for them to be grabbed from behind. One is smashed down /into/ the wooden deck with parts of the superstructure shattering while the other is bodily slammed into his compatriots like some human club slamming across the chests of two others. The indomitable first mate just keeps unloading round after round into the thickly muscled torso of the Justice Leaguer until that man advances close enough to grab the gun and crush it around the man's hand, perhaps twisting fingers up a little painfully before he pulls that guy forward and /slams/ him into a crate nearby face-first.
    Then? Blessed silence.
    At least there around him, for Arthur moves away, half-running half-jogging toward where the other containers rest on the deck, awaiting a crane operator who will never come. The locks are cracked open with a quick twist and rend, then the doors pulled open to reveal the human cargo within.
    Shaking his head, Arthur scowls and holds up his hands. "Hey. Hold up here until things are secure. Just... Staycebo? Is that the right Russian word? Ah hell."
    He motions again, "Just stay... Here."
    And with that he turns and makes a break for the docks and likely the captain coming back to his ship.

Betsy Braddock has posed:
The captives, even where cargo container doors have been opened, are unlikely to go far. Their restraints prevent it, but they are anxious to see sky and breathe fresh air again. The interiors of the containers... are not pleasant for so many reasons. Were those restraings not in place, of course, the lot of them would doubtlessly have found ways to escape long ago, empowered as they should be. It's the inhibitor tech in the cuffs and collars that keeps them docile.

Well, that and a(n un)healthy dose of confusion and fear. They really don't know whether the people who have opened their cages are on the side of the angels or the demons who've placed them in this hell.

Jaro makes it onto deck. He grabs a machine gun off of the slumped body of one of his former crewmen, turning around to see the hulking Atlantean stalking towards him. Cursing in Russian, he lets loose with a (mostly useless) stream of bullets.

Meanwhile, Yevgeny is retreating with a pair of henchmen acting as bodyguards, angling towards a SUV parked alongside one of the warehouses. He is speaking quickly into a cell phone, in Russian.

Psylocke, meanwhile, is methodically flowing from group to group, taking out many of Yevgeny's remaining henchmen. There are, after all, only so many jerks the bastard can hire for a job like this. His army isn't remotely endless.

Jovian Anderson has posed:
Jovian Anderson is not the Man in the Suit. He is skilled with a gun, almost as skilled as he is with a Bolo, and trained in his job but he is not letting Yevgeny get away. He does manage to shoot him in the leg however and steps like a madman from seemingly out of nowhere firing round after round into the floor and finally shooting the second pistol with the rubber bullet right into his chest. "You're done.

Arthur Curry has posed:
    The multi-round burst causes Arthur to wince and turn his head to the side while raising a hand to defend against bullets slamming into his face. He shakes his head and increases the pace of his rapid stride straight towards the captain and almost dismissively grabs the weapon, twists its barrel, and then /hefts/ the captain in one hand up off the ground. One moment he's there on the deck of his ship...
    And the next he's sent /flying/ back down that gang plank to land heavily upon the docks down there amongst the remaining men and those that remain to oppose Bolo and Psylocke.
    Only now they have a six foot four Atlantean blocking their path back to the boat and hear the stern words thrown their way. "Any of you assholes don't want to be maimed, crippled, or worse. Put your guns down and give up before my friends here put paid to your slavery trafficking asses."
    A warning to try and a least get some to give up before things get nasty. Er. Nastier.

Betsy Braddock has posed:
Yevgeny screams as his knee is blown out. He goes down heavily, still clutching his phone. Whomever is on the other end is shouting in Russian, his voice tinny through the small speaker. He lets out another shout of pain when the rubber bullet impacts his chest. That's when the phone slips from his grasp. His henchmen do attempt to fight back, but Bolo's shots are good and they're not going to present much of a threat for long.

Really, on the whole, these guys *should* be better than they are. And, when dealing with gene-inhibited, emaciated kids from the Old Country, they probably are. They likely also hold their own against rival gangs and the normal authorities.

But, let's face it: A Justice Leaguer, a well-trained uninhibited mutant, and a souped up human are really above their paygrades.

There comes a point when there's just no more fight left in any of them. In some cases, that's because there's no life left in them. In others, its because the fear of... well, maybe not God, per se... but something close enough has been instilled in them. Jaro is out for the count. His recovery will be long and painful... if he's lucky.

Yevgeny is still conscious, but very, very focussed on his bloody and shattered knee.

As Arthur comes stomping down the gangplank, Psylocke reaches it. She raises dark violet eyes towards him and holds back her aggression in time to register he's actually on her side -- even though they've never met. She also telepathically registers Bolo's presence as being different than the other men throughout the warehouse property... those few that are still conscious.

Thus, with the threat mitigated for the moment, she looks up at Arthur, saying, "How many more containers are aboard?" She's counted three or four ashore. THere may be another three or four still aboard the ailing ship. It's not *that* big a ship.

Jovian Anderson has posed:
Jovian Anderson isnt quite sure what to do at this point. He reluctantly applies first aid to Yevgeny after he zip ties the bastard and proceeds to do that to each of the other thugs not...well...you know...dead and then applies first aid. He really doesnt want to do this but the disgust on his face is not apparent behind the mirrored motorcycle helmet (his costume...really really sucks.)

Arthur Curry has posed:
    A glance is given to Bolo, then one to Psylocke. For an instant he looks like he's about to say something but gives Elizabeth a second glance with a cocked eyebrow, grunts, then continues on with what he was going to say to them both.
    "Four containers, bunch of kids within. Separately secured." Amber eyes flick from face to face as he murmurs, "One of you got a call into the police, they're gonna want to get in a word with some of these guys, and Boris over there." He gestures to the captain he threw down the gangplank, then folds his arms over his chest as he scowls.
    "Either of you know what's the deal here? Feel like I walked in on ten pounds of crazy stuffed into a two pound bag." Which might be a colorful way of telling them he has no idea about the bigger picture here.
    Of course that's the moment when Arthur catches sight of the captain starting to slooowly shuffle away only for him to growl and point. "Don't make me come over there." And, to be fair, the tall man with the grim facade can be damned intimidating even as he scowls. Despite the fact he's wearing black jeans, a pair of bracers, and some rings. But little else beside that. His armored chest piece seems to be just an elaborate series of tattoos upon his bare skin, though the mistake is easily made.
    "I'm Arthur, who are you people?" Perhaps assuming hat Bolo and Psylocke are a team.

Betsy Braddock has posed:
Psylocke's nostrils flare subtly as she does a mental tally. Forty-someodd mutants shipped in from only God knows where, half of them kids. She's going to need more than a call to the cops to sort this one out.

As Jaro is stopped in his tracks by Arthur's voice, her violet eyes flick to him. They narrow and he freezes as if someone hit the pause button on the remote. "Smuggling ring," she tells Arthur, her upper class British accent clipped and sharp. "Except what they're smuggling are mutants." A beat. "*Children*." Which means she is *not* happy, right now.

Another beat. "Psylocke," she tells him, now. "They call me Psylocke."

Her attention strays to Bolo, mostly due to Yevgeny's moaning. "That the mastermind?" A pulse of telepathic energy in the Russian's direction leads to a snirk of derision as he does the press-the-pause-button routine as well. "Never mind. He's still just a middle man." She glances to Bolo. "You want to call the authorities?" She doesn't want to call the cops. "I don't intend to hang around waiting for the local constabulary to find the right end of their night sticks, myself. But I do want to see this lot," the victims, she means, "sent to safety."

*Real* safety.

"I know people who can help with that." Especially if the cops aren't getting in the way immediately.

Jovian Anderson has posed:
Jovian Anderson says, "Bolo. My name is Bolo. I picked up a bounty on Yevgeny. I can provide some intel to the police since I've been investigating them and I will definitely call the cops and the right federal agencies." He pauses and emphaizes that, "The RIGHT ones. I dont normally stick around either but there needs to be no chance of paperwork mishaps, legal technicalilies or loopholes. I will give all the information as a witness as required by law." He says that...rather formally."

Arthur Curry has posed:
    "Uh huh." Arthur looks around at the fallen, the ones unlikely to move again, the injured. He rests his hands on his hips and says steadily, calmly. "These guys are scum. But I'm not exactly going to let you slaughter people in front of me, if that's your inclination."
    He points at some of the deckhands, some that have given up, though it seems most of the people that resisted are out and long out. "These guys have surrendered. Dunno how they do it in London," Her accent apparently giving her away a smidge, "But around here we have due process."
    A sniff as he scowls at himself for making this argument in some ways, then murmurs, "Or at least somethin' coming close to it."
    A nod is given to Bolo as he murmurs, "Fine. I'll stay here, and make sure they get picked up." Then his attention slips back to Betsy, "That alright with you, Psylocke?"

Betsy Braddock has posed:
Psylocke shrugs. "Fine by me," she tells Arthur. Hey, if the boys want to stay and babysit the bad guys, that's fine. Her priority is to evacuate the mutants. She doesn't actually see the need to alter their memories, if she doesn't need to. The stupid humans who held the guns, though? They're totally fair game. Especially if they have the information she's looking for.

"I just need two minutes with Yevgeny here and a clear window of opportunity to move my people somewhere safe." In case there was any doubt she's a mutant, 'my people' probably clears up that misconception.

She stalks toward the Russian man, who has since been released from the pause-button effect. Her eyes glow faintly as she crouches before him and places a finger under his chin, lifting his gaze to meet hers. She says nothing to him. She doesn't need to. He whimpers softly and grows still, save for the steady rise and fall of his chest.

When she rises a few moments later, her expression has darkened and taken on a determined cast, but Yevgeny is actually no worse for the wear. She didn't physically harm him. And if his mind has been left a mess, there's no outward indication of that.

She got what information she wanted from him, and that's all that matters to her.

"He's all yours," she tells the boys now, straightening to her full height. "I'll wait long enough to see the authorities do the right thing with our friends in the containers, but leave me out of the conversations with them, if you don't mind."

Already, part of her mind is reaching out to her friends in Westchester, looking for an evac. It's for a good cause, after all.

Arthur Curry has posed:
    Arms folding over his chest, Arthur scowls a little as he takes up a place leaning against ones of the large poles that mark the end of one berth and the beginning of the other, his expression grim as he considers the woman as she goes about her remaining business. A glance is spared towards Bolo and in answer to whatever the other man might be thinking he responds with a shrug and a flaring of fingers of one hand as he rolls his eyes to the side, as if to say, 'Whatever, man.'
    But the thought that flickers through the Atlantean's mind is something more akin to, 'fanatics, no matter the cause, give me the heebie jeebies.' But he doesn't voice that. Instead he looks across the way, frowning to himself and though the way his mind functions, the thoughts seemingly powerfully resonant and vibrant... they are utterly untrained to defend against a telepath.
    Though as he looks over the fallen, and the remaining Russian slavers he scowls, feeling his temper rising. Likely holding those same sentiments that Elizabeth indulges in, but he tries to tamp them down. Yet it leaves him standing there, brooding.
    Though there is one moment of brightness when he glances over and sees Betsy, and his thought wanders towards a hint of attraction...
    That is just as quick tamped down with a scowl as he lowers his eyes and refocuses on the task at hand. Then he lifts his voice, "Yeah, I think folks are gonna notice with all the casualties that Bolo didn't do them all, and that..." He points at some of the bladework, "Ain't my style."

Betsy Braddock has posed:
Psylocke nods to that, giving Arthur a small, not-quite-seductive smile. More like the cat that's hunting the canary, eyes hooded, chin lifted just a hair shy of arrogantly. "Oh, I can ensure the boys in blue don't worry overly much about a few dead mobsters. And I can guarantee their friends won't talk. Don't you worry about that." Not that she expects Bolo, what with his stiff and officious air, will much appreciate that.

It won't stop her, however, from doing what needs to be done. And while, out of respect for his aid, she won't denigrade him by compromising his mind with her power, she has absolutely no shame about ensuring none of the officers of the New York Police Department believe anything they're told that might suggest this is anything other than an interrupted intermob conflict gone sideways... where a pair of civically minded 'heroes' chose to lend a hand and put a stop to an ill-conceived human trafficking ring.

Those cops will be positively grateful, by the time she's done with them.

Apparently, she left a goodly portion of her scruples behind with her kidnappers all those months ago.

Arthur Curry has posed:
    The man before her has a damn good poker face, unreadable to most and with an air of controlled hostility and a subtle under-current that whispers a promise of violence. Yet his thoughts are much more controlled than one would imagine given the impression he presents of such a wild and intense man.
    He nods twice as his eyes distance, then he meets her gaze and murmurs. "Do what ya gotta. I'll be over here."
    And as he says that he pushes away from the pole, starting to walk toward the men who had surrendered and takes up a place near them as he tells them, "Calm down, cops are on their way."
    Even as at this moment the thugs that Arthur sent flying into the river are making it back to the docks... only for the Atlantean prince to wave them over. "C'mere. You're in for a long night."
    But at the last he finally spares another glance for Betsy as she sets to work and his inner thoughts slip the tether as his mind's voice says simply.
    << Crazy woman. Hot. But crazy. >>

Betsy Braddock has posed:
Psylocke's feline smile broadens subtly, violet eyes gleaming as she detects the Atlantean's thoughts. She suppresses a chuckle, though the feel of it might ghost silently on the midnight breeze.

But, when the long night is easing its way toward morning a short while later, and the young mutants they have rescued are being bundled up and evacuated by mutant-friendly allies, she pauses long enough to give the Atlantean a single wave -- in the contemporary Elizabethan style -- leaving him with her farewell before slipping away in the night:

"See you around, Hero."