322/The Spark Method

The Spark Method
Date of Scene:	06 March 2020
Location:	Manhattan Subway
Synopsis:	no idea.
Cast of Characters:	Melissa Gold, Alexander Aaron, Heather Danielson

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Melissa Gold has posed:
    You can hear the sound of the underground train...
    Because you're in it. Well, in the subway station, that is. And that sound you're hearing is the arrival of one of the subways. It's a ways off, but the tunnels focus and magnify all sounds, not to mention that piston of air shoved ahead of it.
    The station itself is ugly. Most things broken down and/or stained. It's like a Tom Waits album come to (further) life, an impression helped along by the busker doing a medley of that worthy's more obscure and gutteral pieces, his raw singing voice and strange guitar stylings, played out through a pig-nosed portable amp, filling the echoing platform.
    "Kind of a shithole, I know," Melissa says to Alexander, her leathers creaking anew in the sudden cold of the underground air, having to warm up to their usual suppleness. She winds her fingers in his, always moving, like an octopus trying to mate. "The whole neighbourhood is, really. I help out where I can, but ..." She shrugs helplessly. "I'm one person."
    Tossing her head back the way they came. "Those charity events ... I wonder, do they actually do any good or are they just there for middle class folk to feel better about themselves?"

Alexander Aaron has posed:
    For his part, Alexander Aaron is slouched with his butt on the nearby benchseat right next to a series of posters plastered on the wall about a local band, some sort of low-league wrestling, and a lost python. Not exactly stand out events, which might explain while the Olympian youth is more paying attention to the trains, the people, gauging them as they pass though he's speaking mainly with Songbird.
    "I've seen places that were kinda worse." He offers to her, sidelong, then he looks back. Of course he doesn't elaborate that those places were during a war. Or in Hel. Or the Underworld. But he keeps that small aspect to himself. His eyes distance.
    "What I mainly notice is the loss of human spirit." His brow furrows, then he looks sidelong toward her, probably some question unuttered, then pushed away til later.

Heather Danielson has posed:
    Why in the HELL would celebrated model Heather Danielson be in this dirty and dingy subway station? Well, it's actually pretty simple. She prefers to -not- elevate herself above other people. She's been a middle class kid all her life until the modeling thing took off.
    Plus, her newly found powers help with her self confidence in dangerous situations too. But she has an earbud in one ear. Better to hear the world around her that way, and has a dance mix playing in her ear as she half dances, half walks down the stairs into the station. She reaches the bottom and does a little twirl. What? She likes to dance.
    But either way, she is having a good evening. Things may prove that a mistaken assumption in the near future, but for now... it's been good. She stops to buy a token, hips still waggling in a personal little dance before she smiles and moves into the area to wait for the train.

Melissa Gold has posed:
    The usual mix of humanity, in short, is slowly trickling into the platform, to mix up like a social petri dish. Reactions are set up. A pair of Mormons stare disapprovingly at the busker. A trio of guidos start making loud, obvious comments directed Heather's way, each trying to egg the others on to approaching her and hitting on her. A bag lady talks to ghosts and space aliens. And over at the farthest end, behind a pillar, a tweaker is licking the last remaining molecules of MDMA from a well-licked baggie, starting to show all the signs of withdrawal.
    "Loss of spirit. Yeah, that's good. That's what this is. They've lost hope and spirit. They don't care. They don't live. They just survive," Melissa says. Her eyes take in the guidos, seeing the bad scene that's about to start up. "Alex, hold that thought. I thin..."
    Whatever she was about to say is drowned out by, first the whoosh of air from the approaching subway. Then by the loud explosion on the tracks that send chunks of concrete and spalling steel flying, twisting the rails into pretzels into the bargain, and finally the sound of the train getting forced off the tracks and smacking into the far edge of the platform, where the tweaker is, grinding through the first yard or so of the platform edge, itself being peeled in the process like a potato peeler was taken to its side.

Alexander Aaron has posed:
    Rising to his feet quickly, Alexander's first movement is toward Melissa. Just her, all the rest of humanity may as well hang for the thoughts of the young Olympian. He steps forward, hand out, as if to shield or brace though with the way the debris flies and the impact, likely they are not immediately threatened. He'll try to make sure they are safely behind a suitable pillar with cover before he snakes his cellphone free of his pocket and hits the emergency button on the app right on the front.
    A signal is sent out from his phone, whether or not it is picked up by the repeaters in the station itself or if they're offline it's hard to say right now, but he pockets again. "Bronx metro station, explosion."
    Suddenly he is all business, no hint of the youth, no casual comments. And his voice is subtly changed.

Heather Danielson has posed:
    The cause of all of this? Well, would that it would be so simple as to have a single cause. This is what happens when two gangs war in the age of superhumans. Especially when one of them gets their hands on anti-metahuman weaponry.
    "I LOVE THIS GUN!" comes a cry in a joyous tone of voice from down behind the exploded train car. Even as all of the chaos is beginning, Heather -was- planning to pretend the music made her unable to hear the Guidos, but now she just turns.. not frozen in panic like so many of the bystanders. She charges forward and shatters her shoulder, upper arm, and three ribs as she rams into the train car, slowing it enough that it doesn't kill the tweaker or anyone else in the station.
    By the time she stops it and pulls away, she's got an imprint about her shape in the car's side... and most of her own injuries are already healed. "Ow." she mutters.
    Down the tunnel comes the sounds of ridiculous weapons fire. Plasma cannons and oversized elephant guns. God, only in New York.

Melissa Gold has posed:
    "Shit!" Melissa tries, and fails, to leap into action, being blocked by Alexander's impulse to defend her.
    She flashes a quick smile of thanks, together with chiding eyes, as she steps around him and does her own thing, which in this case, since her attention was already focused on them for action of another sort, and she thus has their numbers, involves a bum rush at the guidos. Unaware of the huge chunk of concrete flying their way, large enough to guarantee killing anybody it strikes, and having the possibility of striking at least two, Melissa moves at top speed before throwing herself sideways at the trio, landing in a roll, arms tucked tight against her chest, to knock all three over like bowling pins.
    The delay was cruicial. She doesn't quite get there in time and the piece of concrete clips one of them in a glancing blow on the left side of his head as he goes down. That crunching sound does not bode well ...
    Without even pausing to judge the impact of her handiwork, she charges onward, trying to find the bag lady and the tweaker.
    "Motherfucker!" she growls as she hears the gangs revelling in the chaos they caused.
    Somone is going to feel the bare knuckles of justice, it seems.

Alexander Aaron has posed:
    Following in the wake of Hurricane Mel, Alexander Aaron presents a strong counterpoint to the young woman's movements. She is all unbound rage and rush and emotion and forward-forward-forward. And the tow-headed teen continues at her side and a step behind as he'll fan out so they're not quite an easily targettable pair. There's a rush past Heather, perhaps an instant of notice before he's forced attention forward and on the opposition at hand.
    Songbird strikes, leaping into the fray. Alexander forms to the side and grabs at one of those who might be bowled over, slamming them face first into a wall with a resonant crack before he breaks to the side and continues. Rushing in the direction of the weapon wielders and the calls of exultation. "Break right." He tells her as they reach the passageway and when they come into view of the next gangster packing a weapon, Alexander snaps his hand out forward with fingers flaring, sending just a snap flicker of an image of Terror to the mind of whomever may be so unfortunate.

Heather Danielson has posed:
    "Is anyone planning to... oh skip it." mutters Heather as she punches a hand through the side of the train car, and then does the same thing with her other hand. The bones re-knit as she grimaces, and then she rips the side open, making a ramp. "Come on! Everybody out!" she yells to those who were trapped inside. The fact that her hand and wrists are gushing blood for a few seconds is meaningless to her. Pain is an old friend by now.
    She steps back out of the way and starts gesturing to spur folks on. And the chance of an escape is all they need.....

Heather Danielson has posed:
    Meanwhile, heavily armed but really not armored at all, gang members are starting to be attacked. But they -are- battle hardened (for the streets of NYC) gang members. Heavy weapons begin thundering back.
    Now mind you, what they lack in precision aim or control... they more than make up for in enthusiasm. Why fire three rounds when you can fire seventeen at the same target?!
    Those weapons are old surplus SHIELD weapons that were supposed to have been melted down and destroyed. Maybe Hydra got some smuggled out and sold them on the black market to fund operations? Nobody knows and right now it does not matter. What matters is that plasma rifles are being fired so fast that they'll be overheating soon. But the tunnel may not survive it. Not to mention anyone struck by the superheated ionized gas.... that means you two. And bystanders, and the train car, and the wall...

Melissa Gold has posed:
    The Mormons, so distastefully staring at the busker earlier with obvious disapproval of his choice of music, to their credit step into action. When Elders Pickford and Johansen (if name tags are to be believed) see Heather tear open an improvised ramp, they rush up to the edge and leap into the train, starting to help people through the twisted innards up to the makeshift exit.
    "You go, Miss," they say to her, the ridiculously young "Elders" staring at the carnage around them. "This is beneath one with your gifts." And they start helping the elderly, children, the injured, etc. escape the forward car.
    LET'S GET READY TO RUMBLE!
    Melissa, in her headlong flight, stoops to pick up a large chunk of concrete with a sharpened edge and hurls it with brutal efficiency at the first armed thug she sees on her side of the tunnel.
    The earlier sicking crunch heralded something bad, but not necessarily death. This one heralds something incredibly bad. Heads aren't supposed to make squishing noises after loud cracks.
    Without stopping as the gangbanger falls, she scoops up his plasma rifle and throws THAT at the second one in view, aiming for the supporting shoulder and missing, smashing into the second plasma rifle with the first, forcibly twisting his aim to spray down the length of the tunnel on his own side.
    A lot of screaming and swearing and "I'll get you you traitorous son-of-a-bitch"ing erupts from that.

Alexander Aaron has posed:
    Breaking the other way as the weapons fire, one of the gangsters suddenly shrieks a blood-curling wail and falls back, rifle firing once as his fingers clutch closed on the weapon, his eyes rolling back into his head as spittle explodes from his face. The next takes aim towards Alexander and Melissa, only to have a long crimson blade sprout from his chest, hurled with a sideways twist that impales him against the wall.
    A wall that the youth runs up along the side, letting him hold out his hand to cause that weapon to fade out of the now corpse, and back into his hand all in time for him to complete the downward stroke needed to take the life of another combatant.
    Landing with a skid and spinning back to his feet, Phobos turns with silvery light flaring from his eyes, sword snapping up into position as he then moves to cover Melissa's further efforts.