#xfcevent

The room is silent. Though such a thing is to be expected of the Brotherhood infirmary, the fact that there’s a reason—the presence of their respective leaders—renders the occupants of the room wordless. Curious. For all their power, their battle with their opponents has left each man worse for wear. Their faces bear healing scrapes, their weight settled on dominant limbs, though their expressions remain sharp.

As though the rush of adrenaline is still running high.

The collective gaze of the wounded remains focused as one male looks to the other, and surprisingly, it’s Magneto that steps forth. “Considering that you were directly involved in recent events, you’re the first to know.” Congratulations, the wry smile on his lips seems to say; without an ounce of humor. “Or, I should say you’ll learn in person.” He glances over his shoulder, where Xavier gives him an absent nod. The implication is clear—those not present are receiving a direct line from the headmaster himself.

With that, he begins.

“In rescuing the captured, we’ve learned quite a bit about what the humans have been able to accomplish.” His fingers twitch at his sides, curling into fists—“They appear to have harvested Lena’s DNA to create super soldiers; she possessed Supernatural Condition, though at the time we thought it was limited to speed.”

The moment of silence that follows is thick, though his expression shows little change from his usual hard stare.

salvation arrives almost too late. the dull roar of battle outside the facility—xavier’s tracking skills remain up to inhuman par—serves as a blatant contrast to the deathly silence inside. pristine halls and bright, cold lights lead down a path each rescuer has been told to follow. the occasional unconscious body sits slumped against the wall, or laid out upon the floor; as if they simply fell asleep where they stood.

that’s the power of a high-level telepath.

the warning stands, however, that there are innumerable risks beyond the doors. even as magneto and xavier wage war on the enhanced soldiers—taking a firm hold of stability—the possibility remains that the damage is too great. still, the objective is clear.

. . .

the van will be parked just outside the north exit. those who are able to walk should, and those in critical condition need to be handled carefully. you’re to proceed directly to the brotherhood base—the infirmary is open.

he’d never been the type to stare. aside from the fact that it was plainly rude, it revealed a measure of interest that sen was in no way keen on displaying toward anyone. junki, for his all of his eloquence, had deemed it a social anxiety and sen, for all of his warm-hearted restraint, had refrained from launching his good friend through the nearest window.

in jest, of course.

naturally, there are exceptions to every rule. and the exception finds him today, when he calls a meeting—to discuss the successful outcome of a personal mission he’d endorsed himself—and the grand total of members that appear (the grand total of his small but mighty band of radical pro-mutants) is ravi.

sen stares.

by time he considers calling his good friend junki, he knows precisely how many eyelashes the male has—136 (an absurd number)—and just how long it’s been since he’s washed his face.

he hadn’t called a meeting for one-on-one time.

the air is cold. clinical, in a way—save that there’s no telltale odor of antiseptic hanging in air. the only discernible thing is the coppery scent of blood; of the pain and sickness embodied in the crimson liquid that creeps across the floor. a cursory glance provides no clue as to whose it is. the bodies of each captured mutant line the floor in haphazardly constructed rows, surrounding a single drain in the floor. there’s no treatment, no pretense of care beyond the occasional glance of soldiers armed from head to toe, or men and women clad in white coats with clipboards clasped against their sides.

one makes a note.

the next steps inside, past countless safeguards to draw fresh blood from each of the wounded. the guard that follows in wears a smile and bears the tattoo iv on her arm—“anyone that does something dumb can watch as all of their friends die.”—she warns, not for the first time. as always, her words are mild; tone almost pleasant.

after all, there’s no escape.

alright ! until the rescue effort is mounted (by the end of tonight) the captured mutants are free to reblog this prompt and use it as either a solo or to roleplay with others in the massive chamber that they are being held in. as the prompt states there is no escape ! so no funny ideas ~ everyone else, keep your eye out as well for posted prompts that will apply to you (students, citizens and what not) --

if you participated in tonight/last night's cbox session (the retrieval of lena's head) and were defeated by 4, 12 or 15--you have been captured by the govt. you will wake up in a bright, sealed room at an unknown location and must await further prompts. in the case of lu han and son naeun, they have been hunted and captured by 10.

for everyone else, please note that the city of busan is in complete disarray. leaving your residences and/or the school is ill-advised unless you're given clearance by xavier, who is currently in the midst of planning his and the x-men's next course of action (as is magneto).

there is little to be said about the tension in the air, thick and easily cut with the likes of a butter knife, but that’s a given with the small amount of people occupying it. the governor, especially, a previously eloquent and idealistic man—young, but even that is hard to find among hard eyes and a clenched jaw; a widower with the city he had been put under charge crumbling beneath his fingers due to these mutants. but—even if he loathed them—there is a line—there’s always a line.  

that girl was the line.

“i want that head taken down, director. the damage to the citizens of the city far outweigh any benefit of keeping it there, let alone for a week.” the disgust in his words are clear, he himself couldn’t bear to look at the footage for too long—let alone his citizens. though the occupants in the room offer him nothing in response as of yet—something that only further prompts him to continue, running on the frustration building within.

“this is not the example we want to set—she wasn’t on the wanted list. as far as the public—and myself—are concerned, she was an innocent teenager that didn’t do anyone harm.” he grimaced, hands lifting to rub at his temples before continuing, “it is highly unfortunate that something like this has happened under my watch—and i would rather not expose the citizens to anymore of this barbarism, director.”

the voice that answered his long-winded rant, however, was not the director of the proposed acolyte program, one he had come to begrudgingly grown accustomed to. “that’s great and all, governor, that you are still able to think for the better of your citizens when their kind took away your wife—was it?” his stomach tightens at the thought, attention turning to the woman that steps from behind the director to address him, nostrils flaring at the mention of his late wife.

“you—” but the woman cuts him off, not breaking her stride forward to his desk.

“but in all honesty, governor—“ she speaks, coming to a stop in front of his desk as she procures a pistol from her coat—his eyes widen, but no one else in the room seems to even move—lips curling into a faux saccharine curve. “you’re no longer in charge here.”

only the director seems to flinch at the bang that goes off in the room, a cold bead of sweat rolling down the side of his head as he watches the woman circle the desk and approach the dying male with a small silver ball in hand.

he’s unable to take his eyes away as the woman squeezes the soon-to-be-late governor’s jaw, forcing open bloodied teeth in order to thrust the miniature bomb in, wiping her hand on his coat before taking a step back, pivoting on her heel and gesturing him to follow.

the director does as says, of course.

“We interrupt this program to bring you breaking news from the home of Governor Oh Jiho, where we have been told that an attack late last night by mutant rioters has taken his life. On the scene is correspondent Ahn Mihee—Ahn-ssi? Are you there?”

A moment later, the broadcast moves to the crowded driveway of a stately mansion. Countless cruisers line the gates, surrounding a fire truck, white vans and a single ambulance near the front door. The sight is surreal, with the murmur of voices in the background—officers, soldiers and paramedics; reporters, clamoring for the perfect angle of controlled chaos.

Before the camera, a petite woman adjusts her earpiece, reading over a piece of paper before handing it to someone off camera.

“Yes. We’re here at the scene of what witnesses describe as an all-out attack here in Busan. As you can see, the fire department has been hard at work extinguishing the flames that overtook the west wing of the house at approximately three a.m. this morning. Firefighters were able to recover remains believed to be Governor Oh Jiho—details concerning his state have not yet been released to us, but we are told that an extensive autopsy will be performed at the city coroner’s office.”

“Ahn-ssi, were there any other survivors?”

A pause, as the woman peers down at a small stack of index cards in her hand. In the meantime, the camera pans to the door, where ornate doors are pulled open slowly—

“No, there have been no survivors. The night staff are confirmed dead as well, among them two members of security, a maid and a chauffeur. Their families are being notified as we speak. We've been told that officials are considering this a case of homicide, and they suspect a mutant, or group of mutants as being the assailants. Pending a formal investigation, officers are preparing for riots as citizens gather outside the mansion...”

Voices clamor in the background, the clicking of camera flashes visible on-screen as the head of a gurney emerges from the entrance. Beneath a crisp white tarp, the silhouette of a man is easily visible, being guided by a number of officers into a large van parked nearby. “As you can see, the Governor is being transported to the city coroner’s office, where officials will hopefully gain some insight into this tragic event. This is Ahn Mihee, reporting—back to you.”