Michael had little time to spare after they had entered the warehouse but he looked towards Dr. Weston as often as he could manage. He did not intend to lead the woman who saved his life to an early grave.
Aside from those moments, his focus was set on the surroundings and the monster. When he felt the thing slow and circle the building he took a seat on the floor and closed his eyes.
Yes, it was definitely playing with him.
Hours passed and light began to fade. The creature darted back and forth, feigning and taunting. Beads of sweat began to run down his cheeks but his expression remained impassive, although his heart pounded at every noise, amplified as it was by the power.
He tried to ease Dr. Weston's nerves as he could, but it was a comfort-less update in a short tone. "It is outside. Waiting."
As the sun descended and darkness prevailed, it made it's move.
After the initial rush of adrenaline, Torri found herself pacing and waiting for what seemed like an eternity. Had she front line combat experience, she might have been used to the quiet before the storm, but her tours of duty were in combat hospitals where there was always a steady stream of wounded and the stress never relented.
Michael seemed to be meditating. He didn't seem to be the sort to be into yoga or any other New Age bullshit, so Torri could only guess what he was doing behind closed lids. Every once in a while she pulled out her Med Wallet and held it up to him as though she might glean something insightful. She never did.
He wasn't much of a talker. Which was fine with her. She wasn't either. But the silence stretched for eons. She eventually took to working on wallet crossword app. The current game against her father had stretched on for months now, and she still didn't know what to do with her mismatch of random letters. If only acronyms were allowed...
Michael's calm voice interrupted.
"It is outside. Waiting."
She closed the Wallet and set it aside. Sunset was upon them, and inside the warehouse, long limbs of light creeping through the windowpanes were growing dim. She thought about flares, but without a direct order, stayed still.
"How do you know for sure?"
She asked with a calmer voice than she expected to come out of her.
Michael's answer was an arc of Air driven Fire bursting forth from his left side to curl around and guard his rear. The creature struck with the descending shadows as the sun set, flowing in through the cracks as mist.
Forcing himself upright, he had only the tendrils of his Wardings to guide the nets of binding Air as it blurred across his vision. The bindings caught thin air while the creature attacked from the right.
Michael had barely enough time to rebuff it with a crude wall of Air. It slipped sideways as it hit and resumed it's assault without so much as a hint that it had been hindered. It's form flowed naturally around his probing strikes and drew closer.
He lashed the slithering monster with nets of Air, Fire and even drew upon Water to test it for weakness, all to no avail. It slowed only once when Michael hesitated and
"Help!" he called in a tight voice. The creature's mouth curled up in a smile that was anything but pleasant.
It's deadly limbs came within striking distance forcing Michael to twist to the left to avoid a vicious swipe which cut through the brown wool like a scythe in a cornfield.
At that moment Michael made his move. He spun Fire and Earth with all of his strength to create a miniature explosion aimed at the floor below. He was propelled backwards by the force and watched the monster turn to mist before the faded into a hazy blur as he hit the metal wall producing a dull thud.
In the moments of incoherence he hoped that Dr. Weston managed to exploit the opening he had created. It would allow her precious moments of safety - unless the mist was as deadly as its human form. He had lost his grip on the power and pain flooded his already confused mind.
His ears rang and for a long moment he was at the mercy of the fickle masters chance and fortune.
He was not exactly sure what ensued in the intervening lapse but as he regained his faculties he watched the creature shy away - in pain or surprise, he could not say - then cock it's head. Time stood still before, with a last baleful glare at Michael it disappeared as fast as it had entered.
It was then Michael noticed the urgent beeping of his communications pad. His head spun and he grew irritable. Could they not take care of themselves for a day?
Then he read the message and the irritation faded with his sinking heart.
Ah...
And then all hell broke loose. Pretty much literally.
Walls of fire shoved their way through the air. Invisible whips stirred long dormant dust. And mingling through it all like it had all the time in the world was the same ghostly apparition Torri saw on base.
She had the steel tank at the ready, but she knew there was only one real shot to douse the thing with liquid nitrogen. Once the bucket is tossed, you don't get another chance.
Michael's for help rippled through Torri's body like she'd been struck dumb. Her mouth gaped wide, and she made to go closer, but before she made a single step, the ground shook and the floor erupted.
Chunks of cement and underlaid piping shot through the air like Michael carried a light mortar in his pocket and happened to drop it at just the right moment.
Torri kept her footing as Michael was thrown back. The apparition blurred opaque, then took on a solid shape, much as what Torri remembered from the office. A hungry snarl over came its face, but Torri met it, canister in hand, before it took a single step toward its disoriented target.
With a yell, liquid clearer than any rain water arched at its chest. Boiling cold, it sizzled and steamed as it passed through the creature. A painful shrill pulsed through the air, and Torri threw her hands over her ears at the sound.
The next thing she knew, it was completely gone, and Michael was pulling himself up to stand.
The canister rolled on the ground and tumbled into the crater Michael created, but Torri barely noticed. She was already at Michael's side, instruments in hand, ready to check him for injuries.
Her heart raced. Sweat trickled down the side of her face. She needed to catch her breath. "Is it gone?"
Apparently he had a way of tracking it she did not. Then she noticed the alert freaking out his communications pad. "What the devil?"
"I don't know,"
Michael replied, his head throbbing. He could feel a slow trickle of blood running down the back of his head where he had hit the wall. His focus was back though, if not the power, so he figured it was not lethal and he trusted Dr. Weston to tell him otherwise.
With the immediate danger gone, he had a moment to recall his surroundings. He surveyed the debris that lay before him in the wake of the furious encounter. The concrete below was shattered and scored with fire-blasted furrows. In the centre of it all was a circular crater as if a meteor had struck - albeit a very small one. It might as well have been too. He had not anticipated the sheer force he had put into the Net, nor the extent of the destruction.
He turned his gaze on Dr. Weston, who seemed to be in tact, if a little shaken. "Are you ok? That was...unexpected."
The way she fussed about him with whatever supplies she had brought along indicated he was in far more danger but it irked him that he had no power to heal. He would be helpless to save her life as easily as she seemed to do for him.
"I believe it was distracted, though. As we are about to be."
The gravity of the situation reasserted itself and Michael made an attempt to stand. "The war has begun. al'Hasan has been attacked by a assassins wearing CCD uniforms. Of course, only a fool would actually do something like that, and the Ascendancy is no fool. Someone has set this up. We need to return before things turn ugly."
She finished taking stock of Michael's vitals. The infrared scanner on her screen told her there was a hotspot on his scalp, and she made him show her the back of his head. It was a scratch, and scalp wounds always bled a deceptive amount. It was possible he had a concussion, but the limitations of her wallet, while advanced for military-grade, would not pick up on damage at such a cellular level. It could read biomarkers with a pinprick, but he was already moving on. She'd keep an eye out for signs of head injury just in case.
She was fine. Except for the fact that she'd twice now seen something that didn't exist within her scientific world only to let it escape. "I'm fine," she said thinly.
She didn't have the alert system Michael was privy to. So she was reliant on his filter to find out what was happening out there. Almost on cue, there were raised voices outside. She frowned toward the direction of the street, but the particulars of the fighting made her jaw drop.
"Let's get out of here."
She helped him up, and stayed close in case he showed signs of dizziness. "You're still recovering, and I don't like how disoriented you seem. That thing did a number on you."
She walked with him toward the door, but checked the street before going out there.
Michael let himself lean on Dr. Watson's shoulder. For now he would have to trust her. It was not as hard as it would have been. It was in fact quite easy which came as a surprise.
"Fair enough,"
he said, the fading light of dusk mixed with the florescent lights making his eyes water and his head ache. It was all he could do to focus his vision. "I don't mean to alarm you, but I'm afraid I may not be able to use my abilities if we are found. I can't track the monster either, it could be anywhere."
He could spare the Dr. no comfort in such an emergency.
His right hand fumbled around in the loose pockets of his shirt and produced a standard data-pad and held it up for Dr. Weston to take. "If the situation gets out of hand, take this and initiate the evacuation procedure. I knew it was only a matter of time, so I prepared."
He gave her a little smile no doubt a product of his disorientation. "I still don't plan on dying for you, Dr. I will simply be more effective if it comes to conflict."
He was not sure if that was true, but he hoped the danger of such a situation would give him the drive needed to grasp his power.
"Let's hope it doesn't come to it though, I'd much rather be on a plane back to Moscow tonight."
<small><small><small>(OOC: Sorry to do it to you, but Michael is disoriented (and of course, me not having much time, so I'll have to leave the details of the return to base in your hands)</small></small></small>
[[Apologies: this is a terrible post. Trying to get back in the swing of things]]
Michael's faith in her was flattering.
She was not completely without use. So she grit her teeth and focused on something else other than rolling her eyes. He had made it clear how willing he was to be a hero. "Good to know where we stand,"
she said.
She hefted him along. Luckily, Michael was able to walk, but it didn't take a surgeon to sense how weak he was.
"Well we are bound to get noticed now."
She'd lost her head wrapping in the fight. Michael was covered with dirt.
She slipped the data pad in a pocket in the robes, and rather hoped things wouldn't get out of hand like he described - for obvious reasons. She was more interested in getting him beneath a scanner than solving all the shit in Mecca.
First she had to get him back to base.
Dr. Weston's words washed over him like oil over water. His head spun at an alarming rate, he doubted he could even walk unaided.
Twice now the monster had escaped him. Twice it had left him helpless. Even prepared, he did not have the power to destroy it. That hurt more than the ache in his head ever would.
Disturbed and irritated, he did not have the strength to summon any anger or desire for revenge. He had soldiers who were potentially dying this minute to care for, even if that constituted nothing more than making it through a turbulent crowd.
Time held no meaning for him as he swayed through the increasingly blurred throng. He was not sure if it was the jostling of bodies or his own disorientation that threatened to topple him.
For what had seemed an age, he was reduced and at the mercy of a guiding hand. One he had placed in danger, perhaps against their will. It was long since he truly trusted his life to another. Even Tony had been unreliable, drunk as he used to be. Trust now did not come easy, but eventually he relinquished his tension, his shoulders slumping to almost dead weight.
"I..."
he tried to say, but it came out in a jumbled mess. It took all of his strength just to stay congruent now. It seemed he was deteriorating fast. "This is strange...I should not be so..."
Weakness robbed him of the words and he fell to the ground, his chest heaving as he dry-wretched.
Through the gasps for breath and winces of pain he managed a semblance of his usual mettle and forced himself to his feet. "I don't care if I need rest, we must get back."