December 7, 2014: The Mist and Fracture are surrounded during a mixer. United by hate.. they rise.

A Nightclub, NYC

It's a flippin' rave!



  • Club goers
  • Policemen

Mood Music:

"I wanted you to know.. that I am ready to go.. heartbeat, my heartbeat.."
"I wanted you to know, that whenever you are around.. I can't speak.. I can't speak.."

The base in the club picks up as everyone dances, some paired off in the corner slowly swaying to the fast tempo, B-Boys in the middle of the dance floor doing what they do, spinning atop of their heads in stylish waves that make the boys back in the 80's look sick. Women in tight dresses dancing and swaying, some in street clothes keeping up with the boys that top and turn with their own dance.

Smoke fills the top of the club which interferes with the colored strobe likes just like they like it, the bartender serving up drinks with a toss and flip of the bottle into the air, deft catches and half dances while the drinks are poured.

It wasn't a grand opening, the club has been around for years and every night is a party topped with X and whatever drug that runs around these sort of crowds.

//"Heartbeat.. my heartbeat.."

"Can't speak.. I can't speak.."//

The music echoes through the club with perfection, the cacophony of happiness and laughter mixed in with dope rhymes.. Childish Gambino. He, to some, remains uncontested in the rap game.

Veruca wasn't one to miss out on a good party, jumping with her hands in the air in tune with the base, breaking out into a dance that only she knows how. She's trained; hips sway, arms and heart a mess. But little did she know, suits were beginning to swarm the club, each taking up critical points and blending in with those who were high, and who were not. No one notices the guns that they have, the weaponry easily concealed in the darkness.

Nash mingles with the smoke, of course, in and out, solid and insubstantial, a ghost amongst the crowd. She mingles here and there, finding someone to grind, biting an ear, moving on with an echo of laughters as they try to find her. She loves to leave them wanting, tantalized. She loves to see people squirm. Pleasure, pain. Either way, they were her toys to play with and tonight she was having her fun.

She has a cigarette dangling from her lips as she's momentarily solidified, sitting on the railing next to the DJ. Her legs, sheathed in tight black leather, kick, studded heels bouncing. She catches sight of Veruca, but doesn't know her, except as another pretty girl, prettier than most, yes, but another face in the madding crowd.

But she does see the suits. She's been on the run long enough to know when something's going down. It only makes her smile wider, her body appearing to still be there, but, in fact, she's little more than her codename, a mist in the shape of a woman…for now. Let's see how this plays out.
Nash has reconnected.

The song itself was picking up, which made those dance harder and sometimes faster, and even slower as some men dip their women in deep kisses with twirls. And that was all right.

Veruca has been in the game long enough to know when something wasn't right, her eyes glancing up towards the ceiling in notice, the way bodies seemingly appear and disappear without want or need, people masked and marked with confusion, her icy blues follow the trail towards the DJ booth.

Eye contact made. A slight grin that passes upon her lips and fade once again as that shifted look cants towards a man within a suit. Ah. That's what she was smiling about.

But who were they here for? They were about to find out.


The music cuts itself off at the sound, the DJ feeling a little befuddled as he attempts to harness the sound, to bring the music back to the party as the crowd begins to boo.

"Veruca Glass. Nash. You two are wanted for crimes against humanity. Put your hands up and step towards the middle of the floor."

The voice airs along the speakers, and most of the crowd begins to back away, looking to and fro for a Veruca and a Nash. It seems.. whomever was ambitious enough to call them upon the two women wanted a two fer, a promotion must be in the works.

"And right in the middle of my favorite song…" Who was this Nash..?

Nash hops down off of the railing with a hearty laugh, her sunglasses covering her glittering green eyes. She draws on her smoke, a black-nailed hand coming and taking it from her mouth, lipstick marking the filter, "You're supposed to call me The Mist, didn't you get the memo? I wrote it on enough bodies that I thought you'd remember it by now, you inconsiderate fucks."

She moves with an easy step, as if she weighed nothing at all, finding her way to the middle of the dance floor with some amusement. She has no fear of these men, clearly, wondering how this Veruca might be. Somebody from the candy factory perhaps. Nash did like her lollipops.

She feels the guns under her arms, the cold of them against her ribs soothing somehow as she lets herself and them solidify a bit more, finally discovering the pretty girl and she are the ones left behind.

"Nice to meet you, criminal against humanity." she grins.

The Mist. Aha.

Veruca grins as the woman hops down from the railing, her own hands slightly lifted to show that she was unarmed, yet dropped from the tiredness and absurdity of it all. There was no smile that graced her features, only a cold dead stare that narrows upon the men that surrounded them as such. There was at least twenty in total, all aimed and trained upon the two women. Collars, metal with little blue, yellow, and red lights to contain the gifts that the women have so that they could be apprehended as a normal human would.

But if these two thought like normal humans..

"Tis' a pleasure, I'm sure."

Veruca wasn't being nasty, unless you called her Ms. Glass. That was as pleasant as she was going to get.. especially when..

"Oh no.. not again.." A copy cried out from the DJ booth. "Who turned the song off?! It was at the besst part.. the thighs.. oh wow…"

Another slowly walks across the stage, armed with thin blades, one in each hand.

The last? She hangs from the ceiling.. a loud rattling hiss announcing her presence.

"Happy, Angry, and Creepy there." Veruca explains briefly towards Mist. "Jackass and Asshole are currently locking the doors. No one leaves alive."

It wasn't that she was calling the shots. She just didn't want her name and face to be out in the open. Not just yet.

Nash looks around with a widening grin, "Ohhhhh, I -like- that. Very house of horrors meets Ninja Gaiden. I bet it's gonna leave a lot of these boys bleeding, though. Poor little coppers. I mean, superheroes are bad enough, underwear on the outside pussies that they are, but you guys? Patheeeeeeeetic. I mean, look at all of you, here to apprehend two wee girls…well…five wee girls," she says.

And as she seems to gesture, mist swirls from under her jacket and forms into a pair of automatic pistols, one in each hand, and she starts hammering the trigger as she mows her way down the catwalks.


"What the…" One man in a suit calls out..

"She's over there too!"

The Happy one bangs loudly upon the turntables until the songs begin to pick up.. yet Mist, she started the party early.

The real Veruca.. for once, backed out of the way, producing her own blades which were lined upon her back, twirling them before dashing forth with blazing speed to take care of the crowd. But there was a moment of hesitation.. maybe, just maybe.. it was time.

"Fuck it. Unlock the doors. Get the hell out before I kill you all!"

Her one good gesture for the month.

The other men who weren't firing back out of confusion decided to take their designs out on Veruca, each of the copies soon jumping into action.. stab here.. thrust there..all the while the real one ushered those out of the club.

House of horrors, there were screams abound and blood, gunfire and collateral damage abound. Some of the innocent bystanders were killed.. whether it was by hers, Veruca's.. or the men? Is anyones guess.
Nash is soon just a pair of disembodies hands and a pair of guns, and the mouth, always the mouth, red lipped and laughing, those white teeth bright amidst the green swirl of her form as she flies up to meet them, mowing down a couple of bystanders along the way.

"Oopsie. So much for that sugar daddy. Don't worry, you'll find another one," she chuckles.

She finds one of the cops right in front of her, trying to use a collar, only for her to dematerialize and flood down his throat, forcing her way into his lungs until he falls onto his back, gasping and flopping like a fish on the dock.

It seems that the man who caught a mouth full of Mist couldn't contain her.. or himself. Each wriggle, bounce and thrust upon the ground brought blood pooling from his eyes..

While the other decides to run.

Run right into the blade that the real Veruca was holding. "Not so fast, baby doll." His eyes were wide with shock and disbelief, but he still tried to hold out for his duty as a cop; he attempted to lift the collar and attach it to his neck. Veruca.. wanted nothing to do with the collar, and immediately stepped back to give him a heeled boot towards the middle and off of her blade.

One copy down due to stray fire.. two.. three.. almost until she was left standing.. but that was more than enough.

Blades flash against red, blues and greens.. blood flies and spatters against the ground, causing an innocent to fall and skid into the crowd that was left behind. It was pure and utter chaos, and those that hadn't made it out of the club just yet? They were soon going to find out that being at the back of the line was best.

Nash carries a knife as well as a gun and it shows itself as it juts suddenly up and out of the chest of the suffocated agent, the woman rising slowly, congealing, droplets of blood mingling with her misty form until she comes out drenched from head to toe in fleshy, raw crimson, the agent butterflied open from the inside like a fresh lobster, splinters of ribs jabbed.

Two more agents literally just run from Mist as she approaches, pushing her blood-glazed sunglasses up on her forehead to reveal her emerald eyes as she tucks the knife in her belt and reforms her guns.

"Aw, whatsamatter? You don't wanna play anymore? Didn't Daddy tell you what happens when you come to play with the big girls?"

"The big girls make you dead." *BLAMBLAMBLAMBLAMBLAM*

The last two agents catch bullets in the back, falling down towards the ground dead.

There was no one left, save for the mewling few who were left behind, crying in the corner, holding their dead loved ones in despair. Veruca looks on to the crowd that was left, then glances back towards a bloodied Mist, carrying a smile that was all too tired (from expending the copies) and filled with warmth.

"You. I like you." She says with a point of a blade, turning back towards the crowd who screams and cries.

"And you.." She reaches forward towards a young woman, dragging her away from her fallen boyfriend only to be tossed upon the middle of the dancefloor.

"And you and you and you and you and you…

Six of them in total. All huddled against each other in the corner as she begins her work again, slicing.. dicing.. apologizing to those who beg for their lives and wanting to join those who were left alive in the middle.





Nash leans against the railing, blood dripping from her leather clad form. She shrugs off her jacket, her Sex Pistols tank soaked through and clinging to her skin with gore. She licks a bit of it off her fingers, still warm from the man she just ripped her way out of, then lights one of her cigarettes, still pristine. She does adore her powers so.

The slicing and dicing is quite epic, worthy of any slasher film, Nash inhaling deeply and blowing smoke as Veruca finishes her fun, "Feeling's mutual, cutter. I'm always glad to meet someone else who knows how to get their hate on." she smiles, jumping over the railing and drifting for just a second, her lower body misting and reforming to slow her descent until her heels reform beneath her and she walks among the bodies.

The slaughter was done. The final man taking his last gasp of breath as Veruca glances towards those she has in a huddle. And they remain, unmoving, still crying.. against each other.

Nash's words though, gain a smile, the flick of her blades tossed out and sheathed within one fell swoop as she makes her way towards the woman with a gesture of her fingers. She needs a cigarette. Especially after this mess.

"Oh. This wasn't hate." Veruca clarifies. "Not towards them, anyways." Gesturing towards the dead few, she looks towards the split open cop with a slight frown. "This was just a lesson. On both our ends, I suppose. Names Veruca. Fracture if you're nasty."

Thank you Janet Jackson!

Nash grins and offers a smoke easily, tapping the pack towards her new friend. Her skin is absolutely soaked in blood, a few bits of agent sitting on her shoulders, "Nash, but you heard that. Fracture, I like that. Gets right to the point," she says.

A woman on the ground moans, having been trampled in the rush to escape, "Shhhhhhhhhhh, the grown ups are talking," she says, stepping casually on the girl's throat. "Well, my hate's always there. Since I can't get at the object of my loathing, I unleash it on the rest of the world. It's cathartic. And fun. And sometimes very, very messy." she grins.

The cigarette was taken and lit, a deep inhale causing her eyes to roll up towards the ceiling. "This. This is a cigarette that was meant to be savored. I can feel it."

She blows the smoke from her nose as she looks down towards the girl, who struggles and tries to breath, but all of the sympathy that Veruca had that night? Went right out the window.

"You know, sugar, I could probably help you get to the object of your loathing. And in the meanwhile.." She gestures towards the group of folks, a slight grin upon her face. "I'm feeling generous. Take your pick. They're yours for the taking or killing."

Nash walks up to the huddling group, leaving the girl sputtering in her wake as the Mist kneels down, her head cocked. The victims whimper, burying their faces in one another, the stench of fear ripe as the blood-soaked villainess considers prey.

"Oh, I'll take him myself, no worries. I'm not ready yet. I'm sharp, yes, but I have to be like razor wire. I want to cut him so deep he doesn't realize he's cut until his guts spill out. I want to look in his eyes and watch him die, helpless. But, first, I'm going to get ready. And then I'm going to kill everything he ever loved."

She grabs a dark haired young man by the hair and pulls him out, 'You…you remind me of him…" she says, flinging him onto his face, letting him struggle and beg as he tries to find his feet, slipping in the blood…

A woman in the group screams and reaches out, but with a click of a tongue from Veruca, she immediately snakes her arm in and begins to whimper.

The man sprawls out, sputtering and immediately begging.. but.. there was a conversation to be had.


And all was quiet.

"I'm here. If you need." Veruca finally says calmly, taking a few steps forward to produce a card from her top. It was offered up with a deft flick, a true testament of her skill would be that Nash would catch it, unphased.

"I'm also here, because I want to see. I want to watch whomevers world burn. I want to see their tears, and the life leave their eyes. I want to see them become just.. like.. us."

With those words, she glances up towards the mirrored ceiling, her eyes vacant for a moment.. then with an approach to the nearest captive, she tosses them straight up and into the glass.

They disappear like such, and the rest were a struggle, but she manages to disappear the lot of them with the throws that she put forth.

"Enjoy the gift. Be seeing you soon."

And with those words, she crouches and launches herself towards those portals, sinking in as the glass ripples like music through the air.

Nash smiles and keeps the card as she steps on the back of the man's neck. Veruca would be a useful partner as she continues to hone herself. Someday, she'll go to her Romeo and she'll ruin him, the way he ruined her. In the meantime, anyone who wore a mask, who fought in the name of 'justice' was going to pay for his crimes.

"I wonder how you'd look in a cape…" she smiles down at the man.

An hour later, the screaming has finally stopped. The rest of the huddled group have been shot and arrayed in a circle underneath Nash's chosen victim. When the police burst in, she's long gone. The man dangles from cable strung to the rafters, wiring for the sound system ripped down and turned into a makeshift noose. She'd made a cape out of a torn curtain, a mask from a slice up t-shirt. His teeth had been broken, along with his neck, and one of his eyes was gone, as if it had been scooped out. The coroner will later find gouge marks, the evidence of fingernails scraped along the ocular cavity.

A piece of paper is nailed to his chest, driven there with a waitress' pen jabbed between his ribs "Another Dead Hero" it says.

She's only just getting started.

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