WELCOME TO NEXUS.

[~*Darkstar*~]

Red.

Everything was red.

Laynia didn't understand why, but everything was so red.

The emergency lights flashing around her were red. Flash, flash, red light, red light. She wondered what the emergency was. Brown eyes took in a ransacked room. It was so cliche. Chairs overturned, papers everywhere, computers bashed in. Someone had come in here and utterly wrecked everything in sight. Particular care was paid to the computers. It was strange, but...there was red there too. Splattered liberally around, but not coating it all. Blood splatter on the chair, pooling on the floor, sprayed across the computers...

Her clothes were red. The blonde wasn't super particular in clothing and color choices, but red wasn't frequently seen in her wardrobe. Neither were these strange form-fitting clothes. There was red on it though. Locks of pure blonde fell around her face. She could see red on the ends, in between the red flashing around her. It told her that the red tainted even her hair. Was it on her face too? If she darted her tongue out...would she taste it?

What a disgusting thought. Had that actually come from her head?

The Russian didn't look down. She'd made that mistake already. The body on the floor was red. The red decorating herself and some of the things in here obviously belonged to this person. They must have put up quite the fight... Only a decent struggle would result in this much blood, right? Or maybe it'd been no contest and whoever was responsible was just having too much fun. You're saying that it's obvious who did this, the pieces to this puzzle weren't hard to put together. You don't understand though. Laynia couldn't have done this.

I didn't do this. The woman was certain it was impossible because she didn't know this person on the ground. The face frozen in fear and horror was unfamiliar and sparked none of the rage or madness needed to cause this scene. Beyond that, Laynia didn't know where she was. The office was strange, the lights suggested a facility or something - that was strange. Stranger still because she'd been at her cabin, all set for a good night's rest. Or..maybe it'd just been a nap? Had it been daylight? Laynia drew her hands up to rub at her temples, but stopped abruptly. Doing that would transfer the red on her hands to her face. That'd be red too then. Red like the body on the ground, liquid pooling on the red, the spray misted on the equipment, and the splatter on the wall there. It'd be red like these lights, flashing their warning. Emergency, the lights were saying, emergency.

Laynia sank to her knees. I cannot breathe.

Emer--

She was going to throw up.

gency.

Maybe that'd be red too.

Emerg--

How did I get here?

--ency.

Footsteps and shouting.

Emergency.

[DP <3 Bea]

Chop, slash, dice, segment, seperate, split, rinse, repeat. It had all become rather simple and routine to Deadpool, as he watched yet another man fall to the ground in several more pieces than he had been in before he came in to work that day. Suppose he should have considered that before he decided to work for a super secret evil facility of doing bad things. At least Wade had been told that they did bad things, and it certainly looked like they fit the billing from what he saw, but he's misjudged places and people before. He was just going to trust the dude with the duffel bag full of money to be telling him the truth, it usually worked out for the best.

Deadpool didn't like violence, he didn't like killing for money and fame, he didn't like narrowly escaping death twenty four hours a day seven days a week; he loved it. He loved the way it felt to defeat his opponents, and watch them explode like pinatas at a birthday party. Like blood filled pinatas, the mere thought of some kid whacking a pinata expecting candy only to be drenched in blood bringing a warm, hidden smile to Wade's face. Kids, such easy targets for immature pranks. He was going to have to remember that one for the next time he was in such a situation; shame he hadn't thought of it last week when it was plausible.

He would have to remember that for next time, however, now was not the time to be planning children's parties. He heard heavy footsteps running at him from behind, and quickly sheathed his swords behind his back and pulled out two pistols. With a 'cool' dual pistol twirl, Deadpool spun around, and began firing his guns at the small group of guards that came to kill him, and failed rather miserably. As all the bodies fell to the ground, covered in blood, Deadpool was disappointed to see one man still standing, completely untouched.

"...that seems highly improbable." Deadpool muttered, watching as the man dropped his weapon and fell to his knees. Oh boy, here was the part where the guy begged for his life, promised him whatever he wanted, all that stuff. "Alright alright, I won't take it but go ahead, what will you offer me to spare your life? Deadpool asked.

"...I...I have nothing to offer you. I just beg you to let me live, for my wife and children." the man sobbed. Deadpool stopped, eye twitching as he suddenly moved towards the man, pressing the barrel of one of his pistols against his forehead harshly.

"Shut up! You do not have a family!" Deadpool stated.

"No...really, I do! Look!" He slowly moved his hands into his jacket, and pulled out a picture. Deadpool holstered one of his guns and snatched it out of the man's hand, inspecting it closely. It was a picture of a very pretty lady with two precocious little tykes, all smiling brightly at the camera. Wade told himself he didn't care, they would deal with it, but then he pictured them all crying, sad, waiting for daddy to come home. Deadpool blinked a couple times, trying to ignore the icky feelings welling up in his stomach.

"...FINE! But you have to rename one of your kids Deadpool Jr.! And the other one Mr. Cuddlesworth, because it sounds funny. Now get out of here before I change my mind!" Deadpool yelled, pointing down the hallway. As the man started to run, Deadpool looked at the little picture again, wondering how such an average looking fellow ended up with such an attractive family. It was then that he realized that the photo had been bent at the left side, and pulled up open to reveal a man standing beside them. This man was not the man he had just let go, as this man in the photo was much hotter.

"...waaaaiiit a minute." Deadpool glared at the photo, as he heard something heavy bouncing towards him, and looked down to see a grenade resting at his feet. He looked up, seeing the liar smiling at him, like he had achieved some kind of victory. Deadpool sighed, pulling his right leg back, and punting the grenade down the hall, right at the liar's now horrified face. Needless to say, there was a loud boom, and the hall had gotten a little makeover.

[Deadpool's rule #56: Undercooking a grenade is like undercooking an egg; both could end with you're guts all over the floor.]

Deadpool looked around the area, casually slipping the photo that no longer had an owner into his pocket, before moving on. It was then that he noticed a door nearby, still closed, probably hiding more 'bad guys' to bring to justice. Deadpool pulled out his swords, and charged at the door. He leapt forward, kicking down the door and rolling into the room, like a boss.

"Ah ha!" Deadpool called out triumphantly, waiting for the slaughter to begin. But it never did, and Deadpool quickly realized that there didn't seem to be any 'bad guys' here for him to kill. Then he noticed they had already been killed for him, possibly a mass suicide in fear of Deadpool's arrival. But that seemed silly, considering they seemed to be in just about the same shape he would have left them in, minus bullet holes. It was then that he noticed a woman nearby, kneeling on the floor, also covered in blood, though none of it seemed to be her own.

"Um....hi...." Deadpool said to her, quickly hiding the blood soaked swords behind his back. As he moved towards the woman, he couldn't help but notice that she was rather...attractive. Even covered in blood...or possibly because of it, he wasn't quite sure. Either way, he moved over to her slowly, trying not to startle her too much, as he wasn't sure if she would do the same thing to him that she possible did to the others.

"Hey, lady, are you alright? You look like you're about two seconds away from blowing chunks...do you need me to hold your hair, or something?" he asked, certainly not acting like a man that was just about as covered in blood as she was (though the red suit helped to hide a bit of it). "Wait a minute...have we met before? You look familiar...did I see you on Bravo? Not...that I watch Bravo or anything...that would be silly." he rambled, scratching the back of his head.

[~*Darkstar*~]

The lights were still flashing, but nobody had come in yet. She should have run, perhaps, fled. That was the beauty of being able to teleport on the fly like she could. There would be no talking her way out of the blood decorating herself and the room. She was obviously guilty. Guilty..the concept was starting to sink in. Somehow, some way, she /had/ done this. She didn't remember leaving home or coming here or doing anything at all. Was it outside interference? Someone might have possessed her somehow - mind control or something. That could just be a weak attempt to comfort herself though.

The fact that she felt nauseous, but knew for a fact that she wasn't going to throw up didn't really make her feel better. This wasn't her first kill or even the bloodiest - why should it bother her? It should bother her; it was wrong. Messy and horrid and /wrong/. It was more along the lines of 'I didn't do this!' wrong, except she was here and she was red and she..

Was really wondering why no one had come in yet. She had heard shouting, shooting. It never occurred to the devastated Russian that she wasn't the only one in the building. And where she was dwelling on killing one stranger, there was another merrily slaughtering every stranger in sight. Of course, he was 'working'..playing..playing at work..playing and working? An explosion suggested that he might be doing both because who didn't love explosions? Whatever he was doing, he was having a good time. A great time. A time way better than hers and it showed in his very energetic and enthused entrance to the room.

"Ah ha!" he declared, supposing that whoever was in here posed about as much threat as the rest of the building. Whatever it was, he was ready. Ready for anything and everything /except/ the wide-eyed, Russian ex-super spy kneeling in a mini-pool of red. While Deadpool's attire did well to hide a bit of his exertions, Laynia was quite clearly marked. Her attire was dark, but you could still see the blood, and her pale skin and light hair really did nothing to camouflage the red at all. He wasn't ready, she wasn't ready. The people in this facility hadn't even been ready. Rather than attack, the masked individual seemed to stop in consideration of her. She wondered what he was thinking.

"Um....hi...."

Laynia didn't even try to reply, unless you counted her doe-eyed 'help-people-are-dead-and-I-don't-know-why' expression as a response. You'd think, given their job history, the two would have run into each other. Deadpool knew no bounds, so popping up in Russia or anywhere else Laynia had been wasn't a barrier. Even failing an actual meeting, surely the woman knew about him. Deadpool. Merc with a Mouth. Trouble and agitation in a murderous red-and-black suit. She didn't though. While Deadpool's rep had run into Laynia's shady keepers, they had done all in their considerable government-sanctioned power to keep her away from him. Bad influences. Hard enough to keep a teleporter with her power on a leash, now you want to expose her to a loose cannon like him? It'd have been disastrous. For Russia. But you can only block so much. So while she didn't know him on sight, didn't know his name...there were stories. There were /always/ stories. Maybe, someday, she'd put the pieces together. In the mean time, Laynia kept up the deer-in-headlights look and Deadpool approached with the appropriate level of caution.

Dark brown eyes tracked his movements, but the woman made no move to do anything herself. She didn't even get up from her pre-vomit position. You'd think she'd be concerned.

"Hey, lady, are you alright? You look like you're about two seconds away from blowing chunks...do you need me to hold your hair, or something?" Laynia finally blinked, mind trying to follow the simple words being presented. It was just..that made no sense. It sounded remarkably like help or comfort was being offered. Why? Woman kneeling in a room where murder clearly happened and she was obviously guilty. His first response is to...offer to hold her hair back while she threw up all over the floor? Stand there as whatever she'd eaten today - can't even remember that - coated and mixed with the crimson life's liquid on the floor, slowly drying together in---eurk.

Laynia bent over a little, her too-descriptive mindset pushing the envelope of her stomach a little closer to the edge of emptying itself. Besides..he had blood on him too, despite being clearly uninjured. Darkstar could have sworn she'd seen swords on the man too, or maybe she was too hazy and had imagined it? How many people did she knew operated with swords? "Wait a minute...have we met before? You look familiar...did I see you on Bravo? Not...that I watch Bravo or anything...that would be silly."

Disbelief transformed into utter confusion. Bravo? On Bravo? What was a Bravo? What did that have to do with him finding her familiar? "I..don't understand." Her first words to the masked man were low, shaky, and kind of strained. "Who are you?" She hesitated on asking why he was here, lest he ask the same - and, to be honest, she couldn't really give him an answer. But if he was knocking off everyone in the building..and she was in the building..would he try to kill her too? Laynia eyed the man somewhat warily. 'Somewhat' because he had been...oddly nice so far. Polite even.

"What..what are you going to do...?" You know, since this clearly wasn't a planned encounter for either of them. It'd be nice to know if she needed to prepare to defend herself or get the hell out of dodge. She remembered an explosion. He could be planning to blow this whole place sky high for all she knew.

[~*Darkstar*~]

Nothing.

That was what the masked figure in front of her was going to do. Nothing with those katanas he had swiftly hidden behind his back, though not fast enough to keep the wide chocolate orbs watching him from noticing. Nothing with whatever bombs he had [he had none, actually, but she didn't know that]. Nothing with whatever other weapons he might have had - knives, guns, poison..needles or something. He could have anything. She would know. As a super spy, she was used to the idea. While she, herself, didn't often tote such an impressive array of weaponry - wasn't necessary usually - she did believe in being prepared. She knew others - mercenaries, assassins, thieves, and even other spies and super spies - usually liked to be prepared too.

Laynia stared, frozen and still feeling a little sick, wondering what this strange man was preparing for. It'd be easy to draw her own conclusions. He did have some answers for her, but he also interjected some things that she didn't understand. Were those American idioms she hadn't learned? References to media that the blonde wasn't familiar with? Things under those categories were great in number, so it was possible. Or maybe she was losing it. Maybe he made perfect sense and she was the nonsensical one? Laynia went in and out of listening to the man; the Russian bombshell wasn't really sure if he was talking to her the entire time anyway. He seemed to be consulting himself out loud at times.

Darkstar wondered if she was imagining this individual. What were the odds, anyway, of someone else crashing this disaster was had found herself in? Slim. What were the chances of that person being attired in a full body-suit, mask and all, would find this room during the chaos? What were the chances of said person crashing this facility, finding this room, and not shooting her? She supposed the probabilities for any of those matched the chances of that same individual appearing uninterested in killing her. Rather than follow through and do...whatever to her, he had offered to actually hold her hair back while she threw up. A nice, if odd, gesture from a total stranger, but she was actually trying /not/ to throw up so hopefully it wouldn't come to that.

I am going crazy?

Hearing voices, waking up here, blood everywhere..and now a strange man in red and black with katanas, appearing concerned for her welfare.

I..must be going crazy. It was more comforting than it should have been. If this man wasn't real then this situation wasn't real. She could wake up and none of it would be real. Just a dream that started out really bad and then got really strange. She could tell her brother about it; maybe he could explain the deeper meanings behind it, if any. As long as the man wasn't real, the rest of it wasn't real. It was with this mantra in mind that Laynia slowly rose to her feet. She wobbled, unsteady at first. It wasn't from injury, but just her legs regaining feeling after being in that position for so long on the hard, cold, unyielding ground.

The blonde didn't appear especially homicidal as she edged closer to the masked man. If he is not real, none of this is real. If he is notreal, none of this isreal. He isnotreal, this isnotreal. A step, another. Maybe the sight of the previously shaken woman in red, blood red, slowly rising and coming towards him would provoke a bad reaction. If he reached out and slashed away, that'd be a good indicator that he was real. That this was real.. Ifheisnotreal, thisisnotreal. Brown eyes tried to concentrate on the man she was reaching for, rather than the fact that red stains decorated the pale appendage. Ifheisnotreal,thisisnotreal. She wanted so desperately for--

Her hand made contact. Suit-covered flesh, muscle that didn't yield at all to her feather-like touch. Laynia blinked once, twice, frozen and wondering if it was possible for the world to drop out from beneath your feet with a single touch. Deadpool was fortunate in that Laynia wasn't the hysterical, shrieking type. Or maybe he'd wonder why the blood-clad woman had come forward only to careful press her hand against him and then lose whatever color she had left. Darkstar just sort of quietly suffered a mental breakdown internally as she swallowed heavily and backed away. That wasn't how she'd been hoping this would turn out. Maybe she was better off on the floor, not touching, still cloaked in the hope that the strangely-attired man would tell her this was all a dream.

There was a choked sound and then a quiet stream of Russian before Laynia remembered that this guy may or may not know Russian. You didn't have to speak a person's language to get a job done. Death is death in any language. Maybe Death was here for her. "Why have you come here?" she asked in accented English.

This post has been edited by ~*Darkstar*~ on Jul 15 2012, 07:54 PM

[DP <3 Bea]

".....oh...sorry about that, kind of dozed off for a sec." Deadpool suddenly chimed in, shaking his head. It had been a long day, and he had a large meal before he got there, so it wasn't at all shocking he would get in a quick nap when the coast seemed to be clear. Sure he was still standing, but many people who spent any amount of time in the military were capable of doing that. And sure his eyes may have still been open but, well, he was 'really' tired. But he had gotten in his 'power nap', and he was ready to answer this woman's questions, or at least attempt to.

It was the touch to his chest that snapped Deadpool from his little rest, and also caused him to raise an eyebrow as he looked at her hand. He could hear the cartoon 'honk' in his head as she touched his peck, never having been on the receiving end of 'un-called for' boob grabs. Honestly, it made him wonder why women made such a big deal out of it, he kind of liked it. But no, if he did it, people scream, faces are slapped, and boyfriend's get all uppity. He watched the color seemingly fade from her face, looking like someone who had just seen a ghost, or groped by Wade.

"Look if you wanted to cop a feel you should just ask, yes?" Deadpool asked in Russian, his voices unnecessarily deep with an over the top accent. He loved speaking in Russian, it was all dramatic and serious and was usually a pretty good way of making people think you can do horrible things to them and not flinch. He was honestly a little disappointed when she switched back to normal American, but decided to follow suit.

"Well you see it all started when a man agreed to pay me lots of money to go kill stuff and blow things up. So that's when I took the offer, and came here, and started doing it. Now before you ask; no, I don't know why he paid me to do it, but I don't ask silly questions like you were about to ask. No offense, but people ask that question of me a lot, so I have that response on speed dial." Deadpool explained, not trying to be rude but trying to avoid the expected questions and dialogue. They were un-needed questions on obvious topics, and he simply preferred to get them out of the way, fast.

"And also before you ask, that does not include you. I'm supposed to be taking out people that work here, and judging by your current attire, you do not work here, and have probably made a couple enemies yourself." Deadpool noted. That was quite a bit of blood, indeed, and none of it seemed to be her own.

He didn't know who she ways, or why she was there, but more importantly, he wanted to know why she hadn't run away from him yet. That was usually what people did when he came bustin' into rooms, or at least try murdering him in some fashion. This gentle voice and asking what he's doing was a little off putting to him, but it was a nice change of pace, admittedly. Helped that she was rather cute, and made Deadpool's already hyper-active imagining go out of control. He just hoped she wasn't psychic, or else he'd might get more than a slap from her.

He also wondered what it was about Russian ladies that drove him mad, those accents almost had him drooling on command. It was hard enough when it was just Natasha, though she wasn't as fun to hang around anymore since she started threatening to shoot him any time he was within her field of view or earshot. But this one was not only Russian, but didn't threaten to kill him yet.

"Your turn. Why are you here?" Deadpool asked, deep down wondering if the same dude had offered her money to do the same thing. That would really suck, especially if he was expecting them to split the doe; 5,000 just didn't sound as nice and pretty as 10,000.

[~*Darkstar*~]

".....oh...sorry about that, kind of dozed off for a sec."

Laynia blinked in incomprehension. She guessed he could fall into a doze and she'd not be able to tell. There were lots of things that she couldn't tell anymore. He was covered from head to toe. There was the area she believed to be his eyes, but they were quite wide. Yet she saw movement? If he blinked or closed his eyes, would she be able to tell? If he went to sleep right now, would she be able to tell the difference? The blonde didn't respond, not sure what to say.

Surprisingly, or not depending on who you ask, Deadpool did not attack or retaliate or otherwise try to stop the strange woman walking towards him. He only watched as she kind of tottered over and carefully placed a hand on his chest. Deadpool might change his mind on whether or not he'd just been sexually harassed by a stranger if he had better insight on the woman's mental state. Then again, maybe he'd still accuse her of copping a feel and using her disturbed state as a convenient excuse? It was hard to say what the man would claim. Though one could say it kind of didn't matter how he felt about it, since he simply let the double standard happen. Reinforcement of the double standard came in the form of Deadpool not yelling, screaming, slicing, or otherwise attempting to 'punish' Darkstar for the unwarranted touching.

"Look if you wanted to cop a feel you should just ask, yes?" the masked man said. Oh, he was calling it simply 'copping a feel'. Laynia was a little too shattered by Deadpool's real-ness to formulate a witty reply. Her expression suggested that Deadpool might have shot her puppy rather than be relatively harmless. The blonde super spy did, at least, retain the fact that he knew Russian. Alright, so he could speak the language. She didn't know what to make of the accent on top of it. It could be due to whatever way he had learned the language or he could be mocking her for all she knew. It didn't matter. What did matter was her struggle to /breathe/ as she tried to stop the oncoming panic attack. Real. REAL. He's real so..so.. Urk..he mind need to hold her hair back after all.

"Well you see it all started when a man agreed to pay me lots of money to go kill stuff and blow things up. So that's when I took the offer, and came here, and started doing it. Now before you ask; no, I don't know why he paid me to do it, but I don't ask silly questions like you were about to ask. No offense, but people ask that question of me a lot, so I have that response on speed dial."

It took a moment to process that, but she got the idea. This man was here because he was being paid to be here. Mercenary. Alright, that was reasonable and made sense. Still didn't explain why he hadn't tried to kill her yet. He was supposed to kill people in here, blow stuff up. Was he on break or something?

"And also before you ask, that does not include you. I'm supposed to be taking out people that work here, and judging by your current attire, you do not work here, and have probably made a couple enemies yourself."

Laynia didn't have to look around to know what he meant. Despite the mess in here, she was obviously unharmed - physically. She paled a little at the other implications though. Enemies - plural. What if this wasn't the only area she had reached? What if there were more blood-splattered walls? More lifeless bodies? More...red. Red, /red/, why was it all RED?! He's real, her mind repeated sadly. So this.. You-shot-my-puppy look returns with a vengeance, sprinkled with and-slaughtered-my-family-in-front-of-me-as-a-child. Darkstar lacked motivation to do much of anything, much less run from Deadpool or try to kill him. Honestly, she was kind of waiting for him to do the same.

"Your turn. Why are you here?"

Laynia felt the urge to curl up into a ball on the floor, but remembered the now-sticky substance awaiting her down there. She'd kneeled all in it without thinking before, but she would not go back down there unless she fell or was knocked down now. Brown eyes tried to find something, anything, in the room not red. It was more avoidance of the blood, but even the man 'calmly' talking to her had on red. Was that really red attire or was it white-stained-red. She'd heard an explosion. ...those could be messy. The Russian mutant noted that her 'companion' was still looking at her expectantly. The truth, sadly, would probably sound like either a lie or poor evasion. ...oh well. Did he think she was a mercenary too? Perhaps a very odd one. "//...I do not know//," she said softly, falling back to Russian. "//I was not paid to come here like you.//" Or if she was, she didn't remember it. Not that that meant much right now. "//I woke up here...and then you came in.//" Or bust down the door after causing general mayhem and death. Whatever. She waved a hand around the room.

"//I do not remember doing this. I do not know if I have done anything else here. If I have...I do not remember that either.//" She congratulated herself on the grand - to her - accomplishment of getting that all out, to a stranger, without becoming ill. "//I do not even know where I am right now.//" She could guess that this was clearly a facility in Russia, but Russia was a big place. REALLY big. Saying you were somewhere in a facility in Russia was like saying you were somewhere in Africa.

Not helpful.

This post has been edited by ~*Darkstar*~ on Jul 16 2012, 09:35 PM

[DP <3 Bea]

Deadpool quietly (for once), listened to the woman's words, considering her situation and how she could have ended up there in the condition she was in. Physically she seemed fine (damn fine), but it was clear that mentally and emotionally she wasn't exactly in the best of shapes. Takes one to know one, basically, though her's was much sadder, and made Deadpool feel just a tad bit uncomfortable. He didn't like seeing women sad, call him old fashioned, but it made him feel all icky inside, like he was close to having an emotion.

"...uh...are you okay? Do you need a tissue? If I give you candy will you promise not to cry?" Deadpool asked her, even just by his body language, looking like a grown man trying to keep a child from crying. Usually when a woman had the expression on their face that she did it was his cue to get the hell out of there, but he'd probably feel worse ditching her, so he tried to stay strong. He watched her for a moment, trying to figure out exactly what she needed, so he could stop the potential flood that was about to be unleashed.

He was a touchy feely type, and not just in the 'groping' sort of way, either. First instinct told him to give her a hug, but he was pretty sure that wouldn't go over well. Either she'd scream and cry or she'd try to tear him apart like she tore apart the chunks of meat scattered about the room. Honestly, the latter was preferable, but he'd rather neither happen, so he was going to have to hit this from another angle. First was to at least relieve some of her confusion, which he assumed would help a little...he hoped.

"Well first off, you probably are not too far from home. You are in Russia, that much I can tell you. I know this because I bought the ticket over here and everything." Deadpool announced, switching back to Russian to match her own dialogue. Now, anybody that knew Deadpool would know that there was a small flaw in his story; the fact that he supposedly bought a plane ticket to get there. That would involve smuggling two katana swords and a whole arsenal of weaponry onto a passenger airliner, not to mention the whole 'mask' thing. The truth being far less glamorous, involving a garbage scow and bribery. Not one of his proudest moments, but not one of his least proudest moments, either.

"Now as for what this place is, exactly, that I have no idea. I mean, all of these secret evil facilities are pretty generic to me, so I could not tell you specifically who owns this one. All I know is, they have some pretty terrible security. I am amazing, that can't be denied, but even for someone as intense as I am, this place was kind of a cake walk to move around in." Deadpool stated, rubbing his chin with his left hand. "Look, what is important is that you are free now! You can go back to whatever it was you were doing before your severe, traumatizing amnesia began and pretend like none of this ever happened. Except for the whole....meeting me part, doubt you'll forget that."

Deadpool watched her for a moment, hoping that she was seeing the bright side he had presented to her, though feared that some how his little speech wouldn't help her at all. Silly, he knew, but stranger things happened. He brushed himself off a bit, noticing that for such a 'super secret' facility, there really didn't seem to be many guards there, or at least none willing to die for their cause.

"Oh, where are my manners? The name's Deadpool, Merc For Hire. I've been paid to kill you're....captors or whatever they were, today." Deadpool extended a hand, offering her the chance to shake it, to show he wasn't so bad. "What's your name?"

[~*Darkstar*~]

"...uh...are you okay? Do you need a tissue? If I give you candy will you promise not to cry?"

Laynia was almost certain she had misunderstood or misheard. Tissue? Candy? Her expression did nothing to hide her confusion and she was starting to wonder if maybe she'd been wrong. Sure, she'd been able to reach out and touch this person, but...maybe she had dreamed that up too. She had been half-dreading it so badly, that she could have imagined that up. The situation had part of her rather in disbelief. He looked sincerely wary of her bursting into tears, even bribing her with candy and offering tissues. It'd work as well as her as it would for a child she guessed. Though while a child would be pacified with the treats, she would likely be so amused with the offer that she'd forget about crying. In fact, she was so caught off-guard that she felt not one tear threatening to cleanse her ducts.

She sniffed lightly. "//I am not going to cry..//" Not now anyway. She was too confused and out of her depths to be dragged down to tears now. She wasn't a big crier, Deadpool would be relieved to know, but recent events were wearing on her. However, she had her pride; she would try to be strong, to..to work through this. That wasn't to say Laynia was now stable and reasonable and everything was okay. This was likely very temporary, this feeling of trying to get it together and figure out what happened. It'd hold up as long as she was focused on the puzzle as the whole. Because if she thought of pieces, you know, like the pieces of the poor shmuck - and whoever else she may have gotten to here - then the hysterics were likely to pick back up again.

"Well first off, you probably are not too far from home. You are in Russia, that much I can tell you. I know this because I bought the ticket over here and everything."

Darkstar nodded. She had guessed as much, but this was solid affirmation...supposing that she was willing to believe she was dealing with a real person and not a disturbing realistic figment of her imagination. The blonde reasoned this wasn't so, but she was kind of wondering sometimes... Perhaps with a little alcoholic assistance, Deadpool could have indeed become Laynia's new imaginary friend, conjured to comfort and help her get home. He was granted a dubious look at the mention of plane tickets. But she guessed, for the right price, anyone would overlook his..attire. And really, she wasn't in a position to judge. At least he knew how he'd gotten here and why.

He didn't know specifics on this place. It was a facility, like any other facility. Nothing special other than it having the misfortune of being hit up by an ex-super spy and world-class mercenary. He mentioned not being impressed by the security. Laynia couldn't vouch; didn't know if better security would have stopped her. Though the two of them had probably cause unspeakable damage, the lack of continued retaliation was suspicious. Either this place wasn't really that big of a deal or something nasty was waiting for the both of them.

"Look, what is important is that you are free now! You can go back to whatever it was you were doing before your severe, traumatizing amnesia began and pretend like none of this ever happened. Except for the whole....meeting me part, doubt you'll forget that."

The deep-thought trigger almost made her miss the man's name. Deadpool. A mercenary, as expected, hired to kill--what? And then Deadpool introduced a brand new theory to Laynia's fragile mind. Free now + amnesia + pretend this never happened = prisoner theory. A word jumped out to her - "//Captors?//" she parroted. Had she been captured at some stage and didn't remember? Was the scene Deadpool had come upon the beginning/ending rampage of a mad captive? Experiment on the loose..

The scene was..disturbingly familiar. Another time, another facility, another body - but waaay less blood and gore everywhere. But she remembered captivity, kind of remembered what set her off. Logistics aside, Deadpool's theory sounded like something she could follow. It was, after all, far more plausible than what little she had been coming up with. The Russian was jolted from her pensive state by a hand entering her periphery. Oh..he was just holding a hand out for a hand shake. There was still a long stretch before Darkstar reached out in return. However kind this very odd man had been, he was still a blood-stained mercenary with unknown weaponry and the potential to turn on her at a whim. She guessed she seemed equally unstable to him, crazy woman captive that couldn't remember anything of the mess she'd made - while apparently weaponless at that. Yet Deadpool seemed less than concerned about it.

"What's your name?"

"//My name is Laynia Petrovna, I was formerly addressed as Darkstar.//" She looked around at the carnage, trying and only half-succeeding at accepting it. "Though perhaps I have been given a new name," the woman wondered out loud. Captivity automatically made her think the government had gotten their hands on her again, but this facility seemed inadequate. Knowing what she was capable of, the government would know better. "I do not believe that this is a government facility,//" she concluded. "//I have been their...guest before and the security here is for too inadequate.//" Laynia clasped her hands together.

"//I truly do not remember being held here, but what you say sounds plausible.//" Or maybe she was just desperate to cling to any excuse for the crimson liquid now-drying unpleasantly against her skin. "//If I am to escape and not be re-captured though, it would be useful to know who captured me and why.//" And, most importantly, /how/. "//Do you recall passing any computer room?//" Since she had, you know, kind of totaled this one.

This post has been edited by ~*Darkstar*~ on Sep 8 2012, 12:33 PM

[~*Darkstar*~]

As it happened, Deadpool did not recall a computer room. Of course, he hadn't been looking for computers. He wasn't here for information or to liberate theoretical captives. He was here to kill people, simple as that. Well, here to kill the people here. Employees or some such. But not her, because she wasn't an employee. In fact, Deadpool seemed to think she was being held captive and was in the process of making a vengeful escape. It sounded more plausible than attempting to convince herself that the man before her was a very unique figment of her imagination. Now if she was inebriated, drunk of her rear that is, she could swing it. Deadpool would have made a wondrous hallucination and she could have run with the thought....except for the part where she was disturbingly sober.

She wished she wasn't.

It would be easier to ignore the blood drying and flaking on her skin. It itched. She wanted to scratch, scratch the crimson streaks away. She wanted to dunk herself into the nearest water source. She didn't know what clothes these were; they were unfamiliar. She'd burn them. Forget washing them, she would tear them off and nigh drown herself in an attempt to cleanse the blood from her skin and hair. Laynia stumbled to the door, tripping over..a leg. She stared for a while before shaking herself. She'd seen dead bodies before. Had killed before. This wasn't new. Brown eyes scanned the room.

She wished she hadn't.

The blonde had killed before, sure, but this.. This wasn't her style. It wasn't an execution and it had no purpose to it. At her most desperate, she'd have made cleaner kill than this. Swallowing the rising bile, Darkstar turned to exit into the hall. The sight that met her eyes were ruins. Bodies, blood, and mangled structure. That man-- The Russian super spy turned and was utterly baffled in finding the man to be gone. Brown orbs shifted about warily, not entirely comfortable with the notion of someone capable of such carnage just vanishing into thin air. Of course, he'd been perfectly nice to her, weirdly so. Still, if what she was seeing now, wandering the facility was any indication, he was quite capable of being not so nice to others.

Fortune smiled upon Darkstar in the form of a computer room. An active one that hadn't been demolished. Then again, that had never been the goal right? The information was kind of vague, irritatingly unhelpful. She had expected to get more. What she didn't expect was the hand that gripped her ankle. She reacted...poorly. The frail form that had made the error of grabbing for the first moving body to enter the door sailed across the room courtesy of Darkstar's powers slamming into her. It was akin to a child smacking away a doll. A rag doll. ..made of straw. Laynia stared at the crumpled form. Not profusely bleeding or visibly near death. This one had escaped the beginnings of Deadpool's killing spree and evaded Darkstar - assuming she had been anywhere other than that room she had 'woken up' in. And since the blonde couldn't confirm that...well, yeah.

But that weakness couldn't be shown now. This person here, they could have answers. She had to have answers. Drawing upon every ounce of her beyond extensive training, Darkstar drew herself up to her full height. Back straight and eyes cold, Darkstar waved a hand at the door. She wanted the woman to take note of the wall of violet blocking the only way out.

"//Talk.//" The woman, now knowing she was not among allies, or a leashed captive perhaps, didn't seem to want to talk. Darkstar's expression turned grim. "//You do not wish to talk?//" The defiant look might have been impressive if not for the nervousness that Laynia could practically taste. Darkstar had been trained to both withstand interrogations as well as conduct them. This woman had answers Darktar wanted - some, if not all. Or clues at the very least.

She will wish that she did not.

This post has been edited by ~*Darkstar*~ on Sep 9 2012, 08:11 PM

[~*Darkstar*~]

There was an American saying that Laynia had learned. It seemed to fit the bill here. The saying went something like this: Do not ask questions if you do not really want the answers. It seemed, at first thought, like a stupid saying. Of course you want the answers. Why would you ask the question in the first place if you didn't really want the answer? It was ridiculous. The Russian had puzzled over the quote when she'd first heard it, and it variations, but never understood.

She still didn't.

The Russian stared at the woman, astounded again by humanity. This..human. This pitiful creature. "//I find myself marveling at how someone so frail could hold such power.//" the super spy mused aloud. She was still barring the exit, but was now seated. The scientist/researcher/purveyor of good/whatever she thought she was was on the ground, though in worse shape than before. She wasn't bleeding profusely. In fact, Laynia had spilled precious little of the crimson liquid. She had seen..enough red today, its revolting smell still clung to her skin, dried flakes refusing to fall. But there were other ways to hurt. Are you familiar with bone bruises? They're quite agonizing. It'd have been more merciful to break the bone cleanly.

Laynia wasn't interested in mercy.

"//You are just a human - pitiful and utterly breakable. I could do so now without even touching you personally. I could even do so - easily - with my bare hands,//" she said unblinkingly, "//I have been trained to do so. There is not an ounce of mutant power within you. You are completely and hopelessly /human/.//" Laynia didn't say it as if it were a bad thing. It was just a fact. A human and a mutant were in the same room, alone. Who would you think is in the position of power? "//Did you really think this would be a good idea?//" She was curious, but a weak cough was the only reply. Oh yeah, near-strangling could make it sort of difficult to talk. There was nothing in here for the woman to write with and Laynia was not letting her anywhere near this computer.

The brown-eyed mutant looked around the room. "//This is a poor sort of tomb, do you not agree?//" The blonde shrugged. "//You do not seem afraid to die. It is irrelevant, since I do not plan to kill you."// She had answers, some, but definitely all she could get from this computer and this woman. She /would/ find out everything, eventually. Just not here, not now, and not with that alarm blaring. Laynia stood, towering over the petite woman on the ground. She smiled again. "//I mean it; you shall not die at my hand.//" This earned her a surprise that the other did not even try to hide.

"//You are going to spare me?//" she asked incredulously. She almost sounded disgusted, but there was a hint of I-want-to-live in there.

The super-spy's smile did not waver. "//You should not ask questions that you do not want the answers to - I learned that phrase in America. Do you know what it means?//" Under the flashing lights, Laynia's smiling lips looked red.

Emergency.


((TBC: Darkstar: New York: False Flag: Ignition))

This post has been edited by ~*Darkstar*~ on Oct 8 2012, 04:05 AM