Legacy Rising - Closed RPG

In the past months, a new threat against mutants had emerged. A virus, coined simply as the Legacy virus, had popped up in three cases. Mutants were, as of now, the only ones susceptible, and once the virus was in their system, death in the most horrific of ways was imminent.

Rama Khan, the proprietor of this virus, had intentionally given out doses to be sold on the black market to the highest bidder, who would no doubt do something entirely nefarious with it. Seven of those doses were up for sale, to be auctioned off tonight.

Mackenzie Sullivan, the resourceful spy and assassin currently known as Renegade, formerly as Ghost, had been following any and all leads. Her most recent information had lead her to her current location; the small private island in the Caribbean.

It was a secure estate, and one that had luxury and opulence more than anybody could imagine. The grounds sloped up behind the picture perfect mansion, rising in a culmination of vibrant flora and fauna, hiding the lethal traps amassed all over the island.

The main building was host to a grand ballroom, among numerous other rooms that would play host to the illustrious and notorious cadre of guests in attendance.

It was a black market auction, and the most nefarious of the nefarious were in attendance. Agents representing several governments. Agents representing terrorist organizations. Agents acting entirely on their own, and agents acting as middleman for anonymous entities.

From the information that Mac had been able to gather, approximately thirty operatives were present, all with the intent of purchasing, or otherwise obtaining, the Legacy virus, whichever the reason.

Unwilling to leave the fate of this particular mission up to herself and herself alone, Mackenzie Sullivan, the woman known simply as Renegade, had contacted a former acquaintance and requested his help.

He was somewhere on the grounds, their communication maintained via undetectable comm devices.

Mackenzie was working the infiltration route, mingling with the fashionably attired prospective buyers as they all put up the front of being polished, as opposed to the ruthless killers that they were.

Music chimed in the gala room, piped through hidden speakers, as libations and food overflowed buffet tables and multiple bars.

Mackenzie was dressed to fit in, but took a small savoring of the fashion that she had chosen. The Herve Leger ‘Eloni’ bandage gown clung to her curves in a sinful manner, highlighting bountiful features and lithely toned muscle.

Hidden beneath the skirt was a dagger strapped into a black lace garter, the perfect dichotomy of sexy and deadly, a dichotomy that suited the redhead bombshell as a whole.

Her hair color was toned down for this mission, a subtle auburn as opposed to its naturally vibrant red. Purple eyes appeared sea green, and were outlined by artfully applied smoky eye makeup.

She glided through the room with a deadly grace that belied ballet training in the way that she turned with effortless grace, meanwhile drinking in every single detail.

All of the entrances and exits were catalogued, and a running inventory was being kept of who was where and what weapons they had on them, despite the clear ban and numerous security checks. Unsurprisingly, not one had adhered to this rule.

A gentleman of distinguished taste stepped up behind Mackenzie - who was under the identity of Katrina Henderson, a procurer for a private American company - and whispered something in her ear. His breath drifted across her bare neck, due to hair that was coiled and coiffed in elaborate braids on the crown of her head.

Schooling her body language, she coolly turned to him and invited himself to go do something crude, speaking in his obviously natural Russian as she did so.

Gliding cooly away, Mackenzie continued her circuit of the room before retreating to the attached veranda.

The view was one of the best she had paid witness to in her life. Candlelit torches illuminated the balcony, small fairy lights were strung through the trees, providing an ethereal element to the grounds of the island. There were boat ports down by the water that sloped away down the grounds from the house, and the armed security that continuously patrolled the estate was expertly hidden.

There was just one hour remaining before the auction and sale of the virus began. One hour for anything and everything to get blown to hell. One hour for the expert team to retrieve it and escape the island intact.

Madrid, Spain

"Any new information on this experimental virus?", the Mercurial Madridista inquired, his voice laced with charismatic nonchalance, his impeccably sculpted, dapper Louis Vuitton-adorned frame insouciantly leaned against soft, ebony leather of his decoratively cultured office's chair. "Yeah, a lot of information mate", Wayne replied, his services as a peerless network hacker employed by the Spaniard, enabling the secretive acquisition of cabalistic information via unsavory yet efficient methods. "Do tell mano", Santi coolly replied, encouraging the hired computer engineer to resume. "Well, apparently this Legacy Virus is potentially fatal to mutants, the Homo Superior. Seems like it directly disrupts proper function in the X-Gene, causes some kind of unnecessary evolutionary acceleration, biological developments that can't be accommodated by the body".

"So it's fatal then?", Santi questioned, left eyebrow raised with facially expressed curiosity. Feverishly bombarding his Dell laptop's keyboard with unintentional sequential rhythm, Wayne issued a tame nod, "Yeah it's fatal. Lots of terrorist groups and criminal organizations looking into this virus. It's pretty mental, the only people interested in the Legacy Virus seem to all be a bunch of unsavory chaps". Quietly sighing, the Spaniard's right hand extends towards the short glass of Johnnie Walker's Black Label scotch whisky resting atop a coaster festooning his beige-flushed desk. Civilly bringing the glass towards his lips, he subtly indulges in a succession of controlled sips of a preferred alcoholic beverage, it's invigorating warmness streaking down his throat. "Hmm, then it seems that Senora Sullivan spoke the truth when she asked that I assist her. This is a very serious situation", frantically tapping his fingers on his desk, a pensive expression overtaking his august, blue-blooded features.

"Alright well it's decided. I can't let those.. questionable ninos acquire the virus", the Madridista taciturnly murmured. "Gracias mi hermano, for the help", casting a quick, amiably engaging wink, the Spaniard jests, "I'll transfer the pay to your account. Besides, even if I don't, I know you will anyway".

Undisclosed Island, Caribbean

Luxuriously festooned by an onyx, Dolce & Gabbana Martini Suit, features veiled by an expressionless alabaster mask of artistic embellishment, hands concealed by technologically-aggrandized ebony leather gloves, immersed in the generally mute, eerily composed persona of 'La Espada', infamous for globally perceived moral ambiguity and relentless secrecy, Santi sets foot on the island, his mask's technological faculties transmitting his brainwaves to Mackenzie's minuscule communicative device. "I'm here", he alerted, having readied his quantum-pseudo telepathy as a means of averting unnecessary attention to himself upon his involvement during the auction's commencement. "Several minutes into the auction, I'm going to cause a scene. While the others are distracted, find a way to seize possession of the virus".

The warm tones of the deep timbre voice brushed against her, momentarily distracting the otherwise laser-focused operative from her mission. Her eyes scanned the ballroom from outside through the ceiling to floor windows, sussing out weak points.

Security officers were stationed innocuously, or as innocuously as possible, at all avenues into and out of the room, and at checkpoints throughout the corridor.

Maintaining the appearance of enjoying a fresh breath of air, Mac utilized enhanced eyesight to scope out the movements in the grounds, mapping the shifting of the guards over the course of eleven minutes.

Hips swayed sultrily side to side as she sauntered back into the the room. Eyes landed on her momentarily, appreciating her figure as she continued to cast a cold and aloof demeanor. Congenially drifting through the congregation of some of the worlds most dangerous people, Renegade was entirely at home.

She lived for nights like this. Her life on the line, her skills to the test, battle on the horizon. It was when her mind cleared, when nothing made more sense in the moment than tactics combined with instincts. It was when she didn't have to think of anything else but what was going on.

Mackenzie Sullivan, the agent known to all as Renegade, was never so at home or at peace, as she was in the center of controlled chaos.

The tone of the group shifted to a thinly veiled lethal nature as the start time for the auction approached. Slipping from the room under the guise of using the bathroom, Mac moved with unerring silence, a superpower in and of itself while clad in Louboutins.

The halls were well mapped with rotating cameras, but there were blind spots that made themselves apparent every forty-three seconds, allowing her a small elapsed time frame in which to flit from one to the other.

It was three high octane minutes that seemed to stretch to an eternity.

The Legacy virus was being kept in a quarantined sub area beneath the manor, shielded by heavy automated security. No guard had been deemed trustworthy enough to guard the virus that could very well prove the end of the mutant race.

They hadn't yet moved it up to the buyer, keeping it secure until after the auction had gone off to protect against people collaborating and seizing it.

Mackenzie could 'see' and sense the technological improvements that surrounded the twelve by twelve clear walled cube room, in the center of which was a sealed pedestal, inside of which sat tubes of the live virus.

"Virus is in sight, about to proceed with acquirement. I need four minutes, five tops."

Taking the proper precautions, she approached the security pad and slid a small device from the inside of the hammered sterling silver cuff that graced one of her wrists.

It was an electronic pick, and it would take approximately 37 seconds to hack through the multitude of security layers, after which Renegade would be free to enter the unit and secure the vials of virus in a safe transportation case, assuming that there were no hiccups in the plan.

Expertly governing himself with the silent flair and enigmatic panache of his cabalistic 'Espada' persona, the facially veiled Spaniard quietly seats himself among the morally unsavory gathering of criminals in the front row. Instinctively assuming an urbane posture, his back erect, gloved hands resting gently atop his lap, the European Elitist subtly turned his head to the left, sharp, sapphire blue eyes surveying from underneath the visage of his expressionless, alabaster mask. The auction, and the Legacy Virus in particular, had successfully attracted a numerically overt quantity of potential buyers, all seeking to acquire the highly coveted virus for their own respective agendas. In order to commence the previously mentioned distraction, a target was required, an appropriate one.

"....", his eyes coolly drifted from corner to corner, taking in every detail of the picturesque hall, the grandiloquence of it's decorative features as well as it's modish artistry very nearly instilling within him partial regret for what he was to inevitably instigate. A maximum of five minutes was Mackenzie's request, and so he resumed his ocular search for an appropriate target, and it was then that his eyes paused, transfixing themselves on the sight of a seated man, approximately twenty feet from him. Undertaking a succinct analysis, he searched for perceptible tics and discernible traits that would indicate a certain psychological disposition. Though affluently adorned, the man was facially rugged. His hairline receding, a permanent scowl settled on his features, noticeable bags under his eyes. Indications of stress. Subtle sighs of exasperation, terse grinding of the teeth. Impatience.

Deepening his unassuming observation, briefly engaging in flippant glances to other directions, as if to shift his attention elsewhere, only to inevitably return to his selected target. The man failed to settle into his seat. Constant shifting in his seat, alterations in posture. The auction had yet to commence, however, the man's patience was running thin. Excellent. His physique was elephantine, a compounding mass of muscle complimented by his towering height, he would surely garner attention. Ceasing his observations, he reached Mackenzie via the communicative features of his Madridista Mask. "Be patient". Advising her to remain temperate despite no indication from the seasoned spy that she would do otherwise, 'Espada' began. Relying on his unorthodox quantum pseudo-telepathy, having shared a physical system with his target, the mental coercion takes effect.

Making use of quantum entanglement, entangling his consciousness with his target's by executing mental measurements on this unconventional quantum state, interpreting it's quantum-mechanical properties, the Madrid Mamba seizes significant influence over his victim's mind. Elusively issuing mental suggestions for the man's strategic decisions, powerfully influencing thought and physical actions, the Spaniard remains seated while the man does as 'informed'. Erupting against a stranger positioned on his right, a heated exchange incites a show-stopping argument, drawing in the attention of the others in attendance. And remaining true to his mythical 'Espada' persona, the Madrid Mamba, Santi Porthos, remained silent, unconcerned, and unfazed. "Cinco minutos, pelirroja".

The vials of virus were contained in a minute case the size of a miniature paperback novel and tucked into the garter of Renegade’s dress.

The black material conformed to her body, moving sinuously with her as she confidently made her way through the blind spots of the hallways until reaching a specific checkpoint. Opening up a grate in the ceiling, she pulled herself up, utilizing enhanced strength for a graceful pull up.

Tucking her legs up into the crawlspace, she reluctantly stripped out of the gown, retrieving the suit that she had stowed there during earlier reconnaissance.

The black techno-weave covered her like a second skin, and through her own design, rendered her invisible to any technological spectrums. It did not render her invisible to the naked eye, but would greatly benefit her escape route.

“Four minutes.” The words were whispered as she tucked the case with the vials into a pouch on her waist and dropped down from the ceiling.

The flat soles of boots moved with silent intensity as she crept through the halls with the stealthy grace of a panther.

Having memorized the circuits of guards in conjunction with the camera views, Mac had little trouble navigating through the various levels of security. Until they came to the realization that the vials had been removed.

A full security alert was sounded, and everything began shifting into lockdown mode as more guards flooded the facility, combing through looking for the insidious intruder.

Hearing approaching footsteps, Mac utilized intense agility and pushed a foot off against the wall, launching herself up towards the ceiling. With hands pressed spread eagle against the walls on either side of the narrow hall, and feet in the same position, Mackenzie utilized the friction and tension to uphold her, back to the ceiling, with an eagle eye vantage.

Two security officers walked beneath her, and as the second approached, she took her opportunity. Releasing the tension of her arms, Renegade slipped from her vantage point and settled her legs around the shoulder, implementing a choke with her thighs.

It was quick work to snap his neck, all done before the other had even realized what was happening.

Sliding a dagger from her belt, she threw it with unerring accuracy, landing in the center of his forehead.

Deep red blood seeped across the floor as she aptly stepped over it and continued on her way through the myriad maze of halls.

“Three minutes,” she said over the comms, her voice clear, calm and and naturally raspy. Their getaway was a state of the art boat hidden from sight and scan off the five hundred foot dock in the waters.

Her calculations gave her approximately ninety seconds from current position and the road to freedom should be generally clear.

After a quick climb up the cables of the halted elevator, Mackenzie had to make it through two rooms and out the window, and she was scott free onto the grounds and from there had to make it through sentries.

The fresh air hit her like a cool balming breeze.

Her feet hit the ground running as she sprinted down the sloping hills. Catching hold of a low-hanging branch, with effortless grace she took to the trees. Utilizing free-running to move with fluidity and assuredness from one branch to the other with a stubborn silence. She was deadly graceful and keeping ahead of time.

Dropping down as she neared the beach and docks, there was one moment of vulnerability, and the security officers who were fervently combing the estate took advantage of it.

A high tech, high powered flechette gun went off, spraying three loaded needles. The tips were an unusual metal alloy, and their payload was a derivative of the Legacy virus.

Mackenzie was able to utilize her abilities and the flash of precognitive capabilities and shift out of the way of two, but the third hit its mark.

The metal tip embedded in the muscle of her arm, pumping the toxin that it carried into her bloodstream.

She didn’t stop moving, didn’t stop running, knowing that time was tight and fully trusting that Espada was where he needed to be, per their plan.

The pitter patter of her feet sounded along the wooden docks as effects began taking their toll.

She could barely move through the pain. It felt as if every nerve ending was on fire, screaming out in pain.

Panting softly, she reached one hand down to insure that the vials were where they needed to be before diving off the edge of the dock and into what would appear to all watching eyes as empty air.

In reality, it was the location of the masked boat. The literal trust leap was completed as the engines revved and shields came up.

They had what they needed, but something was terribly terribly amiss.

Her skin was on fire.

Mackenzie Sullivan was no stranger to pain, to its uses, to its detriments, and to its effects on herself.

But this pain….it was something she had never known before, something inescapable. Not even that little static point in her mind, the place she went to when awful things happened, her safe haven, was a relief to her now.

Curled up in the corner of the boat, she lay on her side in the fetal position, biting her lip fervently to prevent herself from making audible noises of pain.

Sweat rolled down her skin in buckets, and all she wanted to do was rip the suit off and allow the fresh air to coat it. The torment of that instinct was knowing that even the slightest movement she made right now wracked her body with more pain.

“Go go go go go.” She muttered the words, the first and only noise she allowed herself to make, again having to put an uncomfortable amount of trust in a man she was barely acquainted with.

Closing her eyes, she took a mental inventory of her injuries, and came up to the clear conclusion that whatever had been injected into her bloodstream was doing a mighty fine job of terribly fcking her up.

A subtle sense of accomplishment overtook the Enigmatic European's mental faculties, yet with the expressionless, alabaster visage of his infamous Madridista Mask, the Spaniard betrayed no emotion as he unassumingly exited the frantic hall amid the rampant arguments and confrontations. Soon however, the strategically perfected endeavor encountered disruption, for even the untouched impeccability of Mackenzie's stealthiness found itself subject to the island's security protocol, the congested collection of the nefarious and ethically unsavory alerted to an apparent breach in the auction. And though they did nothing but allow security to adhere to their task of guarding the Legacy Virus, still they were subjected to the horrors of La Espada.

With the intention of facilitating Mackenzie's inevitable escape, the Mercurial Madridista exercised a lethal combination. His quantum pseudo-telepathy seizing partial control over the approximated criminals' neurological faculties, encouraging them to remain idle, to refrain from interfering with the exception of rendering the guards' duties all the more difficult. This however, would not deter them all. And so, the cavalier enigma did all he could, gloved hands tightening, balled up into quaking fists as the unethical lethality of blood-bending hydrokinetically seized control of the bodily fluids of the frenetic security forces, violently contorting bodies, snapping necks, disrupting cellular osmosis, and with the exception of a minuscule quantity, none were spared.

His steps coolly traversing the soft cut, wet grass festooned by the island's grandiose greenery and indigenous flora, the former Rare Breed constituent held unwavering confidence in Mackenzie's ability to defeat the opposition, and to survive. As per his selected character role in the endeavor, he was to remain exempt from direct physical confrontation, he was to serve only as an indirect distraction. And so, following his undertaken duties, the Spaniard regressed, situating himself to the neighboring boat in the docks. Meeting Mackenzie's feverish request, Rey Blanco accelerated the boat, directing it far from the island, his sapphire blue eyes succinctly transfixed on Mackenzie's medically waning frame, and he knew, there was something amiss, her health had deteriorated.

"Hm, what's happening to you, tis not something that a hospital can treat bella", Santi tamely pointed out, his colorless mask resting atop a nearby surface, azure eyes peering out into the distant horizon of the darkening ocean, the calignosity of night enveloping their immediate ambiance. "These are not normal symptoms of a disease you could have possibly contracted in an island in this area. No, you've been infected no doubt, by the Legacy Virus maybe. You need the touch... of a genius", a debonair curl of the mouth adjoining his winning words as they depart the geographical encompassment.

“Do you...know where…I can find the touch of a talented...genius,” she asked, furtively glancing up at him with artificially colored honey brown eyes, the slightest semblance of a flirtatious gaze bringing light into otherwise pained eyes. Her voice was naturally raspy, but now it was barely an audible whisper. The sarcastic response her only current means of levity, as the blood that was pumping through her veins seemingly wanted to set her on fire.

Struggling to a seated position, she brought her knees up to her chest, her back resting against the passenger seat of the boat as it cut through the water with unerring precision.

Their destination was a small unmapped island that was host to a small underground facility. No time was being wasted in regards to the research that needed to be carried out on the samples of the virus that they had obtained.

It was full Legacy Virus in the vials secured within the pack, but the cocktail that was currently infecting Mackenzie Sullivan was something else entirely. It was dialed down, their test to see what they could do with precision, if it would be possible to affect certain aspects and refrain from killing the subject.

It was entirely experimental and all she knew was that she was on the cusp of wishing that she were dead.

Squeezing her eyes shut, she attempted to clear her mind utilizing calming techniques. Trying to bestow a sense of peace and tranquility and focus mind over matter, but alas there was no success. It was as if her nerve endings were open to the cold air, any motion, every breath, just piling on the agony.The attempt to use her powers, to reach out with her enhanced senses, was a mistake. There was no access to them at all, but there was some form of feedback. A bright line shone in front of her closed eyes, and her hearing went overall silent for a split second.

It was almost unbearable.

Ripping the gloves off of her hands, she crawled to the bench seat at the back of the boat. Nestled in, she was protected from much of the wind that whipped by, and was provided the most minute amount of privacy, but moreso than remaining in such close proximity to La Espada would provide her.

There was nothing more mortifyingly embarrassing than being ineffectual, than showing weakness and lack of skill; and all of the above were aspects of what was currently happening.

Still, she refused to let escape any verbal indications as to the magnitude of just what was.

Her body entered convulsions. Moving entirely against her will, Mackenzie attempted exerting mental control over her physical responses, but to no avail. “Santi…” The slight cry slipped from her lips in a moment of unmatched and unfettered pain before she shut it down again, the convulsions passing as the heat broke, and shifted to a cold that permeated her very bones.

Unable to obtain warmth, she huddled in on herself, eyes closed against any possible contact in what was one of her most vulnerable of moments.

The reaching of their destination was a blessing, as the vehicle was swiftly steered into the hidden waters of the island, and navigated in through the twists and turns that would allow for entrance into the underground facility.

Her fingers clenched and unclenched short, but well kept nails digging into the soft skin of her palms, reminding her that she did have some control, if only the slightest semblance of it, over her own body.

Eternally grateful that they had reached their current destination, Mackenzie knew that the hard part was still around the corner, fully understanding that her death may very well be imminent.

Thick lashes brushed against shockingly pale cheeks, her entire body flushed of tone. They were there, that meant, that at least for now, she could rest, she was safe.

Under her own power, she struggled to her feet, adamant that she could walk off of the boat under her own power.

The moment that pressure was placed on her feet, her knees began to buckle, a fall that was avoided by quickly placing her hand on the back of one of the seats, bracing herself as she continued to struggle to walk, with every intent of refusing aid despite the immense pain that was affecting every breath she took in, every centimeter that she moved. Mackenzie would not buckle to this, she couldn’t.

Her skin remained shockingly white, all color drained as she struggled down the length of the boat, knowing that her pride was costing her precious time. She managed to exit the vehicle with the help of Santi, and make her way down the docking station before finally giving in to the pain that was wracking her body and allowing herself to sink under into the incumbent darkness that had been threatening to steal her consciousness since she was first infected. It was a testament to her impressive fortitude that it had taken this long, and even then, she maintained borderline consciousness, the fear of what was happening keeping her alert as she attempted to fight back up to the surface.

"I'm fine..." She muttered the words as her eyelids flickered opened and closed, the only feeling coming close to the pain was that of acute irritation accompanied by embarrassment and anger at her ineffectiveness. The fact that she'd been infected with a disease manufactured to kill her kind a secondary worry in the moment.

"No, you are not". His voice firm, tone austere, the transfixed gaze of his sapphire blue eyes, all reminding the redheaded Renegade of her present predicament's gravitas. Assisting her into the unassuming interior of the undisclosed facility, there was a minuscule quantity of medical supplies and equipment, however, the Madridista had brought with him sufficient supplies for treatment against viral infections, a strategic anticipation that either one of them would somehow be plagued at least by partial infection. "Let's be clear bella, you're a strong woman, but this pride of yours. You don't want to die, no?", he rhetorically inquired, escorting her towards the nearest comfortable furniture, a generic couch braced against one of the facility's alabaster walls.

"Of course not", answering for her, his conversational interaction designed to seize her attention, to draw her words and prevent her from fully succumbing to a lack of consciousness. "You want to live to be prideful another day", the Spaniard subtly jested, a cavalier curl of the mouth bedecking his comely features as he genteelly sets her atop the caramel-brown couch. "Because you've been infected by a virus, I can't give you any antibiotics. Those only work for bacterial infections. And I won't be able to destroy the virus bella, tis not something that is possible without harming you. Viruses use their host's cells to replicate. Because of this, I cannot target it as it would also harm you, the host organism's cells. But I can do something", he assured, coolly unzipping his onyx, Nike backpack.

Reaching inside with his right hand, Santi Porthos unveils a dynamically colored capsule. "Otherwise I wouldn't have brought you here", his cheekily expressive smirk growing tamer following a taciturn laugh. "These are experimental pills that I developed in advance, before we went on this mission. Naturally one has to account for the realism of it, and it was fairly realistic that either one or both of us would have been infected somehow. And you were", he continued, "The pills are antiviral drugs. They're harmless, don't worry roja. They won't destroy or deactivate the virus particles but they will inhibit their development. Right now, this is all I can do. It will weaken the virus, but it won't do much more. The only way I'll be able to treat you is by studying the Legacy Virus and developing something".

Extending the capsule to the espionage prospect, the Mercurial Madridista advised, "Take them quickly. You are a freshly infected host, the virus hasn't developed too much. You showcase some symptoms but relax, the virus is not mature, and it is only partial. In due time, your condition will improve. In the meantime, I need to study the Legacy Virus".

She focused on the timbre of his voice, the musicality to his cadence of speech, on minute details, on anything but her own pain.

Tenderly reclining into the corner of the couch, Mackenzie graciously accepted the pills. Rolling them across her palm, she arched an eyebrow, regarding it aptly before flicking her eyes up to Santi.

He’d moved several slots up in her book with tactical carry through and foresight, no easy feat to accomplish by any means.

Popping them into her mouth, she swallowed them down, squeezing her eyes shut and shaking her head slightly in the aftermath of doing so. “There’s that genius touch,” she joked meekly, parts of her personality showing through in a vulnerable moment.

She was too focused on her pain, and the possibility of impending death, than on her ability to maintain layer upon layer of facade, resorting to only a few protectionary layers, natural defense system for somebody so entrenched in the life that she was.

“Thank you, Santi.” It was a genuine bequeathing of gratitude as a look that resembled irritation crossed her features. Her brows were furrowed, her lips pursed as she shoved her hair off of her face. This night had taken a turn for the worse, and there was not much that sparked her irritation more than her own ineffectiveness.

---

It took short time for the medicinal effects to kick in. The nearly constant pain was alleviated slightly. Her entire body was still in the throes of pain, but it was moderately lessened, enough so that the focused operative was able to retain a small semblance of her peace of mind.

Clothes had been stored on-site and she was now clad in sweatpants that hung low on her hips and a loose sweatshirt that hung off one shoulder and revealed a strip of skin between the slightly fitted hem of the garment and the waistband of the pants.

The slightest hint of a scar across her hipbone was visible as she lifted toned arms up, securing cascading waves of deep red hair in a haphazard messy bun on top of her head.

Still shifting from bursts of warm to cold, she was incredibly uncomfortable, but so acclimated to pain from years of being acquainted with it, that it wasn’t enough to break her away from the work.

A state of the art computer system had been equipped with the assumption that it, along with other resources, would be required in their work.

Sitting and doing nothing while her fate was up in the air was not an option for the young woman. No, she wouldn’t go quietly. Her faith was in Santi, but she had never been a woman to put all of her faith in somebody other than herself. That never was, and never would be, something she was able to do.

Scouring research and scraping of sources had allowed her to compile a list of buyers, agencies who were most likely to utilize the virus, and a list of possible incidents that could be attributed to the Legacy Virus.

It wasn’t enough, it’d never be enough.

There was an anger burning inside of her alongside the pain, one that would not be extinguished any time soon.

Sending the data on to a contact of hers to be accrued and compiled with any other relevant data, Mac stretched her arms over her head in an attempt to alleviate the pain that was building up in her joints.

The pills had done some of the trick, but the pain was a constant.

Pulling her knees up to her chest in the spacious leather chair, Mackenzie rested her head against her knees, closing her eyes for a brief moment of respite.

Her body language showed her weariness, belied her pain, both inner and outer. She was stoic and prideful and confident, but she missed so much. Pieces of her humanity had been scraped away and lost to the darkness and shadows, to the shades of grey.

Sometimes she couldn’t help but wonder if that came back to take pieces of her, couldn’t help but wonder what her brothers would think if they knew. But she knew what they would think, what they would say, or at least she thought she did. And that, too, was something that chipped at her.

“Hrrrm.” Making a small noise of thought, Mac untucked her legs from beneath her, socked feet moving silently against the floor as she traversed through the hallways of the facility, doing her best to focus her mind off of her pained and seemingly weak body as she made her way towards Santi and his research.

Studiously examining an extracted strain of the Legacy Virus under a grandiloquent electron microscope, the Posh Porthos selectively isolated himself from the Redheaded Renegade, intent partially on attaining a greater understanding of the virus' molecular structure, and of course, gradually developing a virucide with which to cleanse Mackenzie of her genetic infection. "Hm. Maybe I should have been the one to acquire the virus and her task would have been coming up with a suitable distraction", his silence perpetual, the words manifesting only in thought. Devoid of the wantonly flaunted X-Gene, the Spaniard was for all intents and purposes, immune to all strains of the Legacy Virus. "Ah well".

Flippantly shrugging, genuinely lamenting his espionage collaborator's current predicament, Santi continued, dwelling further and further into his research, his mind feverishly formulating medical theories upon medical theories, and alternatives upon alternatives. And for the bulk of his intellectual indulgence, nothing seemed promising. Following his lengthly examination of the genocidal Legacy Virus, the Mercurial Madridista appropriately illuminated the encompassing room, immersing himself in feverishly flipping through the pages of informative biology and genetics text books, his right index finger trailing on a prospective paragraph. And as he studied and hypothesized, Santi paused, Mackenzie's unanticipated ingress interrupting his present endeavor.

"Why are you up roja?", he inquired, "You took the pills si, but that doesn't mean you're not dying. You're only dying slower". Offering a more positive conversational input, the Spaniard began, an affable smile meeting Mackenzie's weary features. "But I think I've found a way to save you. You're only infected by a partial version of the virus. I think by carefully implementing the use of some experimental nucleoside analogues in your X-Gene to trick the virus into incorporating their genomes during replication can kill it", he continued, "But I'll need time to do this. I'll make some calls and see if anyone can transport what I need, to this island".

“I’ll go out with a bang as opposed to a quiet whimper, then.” It was a teasingly sarcastic answer, but there was untold truth in her words. Mackenzie Sullivan had no false illusions about the likelihood of her premature expiring in this line of work.

She had just always imagined that it would be a blaze of glory as opposed to a quiet whimper. A grand last stand, and not some insidious disease that was eating her from the inside out.

Her head had skewed slightly down, her gaze resting on the floor. Quickly peering up, interest and hope in her eyes as he mentioned a prospective cure.

Never, never in her life had she had to put this much faith, this much trust in somebody else. It was an entirely foreign feeling to her, one that put her even more out of sorts than anything else ever could.

“I...appreciate your help.” Mac stumbled over the words. There was nobody with the linguistic aptitude to be able to properly convey the gratitude that she had, and the immutable respect.

Leaning gently against the wall, she closed her eyes, looking around the sterilely clean environment.

Several books were strewn about, and there were instruments and samples. The microscope was the focal point, and the most powerful tool in the arsenal at the moment.

The science side was not Renegade’s forte. She was a guns and espionage girl, with a heavy hand in her own technology. “I owe you...presuming I make it out of this alive.”

She did not hand out IOU’s, knowing just what her skills were, and that an unequivocal favor could spell death for somebody, the fact that she had just done so said more than paragraphs of speech ever could.

Raising her hands over her head, she stretched slightly, lean arms reaching back to scratch the center of her back. Everything ached, the pain tampered enough by the pills to allow her some semblance of momentary normality, but never enough to forget the pain that scraped at the edge of her mind.

“I’m going to be upstairs.” It felt almost as if she were intruding here, and in a way she supposed that she was. But there was a restlessness within her that could not be quelled, a need for...something.

Her life wasn’t flashing before her eyes, she wasn’t combing over every decision she had ever made, but there was a longing for her family, for her brothers to comfort her, for Brady to tease her, for something...for anything that felt like home.

But she was an island unto herself, always and forever. They could never know, they had their own missions, and their own run-ins with the Renegade, whose true identity they were still oblivious to.

It was easier that way, simpler. There were three people who knew that Renegade and Mackenzie Sullivan were one and the same, but she’d be damned if either of those names came to an end tonight.

Slowly meandering out of the room, turning her back to Santi before he could see the wince of combined physical and emotional pain, Mackenzie slowly traversed up the stairs, winding up curled in the corner of the couch.

Her strength and fortitude, both physical and mental, were sapped. Gone. The adrenaline that had propelled her through the mission and its aftermath had disappeared, leaving an empty hole of exhaustion in its stead.

Curled up in a small ball in the corner of the sofa, Mackenzie hesitatingly gave in to the darkness of sleep, unable to fight off the darkness that was seeping into the edges of her vision any longer.

"I make no guarantees Ms. Sullivan. For that I apologize", Santi remarked, eyes transfixed and unmoving from the paragraph-congested pages of the text book before him, "Biology and genetics aren't exactly my area of 'great' expertise. Now if the quantum information which constitutes your consciousness had in some manner shifted to deeper planes and continued to exist purely in space-time geometry, outside of your brain, distributed nonlocally, apart from your body, then I would be more equipped to help", he paused, "That roja, is my area of expertise". Calmly closing the text book before him, turning round on his revolving chair, he continued, his expression poised and insouciant, "A friend of mine will be coming to the island soon, she will bring the items I need".

Comfortably leaning into his chair, he performs a succinct shooing gesture with his left hand, "Now please Ms. Sullivan, dismiss yourself to the bedroom where you can rest. You're disturbing me. I mean, you want to live, no?", a flippantly mischievous smirk garnishing his debonair features as he turns away to return his focus to his present research and jotted notes on the Legacy Virus. Tersely tapping the wooden table before him, and sighing with mild frustration, the Madridista reaches into his pocket for his iPhone 5S and uses his thumb to dial the number of this enigmatic collaborator. "Hola bella, todo bien? Listen, I'll need you to be here as soon as possible. My acquaintance has taken the pills but she is insistent on moving not resting. She will fatigue herself quickly and thus weaken whatever resistance her immune system has put up".

"So por favor, do be here in time, before Ms. Sullivan dies as she's most likely to if you don't". Governing himself with mental temperance and patience, a day passing by prior to the arrival of the requested items necessary for Mackenzie's full recovery. Alerted via text message of his items' arrival, the Spaniard emerges from the temporary abode, a lone crate resting atop the soft, short-cut grass of the island, his collaborator, nowhere to be found. "Hmph.. of course", he murmurs. Bringing the crate into the facility and subsequently smashing it open with a nonchalant tap, Santi commences the development process for an appropriate cure.

Her sleep was fracture by relentless and restless dreams. Memories that wouldn’t stay down, nightmares that couldn’t be fought off, things that she had done under the names of Ghost and Renegade that were now coming back to haunt her in her most vulnerable hour.

The crimson red of spilled blood colored the back of her eyelids, and hazed her dream vision. Details were misty, as memory after memory played with emotional impact, leaving her dazed and confused.

Small murmurs escaped her as she shifted in her sleep on the couch, her body curling in on itself. There was just the slightest hint of cognizance, awareness of the situation, and the want to pull herself out of it. Met only by the infuriating inability to do so.

Mac had always had control. Of her situations, of her abilities, of information, and of her dreams. It seemed that all of that had been wrest from her grip at once, and at the most inopportune of times.

With no warning, her dreamscape went black, followed by clear visions of what could only be described as a desolate and dystopian future. Specifically of a graveyard. Some names were familiar, others were not, and just as she began to focus, everything went black again.

Rousing from the restless sleep, the reluctant assassin sat up on the couch, finding her physique weaker than anticipated, and hating that as well. Leaning back against the sumptuous cloth material, she pulled her knees up to her chest, wrapped toned arms around them and absentmindedly allowed her mind to drift, thinking thoughts that were best left packed away, as she awaited the hopefully imminent arrival of Santi with what she was anticipating would be good news.

Succinctly glancing at his jotted notes and highlighted sections on the neighboring textbook's third paragraph, the Madrid Mamba commences the process of developing a potent enough vaccine to eradicate the viral infection from Mackenzie's genetic structure. "Let us hope that this works", though fully aware of the situation's austerity and gravity, Santi's composure refused to falter, the Spaniard valuing the ability to remain collected and poised even in the most stressful of situations, largely rendering himself exempt from committing prominent errors. "Okay, I need to relax a bit more", he noted, calmness of the mind was key to whether or not, this attempt would prove successful.

Mentally composing himself with the enthralling sounds of 'Magic' by 'Olympic Ayres' cleanly emitting from plugged Skullcandy earphones, distracting himself from the palpable fact that in his hands was the life of a fellow operative, the Mercurial Madridista approached his present task no differently than he would an experiment. Though his inherent genius rendered possible a highly accelerated pace, still the Posh Porthos was immersed in rigorous hours of work, gradually yet successfully developing an experimental vaccine, one that would use specialized nucleoside analogues in the Renegade's X-Gene to beguile the virus into incorporating their genome during replication, an action that would incite the pathogen's death.

A practice that would now be adopted by the Renegade's immune system should she be infected in the near-future. With the untested cure readied in a syringe, the Spaniard approaches the fatigued spy, syringe in hand. "I hope you'll forgive me for not being particularly gentle as I stick a needle into your arm but there's hardly any time. You are hours away from your deathbed". Quickly injecting the vaccine into her internal system, Santi informs, "That wasn't just a cure. It was a vaccine. I've done a little something to make sure that your immune system will do what this cure did should you ever be infected by the Legacy Virus again. You're welcome", he affably smiled.