Hoods & Capes | IC

[Ragamoofin]

[Queen Bee]

[Location: Deli > Ambulances > Deli]

[Status: Ecstatic.]
​

In her opinion, there were very few things that were as ominous as a trail of blood, so finding one leading up to the deli that'd seen better days was quite alarming. She came hovering close to the blown out entrance, her eyes narrowing behind her veil at the collection of suits, supers, and stray civilians- all of them on the floor, either looking winded from the battle that had just ceased minutes ago, or stunned by the prone body in the midst of the chaos. Queen Bee's head tilted, her eyes narrowing closer at that person, eyes flicking up from the inflamed stump of his leg to his face-

Wait, was that...?

"President Taffer?!" Queen Bee's exclamation came with the buzz of her entourage of drones, the bulkier of the mechanical bugs landing near her feet, nibbling away at the shredded metal and glass. "Is he- oh, God-" The drones quickly cleared their deployer's path as she skittered further into the deli, hands at her sides and- trembling, itching for something to do. She swallowed back the worst of the bile in her throat as she neared the pale man. Her stomach fell as she stepped a few feet closer, feeling an unfamiliar shock run through her, nailing her through the spot. It was just- such an absurd sight; why was the fucking president missing a leg?

"Are you able to get him out there safely?"

Yes...yes, she could. Slowly, then quickly, alert and hands poised at the ready. "O-of course. Allow me to-" Gesturing vaguely towards the fallen president, Queen Bee turned to do the same to the drones who were having their fill of the debris littering. "Hurry over! We need to get him to the ambulances as quickly as possible!" The verbal command appeared to be enough to spur the heroine's buzzing crowd into action, briefly flying over, landing gently around the downed president.

"Careful, don't jostle him!" Queen Bee ordered, and her drones began their work; mandibles opening, a yawning gold welled up as the facial plates began to separate, oozing out and expelled into the drones' waiting pincers. Despite their appearance, the nubby appendages were deft, and fast- they were precise in their weaving of the flow of material from their cores, crawling about the president's form as they all but swaddled him in their work.

"Raise his leg, his circulation-" Pausing in their work, as if reminded by their creator, a single drone took on the task, spinning a golden mesh around the leg, lifting it as gently as a tasked machine could.

Looking to the drones that hovered in wait for their turn, Queen Bee gave an approving nod to the wrapped up body of the president. "Alright, deploy protective measures. Extreme priority, am I clear?" The drones' gave a responsive buzz before they lowered to the ground, their backs opening with golden burst that engulfed the man. Above the drone, another deployed. "Can't be too sure," she muttered, largely to herself. The man had seen a horrendous day, she couldn't imagine exposing him to any other chaos.

The drones' hefty flight system kicked in, and the golden bubble the president had been cloaked in took flight, hovering a few inches off the deli floor. Placing a hand on the primary drone, Queen Bea's hand crackled with a jolt of electricity- a brief charge, just to extend active shield time; was that going overboard? Surely not.

"I'll see him to medics!" She could've flown him to the hospital herself, but she had a good feeling that secret service would strongly disagree with that plan. Besides, she couldn't leave when the area was in disarray, that and she still had to finish that thawing building. So out the door Queen Bee went, guiding the bubble through the wrecked entrance and off towards the center of the growing relief force on the scene.

An arc of electricity crackled over the veil of her helmet, and beneath it, Bea giggled to herself. 'I can't believe I'm personally escorting the president to safety!' Came Bea's elated thoughts, her giggle slipping past her helm. 'I can't believe those were other heroes!' Was today truly her moment? Perhaps, but perhaps not; admittedly, gearing up for her entrance had ran...longer than expected, but she was finally here and now look what was happening.

Fate. It had to be fate. Dare she say it? Maybe, even destined for great-

"-hit, is that the president?"

"Huh? Oh-" The voice was unfamiliar, and even worse, alarming. Queen Bee hadn't been expecting it, nor was she paying much attention to...much for a moment there. Queen Bee gave a look around, meeting eyes with a stunned medic, gloved hands frozen at his sides. "Oh! Yes! As a matter of fact-" Bea clapped her hands, the protective bubbles fading back, exposing the president within. "It is!"

The medics did not share her enthusiasm, although they were incredible eager to take the poor man off her hands. Small victories, a win all the same. Now, where had the others gone off to? Bea couldn't help but to think back to that awfully rag-tag cast of people back in the deli. That girl, the one with the sad eyes, Bea could only wonder what had befallen her. The armored one was curious, and rather enraged by something, if those holes in the floor said anything. Ah, that reminded her.

The door was standing proper by the time Queen Bea had hovered back over, nudging the body of one of her builders out of way. "Is everyone alright?" A hum came from her veil, hand sticking out and tilting side to side. "Hmh, more like...alright considering how uniquely horrible today was?"

Thud.

Queen Bee's crown dipped as she bent her head, blinking at the fallen form of Iron Head. A muffled chuckle broke from her veil. "Well, I suppose that answers my question."

"Hey uh, any of you seen Night Watcher?"

"Ah, yes, I have!" Queen Bee chimed in, raising a finger and the accompanying stingers. "He was- hm, I'm not sure why, but he was getting what seemed to be a very refreshing head rub from that strange hero in the purple." Queen Bee raised another finger. "And pink." Hand lowering to point at Snowfall, Queen Bee's hands came together, fingers dancing over each other at the sight of the icy heroine. "And congratulations on your spectacular display with that explosive goon, friend! I was watching the whole thing, I almost froze during the flight over!"

Damn, she was getting excited. Folding her arms behind her back, Queen Bee took a breath to clear her throat. "Excuse me, I'm getting carried away- Queen Bee, it's a pleasure to meet you all." Queen Bee then pointed at the seemingly comatose Iron Head. "Is she alright?"

 

[KatSea]

Hey there. Have you turned into a terrible beast today?

All the sudden there was entirely too much happening at once, and every part of Amy felt utterly overwhelmed. Bodies littered the courtyard… Far less than there might have been and still far too many - like broken dolls, lifeless and empty. There was no silver lining. No bright side. This was a tragedy, and her heart ached in her chest in a way that felt like it would never heal…

Between the woman screaming about the president, the shriek of ambulances, and the hectic sound of people calling out for their loved ones… Amy was grateful for the small rectangular planter a few feet from where she stood, because she might've collapsed right to the pavement otherwise.

Carver found himself at a moral dilemma that required too much thinking for this early in the morning. After all this bullshit, after all the chaos that erupted him and cocooned him in a meaningless cloud of blood and gore...he wanted a fucking drink. Before he could drown his sorrows, however, blinding himself from the reality that faced him, he needed to locate the owner of the scream...that, or pinpoint the ginger friend Serene had warned him about. He could hear Serene's calls boom through his skull, but the pleas and ramblings crackled, a mental static that Carver couldn't quite translate. Either Serene was under duress, or they created enough distance between the two to create friction in their connection. The latter of the two, hopefully. His eyes glided past Juliet, Wayne and Vihaan, then back to the deli where several heroes and officers gathered. Right now, that wasn't his intended target, particularly with Amy being somewhere in the crowd...and Serene...well, she was a seven foot pact demon.

She could handle herself far better than Carver ever could.Turning on his heel, he ducked past the remaining crowd, feeling the fuzziness in his head clear as he approached the stage.

Carver, Jay? Can you hear me now? I see Amy now, I am keeping a good distance, but I can see her now. She's by the stage. She appears to be okay but I haven't had a chance to get a closer look. I'm afraid I might startle her if I'm not careful. If you need me, I'll be close by, just give the word

Thanks, baby girl. If you can see from your position, try and keep an eye on Jules and Wayne. I highly doubt any more shit could hit the fan, but I want you to be prepared. I got Amy covered, just make sure blondie doesn't have a moment.

Got it, Carver. Also, be nice to Juliet, remember she's got beaver teeth she can use as a weapon~

Carver rolled his eyes, jogging his way up to the stage, his eyes narrowed as he inspected the area. Several feet away from where Jules had arrested some of the gunmen, near the concrete, he saw a familiar red head bobbing by the stage floor. "Miss? Amy?" He called out, cautiously making his way over. "Miss, are you okay?"

Looking up, Amy's eyes skimmed the scene for the voice that had called her name. For a moment she thought it might be Benny, but somehow she was both surprised and not, to see Carver making his was over. A light, weary smile tipped up the corner of her lips as she gave him a small wave.

"Detective Carver! I'm glad you're okay. That was… that was quite a mess." A mess. It was an understatement, and even she knew that, but where a silver lining couldn't be found, there was always sugar to pour over it… "I'm alright. Just… I'm alright."

Carver's feet guided him to Amy, leaving any blurred thought or connection smothered by relief. Curiosity laid underneath his intentions, but he kept that far underneath the expression he had plastered onto his demeanor. Christ, how did Amy even get here? Carver wasn't completely aware of Amy's entire situation, nor the full extent of her person, but there was an underlying suspicion that she wouldn't come to a large, flashy gathering for heroes. It was entirely possible she came along with the EMTs, but at the same time, he had seen her grow into a gigantic form of Serene and rip gunmen to shreds. Yeah. There was nothing normal about this, and he wanted a few answers. Although, he would have to be slick about it for fear of revealing himself as Beast Tamer, or even revealing the fact Serene lurked mere feet from the two.

"Y-yeah, I'm glad you are alright too. You don't have injuries do you?" Carver inquired, inspecting the woman with a skeptical eye. She would probably know better than him, but he was also aware shock was a very feasible factor to being unaware of a possible wound. "A mess is an understatement…" He muttered, massaging his brow after his final inspection of her. "Is there anyone you know whose missing right now? Anyone you need help finding? How did you get here?"

"Injuries?" Looking at the sharp red that had tainted her salmon colored sweater, Amy gave her head a small shake, "N...no. I don't think so, anyway. Don't suppose it's mine."

Eyes turning up again, her shoulders bounced in a shrug, "I came with a friend… it was rather unexpected, but well… I don't quite remember why we came… I'm fine though, really. I just…" Pulling at the sweater, her eyes misted slightly, "All these poor people… I tried to help, but… but I'm not sure it was enough."

"Do you mind if I take a look, just in case?" Carver inquired, flinching at the red splotch that stained her sweater. That was never a good sign, even if it wasn't her own blood. "You came with a friend? Do you know where that friend is or whether or not they are hurt?" Carver bit his lip at the statement, carefully approaching her to get a better look at the blood stain at her shirt. "Hey, not on you, just gotta make sure you and your friend are all patched up- Do you have a way to get safely home with them?"

"Hm? Oh no. G-go right ahead." Sitting up straighter, her eyes skimmed the crowd, "He… he went to go help, when everything settled down. He… Well." Blinking, she looked up and shrugged, "He's like a teleporter or something. That's how we got here. I think? It was fast… And weird."

With Carver's closer inspection, being careful not to possibly hurt her or be disrespectful to her, he noted there were a few scrapes on her, but otherwise she appeared unharmed. The blood that decorated her then...probably wasn't hers. Nausea settled in his stomach and he swallowed the taste of bile down his throat. "He...he was a what? A teleporter?" So she was transported by a meta. The question was whether or not that meta was one of the heroes in the crowd, or if he vanished elsewhere. "Do you know where he is now?"

"I'm sorry… I… I don't know." Looking up, she managed a small, weary smile, "Lost him in the crowd. His name was Benny. He was really nice. D-dancer. I… I don't remember the way to the studio though. Got lost. Always getting lost."

"Benny...Okay, if you give me a basic description of what he looks like, I can report it to some officers and have them be on the look out to make sure he's okay. Do...do you need someone to take you home? Juliet and I are going to be going back to the apartment pretty soon. I um...I have a couple of questions, Amy, nothing major I just...I saw something and I just wanted to make sure my eyes weren't playing tricks on me."

"Oh… Well. He… he was… uh…" Blinking, Amy frowned lightly, "Darn… I've never been very good at describing people." Running her fingers through her hair, she nodded, 'I was supposed to go visit my cousin, but after everything that happened I think it might be a better idea if I just go home and rest. What questions?"

Fuck. Amy couldn't even remember what this kid looked like, only that his name was Benny. Benny wasn't the most common name, but Ben was, and that could make the search a lot more difficult. Carver ran his hand through his hair, clutching at the roots for if but a moment, before releasing and letting out a withered sigh. Serene's comforting words echoed throughout his head, releasing the tension from his shoulders. "I can...I can do that for you. Make sure you contact your cousin though and tell her you are okay." He paused, trying to figure out how to formulate his words, how to tell her 'hey, saw you turn into my pet demon a few minutes ago, care to tell me how or why?'. He chuckled, nervous and breathless, before finally inquiring "Well, my eyes may have been deceiving me but...I could have sworn I saw a creature nearby and...I wanted to make sure I wasn't the only one. Scared the fucking crap out of me."

"A creature?" Blinking, Amy looked up at Carver with intrigue, "What sort of creature? I saw a lot of men shooting and some other wacky stuff. But I don't know about any creatures? What did it look like?"

"I...it sort of slips my memory, but whatever it was had antlers, was very, very tall, and had red markings all over it." God, talking about his baby girl like this made his stomach churn, bitterness lining his throat. He knew he had to keep her safe, though, both of them, and would keep the language as distant as possible. "I have no idea what the hell it was, and maybe I'm just going crazy, but I swore I saw something."

"Oh!" Sitting up again, Amy smiled wearily, "That's my guardian angel! I hope she doesn't mind I had to borrow her look for a while there. Figured it might be intimidating to all those bad men."

Guardian...Angel…

Serene what the hell does she mean that you are her guardian angel?

[i]...Jethro, how do I say this without sounding wrong…

Beastie I swear to Christ Almighty-

No swearing to the almighty, Jethro, hush. I am very sure you remember the state Juliet was in when we first met Amy, and I felt a kinship to her. I came to visit her the last few days to make sure she was doing well. She must have caught me without my cloaking abilities…

Okay...okay...as long as you didn't get hurt…

You mean as long as she didn't freak out, Jethro, and believe me, it was a miracle she didn't. When you left me at the apartment today, I went to go check on her and ended up following her because she was on the verge of being lost. I...I vaguely remember Benny's face as well. I will give that to you in time. I can search for him as well, if that is preferable.

You are too pretty for people to handle, you know that. I just want you to be careful, is all.

You worry too much, boy. Just wait a few minutes and I'll give you an update. Try and get Amy home soon, okay?

Aye, there's the rub.

And you call me a nerd…[/i]

"Guardian...angel...what do you mean, Amy?" He questioned, brow pinching as he feigned concern and confusion. "You've, you've seen the creature before?" It took every iota of energy for Carver not to refer to her as "Serene" or "her".

"A few times, yeah." Nodding, Amy straightened and smiled, as if the conversation were revolved around weather or a sporting event, "She surprised me, at first. But she seems to be looking out for me. Oh. Gosh. I do hope it's a she… Awfully presumptuous of me. Are you alright, Detective? You seem concerned…"

"I...I am just glad I'm not the only one who saw...well, let's assume it' a her for right now. I would just keep a close eye on that...I didn't think it was possible for shit like that to exist, but considering all the metas in town I wouldn't be surprised if she was one...yeah. Im okay. Again...didn't think I would see a demon today…"

You see one everyday Jethro~

Mmhm. Sorry for calling you demon, beastie.

Do it. Strike fear into the hearts of the innocents, for I-

Now you see why I call you a nerd. Keep looking, dork

"No." Looking up, Amy's disposition remained soft, but there was a tint of scolding behind her eyes as she met his gaze, "Not a demon. She… She's not. I remember demons. She's not one."

Carver wanted to smile at Amy's defense. He wanted to let her know how much her "Guardian Angel" would be ecstatic at those words, would appreciate them. But it was still his job to keep both Amelia and Serene safe, so he kept his mouth a straight line as he shrugged. "I suppose not...considering I did see her rip a few people to sh-...wait, you said you borrowed her look?"

"Ah… Uh…" Rubbing the back of her neck, Amy nodded, "I suppose I ought to have mentioned it. It's something I can do. But I don't… I don't think I hurt anyone too badly! Goodness… I… I so hope…" Trailing off, her eyes shifted to the stage, before following the path the man she'd thrown earlier had gone. She could see no evidence of the gunman… maybe a good sign.

"You...you can shapeshift, you are a meta?" He questioned lightly, biting his lip. Yeah. If this was true, and it was most certainly supportable, he would need to make sure she did not get involved with the government. Especially not with the goddamn vice president nearby and the heroes moronically signing up with them. Yeah, that was a no from him. "If anything they deserve it…" He mumbled, raising a brow at her. "I...you are being quiet about the shapeshifting, right Amy?"

"Quiet?" Looking around again, Amy's brow rose, "I'm not sure any of us were very quiet, Detective. Why?" Paling lightly, Amy shifted uncomfortable, "Do… did I do something wrong? Oh, if I did I promise I didn't mean to. I just… all those people… I needed to help. There's not much I've been good at in my life… but helping, I can do. You know what I mean?"

"No...No no, you haven't done anything wrong Amy, not at all." He reassured her, biting his lip as he cupped the back of his neck with both of his hands. He strained his head back, letting out a huff. "You just gotta know there are people who take advantage of metas, much like this government bullshit that's going on…" His eyes swept the area skeptically. "I just want you to be safe, that's all."

"Safe?" Blinking, Amy tilted her head slightly, a small smile touching her lips, "From the government? I'm not great at that sort of thing, but isn't it their job to protect us?"

Oh, sweet mother of God. Carver covered his mouth as a snort escaped him, nearly resembling a chuckle. "Oh, God, Amy. Err...just stay on your toes okay? Let's keep the shapeshifting between you and I, yeah? Just in case."

"O-oh. Well… I can't do that exactly." Blushing lightly, Amy shrugged, "Benny knows, though I don't think he's the type to tell anyone. Oh… but those people in the diner the other night…"

"Alright…" Carver let his hands fall back to his sides, where his fingers drummed anxiously against his thighs. "Then lets keep this underwraps as much as possible. It's not that your abilities are wrong, in fact I think metas have beautiful qualities to them just...not everyone agrees, or they want to use it. This is just for your own safety...that, and I should really be getting you home."

Nodding, Amy wrapped her arms around herself, "Probably not a bad idea. Would you mind… before we go? There was a girl… She seemed really distressed. Went into that building over there… The deli. I'd like to make sure she's okay?"

"Yeah, yeah, if there's anyone you want me to go check on, I'd be more than happy. Know Juliet is around here, too, if you need her." He informed her, eyes darting towards the area of the Deli where he had been previously. He bit his lip. "I...I think it might be a little hectic over there, Amy, are you sure?"

"She said something about the President…" Amy started, eyes moving from the building to the detective, "Gosh, Detective… What if he's hurt?"

"Med teams are on sight Amy...they've got ambulances and EMTs. If he's hurt, they are gonna make him a priority, okay?"

"M-maybe… Yeah… You're probably right." Nodding, Amy unfolded her arms, "Would you take me home, now?"

"Of course, Amy." He promised her, a sudden realization hitting him as he remembered what he promised Jules. "Hey um...do you mind if we go to the hospital first? If not that's okay, I will get you home pronto, there's just someone I need to check on."

"Oh… Oh no! D-did someone get hurt?? Is Juliet okay?" So many many people were hurt… but she knew how special Jules was to her partner…

"Hey, hey, it's okay. Juliet is just okay. She's gonna come with us, okay? She didn't get hurt, I promise." Carver reassured her, raising his hands defensively before attempting to articulate his words. "My...one of my coworkers, a man named Perry, got hurt pretty bad, but I think the paramedics got to him just in time...but I want to make sure he's alright. I also think it will help calm Jules down...she's sort of upset by him getting hurt and I really don't blame her."

"Oh, Detective… I'm sorry. I do hope he's okay. I hope everyone…" But as desperate as she was to believe it, even Amy knew that just wasn't possible. Cringing lightly, she turned to Carver, "Come on… let's go see if he's alright, then. Home can wait."

 

[Seductress]

One day off. That's all Liam Saddler was asking for. With the change of seasons coming up, leaving a trail of identifiable characteristics of winter, all he wanted was a chance to enjoy the last little bit of warm-ish weather. Of course, the events of the day had been posted all over the news in real time. There was live coverage across what could have been every major news channel possible, but it wasn't the sort of thing that that the local and smaller known news channels would have passed up. Liam's phone was loaded with over three hundred missed calls and texts by the time he had woken up from his power nap. He was groggy, sore eyed, and his voice was gruff and hoarse. "Hello?"

"I'm sorry to bother you, Mr.Saddler, have you seen the news at all today?" The voice on the other line rang through Liam's ear a bit louder than he would have preferred. With a grimace, Liam held his phone away from his ear and massaged the bridge of his nose with his thumb and index finger. He shook his head, sitting up against the sand polyester backboard of his bed. The cold air leaking in through his window caused goosebumps to crawl across his flesh as the breeze kissed across the bare skin of his chest.

"I'm not going to lie to you; no. There hasn't really been much that I can say I've done at all today." Looking over toward his night stand, he reached over and grabbed the television remote that sat right beside his SIG-Sauer P229 - loaded, safety off and out of it's holster. His eyes lingered on the weapon, but they quickly went to the TV that was suspended on the far wall across from his bed. "I'm guessing that there's quite a bit that I've missed, huh? Why can't Collins handle it? I left him in charge for a reason."

As the blank screen lit up with life and vibrant television personalities, he started flipping through channels. "We have a President in critical condition, four downtown city blocks that have been destroyed beyond repair, a group of goody-goody boys-and-girls scouts looking to get involved with whatever action is happening, and on top of that," As soon as he reached Fox News, his eyes squinted at the violent scenes of destruction that the camera managed to catch during the attack. Liam's ears soaked all the information he was being given into his brain while his eyes absorbed the visuals that came along with the audio. "We're missing the whereabouts of Mr.Chore. He could be anywhere amidst the chaos and we can't even get a hold of him. This shit has gotten messier and messier by the second, and we need to get all political figures out of there so that we can figure out how to start cleaning this mess up. We don't even know if all enemies have been eliminated and taken into custody. There could still be - "

"Take it easy," Saddler's voice held a steady lack of concern, as well as tone itself, as his eyes lingered on the screen. There was currently a detailed report on each of the heroes involved in the protection of the conference, and Liam had seen exactly who he was hoping to see. "Get a motorcade prepared, I'll be there in less than thirty. I want everyone to meet me there, and to secure the area before I even get there. I don't want to have to find Mr.Chore, or Mr.Pearson, and I want any and all superheroes still on the scene arrested and brought in for questioning. They are now part of an ongoing homeland security investigation. I want to know everything that they know." After an exchange of pleasantries the two men were off the phone, and Saddler was on his way to getting prepared for his day. Like any other day, he took splashed warm water on his face, made sure to line his shirt up properly before doing up all of his buttons, tucked his white shirt neatly into his pants, took his time tying the perfect tie. His process, which ended with Liam slipping his sidearm into the holster before heading downstairs, only took ten minutes or less. It was a morning - or in this case afternoon - routine that he had mastered and perfected.

"You're dressed as if you're about to arrest a terrorist again," Carrie Saddler called over to her husband as he emerged from the staircase, looking as sharp and dashing as always. "I could have sworn it was your day off, though." She stood in the kitchen, between their breakfast island and the spacious cooking area they were blessed with when they bought the house. She held a knife in one hand that she was able to glide across a large onion, slicing it into rings.

"I've been asked to help with something, is all," Liam's stood behind her as his arm reached over her shoulder, grabbing an apple from the bowl near her cutting board. A nice, crisp, green skinned granny smith plucked right off the tree about a week ago. "I shouldn't be too long, love, maybe an hour or two at the most."

"Those steaks are marinating, like you asked me to. So you better make sure you're home, before dark, so you can grill them for us. I refuse to make frozen fish sticks and fries and eat in front of the TV again. We're eating together tonight, Mister Saddler, whether you want to or not."

"How could I ever turn that down, Misses Saddler? I promise, I'll be home as soon as I possibly can, and we'll enjoy a beautiful supper." His eyes looked at the vegetables that his wife had began preparing. She had slices of greens, such as broccoli and asparagus, and even a few bell peppers sliced up. It looked like afterwards she was going to start slicing mushrooms, and then it was time to prepare the potatoes.

"If you let me down," A smile crossed her face as she felt her husband pressing a kiss to her cheek. "We're getting a divorce, so I can marry a man who will actually show up in time to cook me the dinner he's been promising."

Liam was already by the door, his shoes on and keys in his hand, by the time the laugh escaped his lips. He reached for the door, pulling it open before looking back to his sweet, sweet Carrie. "Hey, it's me you're talking to, I've never been late for anything. The one thing I'll ever be late for is my own funeral, because when I'm dead it's finally not my job to worry about showing up on time."

---

If she were to say that there wasn't a lot going on currently, Anarchy would be forced to lie. It's not like lying was off the table and against her morals, at least when she was known for her bloodthirsty methods. What she didn't want to say out loud, however, was just how amusing the situation was to her. She wanted to laugh at the tired, worn out heroes. She wanted to chuckle at Pearson and Wayne as they struggled to get the situation under control. The Night Watcher, the self-proclaimed "guardian of Washington" had slipped out of an airplane and was now no where to be seen. They were all running around like chickens with their heads cut off, and for what? A repeat of the day's events tomorrow? That was the true comedy behind everything. People had gotten killed, hurt, a wave of terror has struck, and it only turns humorous when you realize that the repeat button is just going to be pressed as soon as the clock strikes 12:01 am.

The tin-can's response caused a giggle to audibly leave Anarchy's lips. She could almost picture Taffer's leg getting blown off, forcing him to hop on one leg as he attempted to dodge a barrage of missiles, like it was something out of Dodgeball. "Maybe they'll give him some high tech bionic leg and he'll be one of us." Anarchy found herself shuddering at the idea of having to be on a team with some sort of Super-President. "With that being said, I'm pretty sure being able to dodge a missile is part of the job requirements, so I don't think

our friend Taffer over there is going to be able to make the cut."

Instinctively, Anarchy's hand went up to cover the wound on her shoulder. She could feel the hole burning and stinging, and the glossy plastic material her gloves were made of weren't the most soothing thing she could be using to add pressure. She found her eyes wincing shut, the back of her head pressing against the wall as she grimaced at the sharp folds of her gloves pressing against her tender flesh. karma was starting to out herself as a true bitch right about now. Maybe laughing at the situation, and making light of the president's condition was a bit much, and the thought that she should have been taking this whole thing a bit more seriously crossed her brain. "Yeah, I'll get that looked at right away. As soon as I get a chance to change into proper clothes I'll-"

Nobody cares, Anarchy. These people aren't your friends, you pretty much just met them all just now. Anarchy's face reset itself, her face mirroring the slow death of emotion she had forced herself to feel as she returned to that emotionless, dead inside Anarchy that she knew she was meant to be. These people don't actually want you to go and get your shoulder stitched up and sterilized. They don't want to make sure that you're okay, they just don't want to have to watch you spill your blood everywhere. You're making a fucking mess, and you're going to need to get out of their faces before they turn on you and kick your ass. Well...yeah, they'll try to kick your ass. I don't want you to have to turn around and massacre a bunch of heroes, a handful of cops, and the vice president. That wouldn't really look too good on our record. So how about you just sign the document, and fuck off.

Anarchy's eyes looked at Nellie, then flicked over to Pearson. She reached out, her hand lazily hanging there as the pen took itself from Pearson's hand, clicked, and then scribbled the word Anarchy across the dotted line. When she was finished, she let the pen settle back in Pearson's hand, and then she clicked it once more. Not having much experience with Anarchy's powers first hand, the Vice President wasn't exactly sure what had happened just now. He looked down at the paper, and saw that her signature had officially sealed the deal. "Would it have really hurt that much for you to have come over here and actually write it?"

Anarchy shrugged. It didn't even matter anyway. He was just trying to play coy, make small talk. He didn't actually care. She had half a mind to stick that pen between his eyes if he kept talking. All she wanted was to find Conner, make sure he's okay, and then go home. Nothing too complicated, nothing much. Both Pearson and Anarchy trained their attention toward Sabine, Pearson turning around to face her completely as Anarchy raised an eyebrow. "Yeeeeah...you want to handle this? I've got places to be right now."

"We'll find your father," Pearson said, attempting to ignore Anarchy with little more than a glare sent her way. "He's the next thing on the agenda, okay? We'll gather him up, and we'll send you two home with a presidential escort." Sabine had seen too much that she wasn't supposed to today. She wasn't supposed to witness the horrors of, what felt like, war. Nobody knew that this was going to go from zero to one hundred so quickly, and yet here they were. As he looked over the sadness that had befell the girl, he felt a tenderness slither into his heart. He couldn't just leave this girl to her daily life. There was something he had to do. He had to help her, give her a higher purpose. Living in a shadow of someone else just wasn't a life he wanted for her. "Sabine, I'd like to offer you a job. I'd like you to help me behind the scenes. I need a second in command, someone to help me direct the team, and help executing our plans. What do you say?"

As Iron Head approached Pearson and grabbed his pen, Anarchy's eyes made their way toward the "window" of the deli. She spotted that yellow ball of hyper activity wandering aimlessly past the group. What did she called herself again? Sun Tan? Sun Screen? SPF whocares? Or maybe it was Sunspot or something like that. She couldn't really say she cared to an extreme degree, but what she did know was that Conner was last seen with Yellowjacket, and she'd probably be able to shed a little bit of light on his whereabouts. The turd constantly refers to himself as the most capable hero America has seen since Betty White, but he goes and get's himself lost like this. Her legs were tired of holding her weight up, and her bones would happily snap themselves if it meant getting Anarchy to finally sit down, but they proved their loyalty to her. She felt like Mr.Crabs with how much effort she had to put forth in order to get her legs to walk quickly in pursuit of her florescent yellow "friend".

Transfer decided to make his appearance once again. Anarchy's eyes lingered on him as he walked right past her, their destinations opposite of each other. He was heading toward where she was just standing, and she was heading toward where he was just coming from. Anarchy's eyes (and yes, she is aware that her writer constantly uses the same two words to add emphasis on her eyes) were dead, lifeless even, but Transfer's entire face seemed devoid of expression and life. It was as if his facial muscles were taking a nap, and so he decided to portray a lack of feeling instead. Her eyes went back toward her destination, but she couldn't stop thinking. Picturing the way Transfer showed a glimmer of bravery and actually took shots at Finn after securing Pearson...she couldn't really dismiss him as useless after what he did today. He quite literally was the reason Pearson was safe and alive, and he attempted to come to her aid when she was occupied with Finn. Maybe Transfer was one of those heroes she'd have to keep an eye on.

Long, well defined legs peered out of the broken doorway, her heels crushing and cracking shards of glass that sat on the other side. She peered her head out, feeling the first natural flecks of snow falling down around her. Her eyes locked on Sunspot, and she grinned to herself. Maybe the violence wasn't over quite yet. It was strange - the moment her head passed through the threshold, the silence of the deli's interior was crushed. The sounds of chattering voices, cars moving back and forth, the sounds of helicopters buzzing around in the sky. It was all too lively compared to the group she had just pardoned herself from. The smell that lingers after a disaster was an interesting one, to say the least. Gunpowder, fresh blood...the smell of death holding it's sweet presence in the air. It seemingly made sure that Anarchy, and those involved, would never forget what had just happened. There were plenty of people who were going to want to forget what they had just gone through, but needless to say, Anarchy would never even think about forgetting.

"Hey, Lady Lightbulb," Anarchy called out, her brain sputtering and ceasing to remember the girl's name. Her legs kept her in hot pursuit, ignoring Bea as she returned back to the group. Anarchy reached her arm out, her eyes freezing over as her psionic energy wrapped itself around the poor, unsuspecting Liz before Anarchy pivoted her body to the right, swinging her arm in unison with her hips as she watched Sunspot come flying toward her. As Liz was parallel with the purple crayon, she extended her pinkie, ring, and index finger as she cocked her middle finger under her thumb. With one flick of the finger, Liz was slammed down against the Toyota Prius parked by the sidewalk. "I have some questions for you, which I really hope you feel like answering,"

Anarchy took a few steps, closing the distance between herself and the officially grounded teen. She looked down, remorse absent from her eyes as blood began to gush once again. Nobody cares about your shoulder. Just do what you need to and leave. With her teeth gritted out of the frustration her inner monologue crafted, the anger flashed through her eyes before they glossed over once more. Anarchy's arm extended and hovered over Sunspot's throat, her fingertips just inches away from her skin. As she moved her arm, Sunspot was quickly propelled into the air, swinging around and slamming against the hefty brick wall of the building beside the deli. "I don't really feel like taking no for an answer."

Clunk. In one blink, one instant, Iron Head was down. Anarchy had signed, Nellie had signed, and then as Transfer began to sign his life away, the wo

nderful, avenging Iron Nerd had decided that it was finally time to take that nap she needed. He put the paper and pen down as he rushed over to Iron Head's side, kneeling down and looking her over. She didn't seem to show any signs of wounds, or life threatening markings or whatnot. It must have been just a lack of sleep. They'll be able to address that in a second. Until then, he had bigger fish to fry. "Snowfall," Pearson called out as he fixed himself and stood upright. "And...friend?" He shrugged off the guessing game of trying to figure out who she was with as the two entered. He was pretty much done with today, so he really didn't care about the semantics of it all. "Could you two just sign this, please. I don't really feel like repeating my little spiel again, so let's just skip over that."

The Vice President's focused moved over to Bea, who had just impressed him greatly with how quickly she responded to that call to arms. "Ah, yes, good work out th-" Oh? What's this? Another fucking problem to worry about? The Night Watcher was seen getting a - oh, god, no. If his suspicions were correct, and that blue clad, sword swinging finned weirdo was exactly who he thought it was, then......oh, fuck. "Listen," The exhausted man huffed out. "Snowfall, you take your buddy and Queen Bea to the police station. I want you to make sure that he isn't going after Finn, because if he is, then more people are going to be dying today. But first, can everybody just please sign this damn document? You all get to go home after this is all done. You know what I have to do? I have to fly to Iran to settle a possible trade war, instead of lounging around the White House in my undies drinking Kool-Aid Jammers."

Little did Pearson know, this was only the beginning of his problems. His problems were about to get worse in about five, six, maybe seven minutes, but the tired bags under his eyes didn't need to know that. Any more stress that could have taken his body would have ruined him, made him look even older than he already was. He waited for the last of the signatures he needed, folded up the paper and handed it to Blair. "Make sure The Night Watched signs this. Return it to me tomorrow, everyone is required to meet outside the old beer store on Sixth and Cress tomorrow, 9:30pm. Wear your costumes, and be ready for a lot of information. Until then, the three of you, go get to work. Snowfall, you're in charge of this one." The whole world was falling apart. Thanks to the wonderful President Taffer, Joe was now in charge of protecting not only Washington DC, not only America, but he quite possibly had the key to saving the entire world in his palm.

Who's to say that there won't be some horribly disfigured, mutated super villain threatening to destroy Asia, or the Middle-East, or even the planet? If the police can't handle it, if the military can't handle it, who can? The biggest reason that Taffer started The Hoods & Capes was so that he had a task force to handle anything that his government emergency response services couldn't. It was a responsibility, a moral obligation, for the team to have to tackle every problem that the world could dish out. If they didn't, would they truly be superheroes? Think about it; Who got shot today? Perry, a cop. Who wasn't broken and dinged up until after the attack happened? The heroes. This city needs superheroes. America needs superheroes.

The world needs superheroes.

"I'll come pick you two up in the morning. We can get an early start, go over everything we might need to know. Coffee is necessary, too. Though, there is one thing I should probably tell you-"

Wayne waved his hand in front of Vihaan's face, signalling for him to take a chill pill for the time being. "Don't worry about that right now, detectives. You two, go and see Perry. All you have to do is show off your badges, and they should l

et you through. At least...back in England they let us do that. I love how gung-ho you two are, but you really must rest tonight. You've been though quite a bit, and I don't want you two stressed and tired for tomorrow."

Suspicion fell across Vihaan's face as he looked over at Wayne. He seemed calm and collected, and as if he knew exactly what he was going. Something just didn't feel right, though. Here, he had two detectives who were given an assignment, and despite being dismissed for the day are actively trying to gain as much information as they can for the assignment tomorrow. Why would he just wave them off like that?

Vihaan motioned for Juliet to follow him as he aimed himself toward his car. "Here, follow me." The thoughts started to swim through his head as he went through all the knowledge and information he had on the case. He wasn't originally intended to be part of the trial, sure, but he did know quite a bit about it. His job was about knowing all of the on-going crime revolving around meta humans, so he had been following as closely as he possibly could. "We only have one witness who said she found Angelina Trevors at the scene, cleaning blood off of her fingers. That's all we have as far as witnesses go, plus her finger prints were found all over the points of entry on all four of the victims. This is a murder case, Jules. Each victim has four cuts in their chest, breastbones broken, with enough poison in their blood streams to kill a fully grown elephant. The problem is that nobody can figure out how she killed her victims, or why. There doesn't seem to be even the smallest motive possible."

Wayne watched as his little group broke off into their own bits and pieces. He sighed, a small smile creeping across his face as he turned his way back toward the stage, and then to the police blockade that protected the fleet of ambulances that were filling up and getting ready to take off. That young teenager had taken the wounded president to safety, just as she was asked. Maybe Taffer and Pearson had something good going on here, honestly. Wayne stuffed his hands in his pockets, his legs revving up as he started walking back toward the bistro he had met Perry outside of. It was only a few feet away from where all the officers were rounding up the surviving gunmen, and preparing them for transport. This was a fucking mess.

Who was going to take care of this? Wayne and his cops? Homeland Security? God forbid the United Nations considers it a transnational threat. The nationality of these attackers shouldn't matter, really. What Wayne knew, and The Night Watcher would always agree with, is that a threat is a threat. This city required protecting from all sorts of terrorism; human, meta-human, sub-human, even alien (if one were to believe the conspiracy theorists). With either arm folded over his shoulders, Wayne grasped his arms in an attempt to shake off the cold weather that was brewing. He could feel the white flakes of cold tapping against the back of his neck, causing a shiver to travel down his back. It had been a strange day, to say the least.

"Congressman," Wayne called out to a fairly shaken Clifford Chore, who was sat in the back of a squad car, his feet dangling out of the open door as he hugged a blanket over his shoulders. "Are you hurt at all? Is there anything you need? Just ask and I'll make sure you get it."

Chore shook his head. He didn't even smile, he just stared blankly at the pavement and mentally connected the blood splotches. "No, thank you. Your boys have gone above and beyond today as it is." Wayne was finally getting a good look at the man. He was much younger looking than the television had made him out to be. He looked phenomenal for his age, if truth be told. There must have been some sort of secret; some special conditioner, mud masks, the Hollywood treatment. He looked like a handsome, well put together man who probably could have run the world by looks alone. "I saw President Taffer get taken away just now. You think he's going to make it?"

Wayne waved the question off and sucked on his tongue. He rested against the truck of the car, leaning his aching back against it. "He's a tough man," Wayne produced a pack of cigarettes, banging the bottom of the pack against the palm of his hand before pulling out a smoke for himself.

Clifford motioned for one, holding up his middle and index fingers to his mouth. "I haven't seen many tough men recover from getting their leg blown clean off."

"How many legs have you seen get blown off, mate?" He extended his arm, handing Cliff his own cigarette.

"You know what I mean," After Wayne had quickly lit his smoke, the dark green Bic was handed over to him. "Emotionally, mentally. Not to mention, all the physio he's going to have to go through...He didn't deserve this. You didn't deserve this, or your department, or even," Chore took a quick drag off his smoke, and then used his occupied hand to point toward the deli. "Those heroes in there don't deserve any of this."

"Ah, what can ya do, right? Don't worry about it too much, it kind of just comes with the territory. Murder and terror and constant threat is a thing we all live with each and every day, so I'm sure we'll all be able to handle it decently enough."

Chore shook his head as he felt his shoulders hunching at the thought of what happened. He took another drag off of the Pall Mall, feeling the sweet smoke welling up in his lungs, and his stress leaving his body as he exhaled. "No, I need to find a way to thank these heroes. To thank you guys."

"You think that's a good idea?" Wayne grumbled, his breath beginning to become visible. Or maybe that was still smoke. He didn't care, really. "Look at the last time a politician tried to do something nice for someone," Wayne motioned toward the big fucking mess everywhere. "I don't think that President Taffer can afford to lose another leg. The guy's only got two of them, I think. I watched a woman shoot ice out of her hands, and a robot control blades made out of blood. President Taffer having a third leg wouldn't surprise me. At least not anymore." A deep sigh left Wayne's mouth as he realized just how much he's seen ever since the emergence of meta-humans. Well, to be fair, they've been around since before he was even born, but still. There was always a tad bit of blissful ignorance in his life.

"I have a really good therapist I could send you to." The smile found it's way back to Cliff's face. "Maybe I'll throw a gala in celebration of the heroes of our time. Police, firefighters, paramedics, superheroes, presidents and vice. Everyone deserves to be celebrated, so I can't see why the fuck not. Give Taffer a bit of time, maybe a week and a half or two weeks or so. Maybe more if he needs it. The Secret Service won't let anyone touch him, assuming they make sure they aren't infiltrated, and half the cops and superheroes in the city will be there. It's the most safe, secure possible event out there."

Wayne couldn't help but dismiss his words off as the ramblings of a man whom had just been saved. It was quite an amazing thing how the human mind reacts whenever someone is truly saved for the first time. Being grateful for your life is just a brand new taste on the tongues of certain people, and it seems that Chore never really had an attempt on his life before. "Well," He spoke as he inspected his cigarette; about half way there. "How about until then, I treat you to some coffee, Mr.Chore?"

"I don't think I ever got your name?" Chore's hand instantly jutted out, reaching for Wayne.

"Wayne," The titular Wayne blurted out as he clasped hands with his new pal. "Wilkinson. Chief, Wayne Wilkinson." He cleared his throat, rolling his eyes at just how green he sounded. He didn't like the idea of tying his tongue up, all because he wanted to impress some big wig. In fact, impressing Chore was the last thing on his mind. He was too worried about making sure Chore knew that he wasn't excited to meet him, and that in Wayne's eyes, he was just another human being doing human being stuff. Like getting shot at, and watching their own kidnapping getting foiled. It was an interesting life, to say the least.

"Cliff," Chore smiled as the two men shook hands. "My friends call me Congressman, or Mr.Chore. But you can just call me Cliff."

"Charmed."

"Anyway, Chief Wilkinson, Wayne, I believe the motorcade is on it's way here," He said, knowing it was just a block away. "So I'm going to have to get a ride with Vice President Pearson...or is Joe going to be our acting president? Well, we'll figure that out when the time comes for it, honestly. But-"

"Don't mention it." Wayne said as he stood up right, heading toward the other side of the police barricade.

"Don't mention wh-"

"The smoke," Wayne said as he tossed his away, off to the side. "They sell them in twenty five packs, so it really does no harm to my pocket." And that's when Cliff stayed silent. He watched, smile plastered on his face, as the man disappeared to the pub a block away. What an interesting man, that Wayne. Hopefully, this wasn't going to be the last that Clifford would be seeing of Wayne, because he seemed like quite the interesting man. As soon as Wayne was gone, however, the cigarette was under Cliff's foot, the blanket was on the police cruiser chair, and Cliff was standing once more. His smile was gone, and he was once again ready for business.

Wheels squealed and skidded as the presidential motorcade barreled toward the crime scene. The route car leading the way, and then the pilot car rolling up near Chore as the rest of the fleet crowded the entirety of the street. The man who jumped out of the pilot car's passenger seat was the 5'1

0 Charlie Collins, with his salt and pepper grey hair and an age that was starting to lose it's youthful qualities. "Mr.Chore," He called out, almost frantically as both Collins and a handful of his black suited agents crowded the man. "I don't know what happened, we had the most foolproof plan in place. This strategy wasn't meant to fail, I swear."

Chore waved Collin's words off like it was some sort of bea that continued to buzz around his ear. "Where is Saddler?" He asked looking toward the deli, his brow furrowed, his eyes rejecting the sight of Charlie, no matter how much he wanted to be seen.

"He's been called, and he's on his way. I'm so, so sorry."

Clifford's hand raised, pointing toward the deli. "Over there. They're all over there. The Vice President is with....the girl. Go, get to work so that I can fire you later instead of now." [FONT=Marcellus, serif]Chore cleared his throat, walking past a nodding Charlie as he let an agent open the door to his private escort. Charlie nodded once more, and motioned for at least ten of the agents to follow him. The weapons they were armed with were glorified tranquilizer guns, but these heroes were needed more alive than they were dead. Dead men tell no tales, meaning that dead men can't aid with Homeland Security investigations. They were going to have to think first, shoot second, even if their ammunition was non lethal.

Instantly, a knot grew deep in Anarchy's stomach. Her mental grasp on Sunspot gave in, letting her slump back to the ground as her interrogation instantly ceased. She looked over her shoulders, watching as the agents began to close in on the deli - weapons drawn. They were moving what looked like a long, spread out line that had a bit of curve to it. They were trying to corner the group. Anarchy felt herself sucking at her teeth, before spitting out an audible groan. If this day doesn't stop getting so hard to handle, I really am going to lose my shit. She turned to face them, the line tightening up as four goons and an old man that stood behind them closed the gap between them and the two women.

"Go back," Anarchy called over her shoulder to Sunspot. "To the deli," Her hands balled into fists as her eyes watched over the men in black. "Now." Her arm shot up, a tranquilizer dart stopping itself right at the last possible second before the dart could hit Sunspot's neck. Instead of hitting her and digging into her flesh, the dart slowly turned around, whizzing back where it came from to sink deep into the fleshy part of where the trigger man's collarbone met. She noticed as the man standing beside his now fallen comrade peered over at him as he crumbled to the ground, before raising his weapon at Anarchy. She couldn't help but smirk at him as she put her fists up, readying her legs in a half bent position.

"Let's not make this more difficult than it needs to be," Collins called out as he stepped forward, coming between to of his armed agents. "You and your friends are part of an investigation, so you're officially property of the state until we are done with our line of questioning." He was reaching into his pockets, pulling out and slipping on what looked like brass knuckles on either hand, which caught a scoff leaking from Anarchy's lips.

"Yeah, I don't think so. Today has been exhausting as it is, so I'd much rather you just turn around, and fuck off. That would make things easier on the both of us." Oddly enough, Anarchy had a feeling that it wasn't going to be so easy. She saw him nodding to his agents, and then realized that there was still at least five or so more ready to infiltrate the deli. Fuck, none of us are in the condition to do this right now. Anarchy looked behind her, spotting that Iron Head was passed out on the ground, and that Snowfall, her friend, and Bea had already been sent out. "Hey," Anarchy called out to Sunspot. "I might need you to help Transfer get Pearson and that girl out of here, think you can do that? I've got the big metal nerd taking the nap over there."

Collins shook his head with a dissatisfied grimace. If they put up too much of the fight before Saddler gets here, I'm surely done for. "Could you please just come quietly? Hands up? Head down? Ready to listen to what I say? It'll make life easier on all of us." Oddly enough, Anarchy began with her eyes locked on his. Then, her hands slowly raised above her head, and her eyes looked down to the ground. Collins smirked as he took a few steps forward, his hand reaching toward her arm. It really wasn't that easy though. As he got in range, he saw that the dirty blonde hair that covered her face was actually hiding her secret weapon; her eyes were glossed over with a layer of what looked like deep frost.

Shards of glass started to rise up from around the base of the deli. Pearson watched as he noticed what was going on. The shards, both small and large, looked as if they were a cleansing plague brought upon mankind. He knew that these men were about to be purged of their lives, that the people who were just doing their jobs to support their family, weren't going to be going home to see their family. "Anarchy, don't!" He called out before lunging for the door. That's when he realized; the unconscious body of Nellie was levitating off the ground. It was only less than a foot in the air, but there might have been a chance that Anarchy wasn't about to pull the predictable move. "Come on, Sabine, Transfer, we have to go."

Collins wasn't sitting around waiting. While his men seemed shaken up and uneasy, Charlie lunged straight for her. She stepped to the left, aiming her index finger down to send a large shard shredding through the middle of the man's fist. Collins screamed out agonizingly as blood spilled across the rubble, his palm opening so he could inspect the damage with wide eyes. While he was distracted, Anarchy balled her fist up, bringing it up to his jaw in a tense uppercut that forced his teeth to maw together. She followed that up with a left handed punch to the temple of his head, and then she kicked him straight in the stomach.

"Back door, back door." Pearson stated as calmly as he could, leading the two toward the titular back door he spoke of. He looked over his shoulder, spotting Nellie rising up off the ground, the levitating iron avenger looking almost possessed now. In the blink of an eye, she was shot forward, nailing Collins dead on as the light flickered from his eyes and he collapsed. If there was any glass still in tact from the window, Iron Head would have broken through and burst out in a sleepy haze of glimmering shards. Sadly, it wasn't as cinematic as that and still fairly boring to watch. With Collins unconscious and the deli almost cleared out, maybe things weren't going to be so difficult? Well, that thought process changed when Pearson looked forward again, the last five agents stood outside of the back door, guns at the ready.

---

Earnest Clay​

---

The sensation of handcuffs taking away his range of freedom was nothing new to him. He was one of the world's top mercenaries who officially didn't exist. He had never been caught by accident, though. In order to actually see Clay rotting in your jail cell, you had to make sure that it was all part of his plan. The only one who's ever been known to beat Clay was a man named Arsenal, a man who still caused Clay to smirk to himself whenever he thought about him in all honesty. "What is so god damn hilarious?" Detective Oilers asked, spitting pure venom as he sat up off the edge of the table.

"Nothing," He tried to shake the chuckle away, his fists balling at the mere thought of Arsenal. He wasn't sure if he wanted the man dead, or if he just wanted to bask in the glory of the false deity he's turned himself into. These people look up to him, they treat him as if he's a saviour? A superhero? Please, this is the same man who caused three innocent cops to lose their lives just to prove a point. He's no martyr, no hero. He was no worse than Clay himself, and that same thought got him smiling once again. "Want to hear something funny?"

"Alright, Earnest," Oilers exhaled, his shoulders tensing forward. "If anyone has time, it's you. You're going away for a long time, pal."

Using his eyes to roll away the effect of normal boring, hollow police threats. "You're all going to die in less than twenty minutes."

"Oh yeah? And who's going to kill us? You?"

It truly must have been funny, because Clay broke out into hysterical fits of laughter. Tears threatened to well up in his eyes as he continued his laughter, the officer growing quiet really quickly. "Oh, just wait. It's funny, because it's a plot twist you'd never see coming." Silence. No laughter. No sound. It was almost psychopathic how quickly Clay went from his little laughing fit to staring the detective down. Their eyes met, and Oiler's calm demeanor instantly broke. His eyes softened and finally revealed the fear that came with sitting in a small room with one of the world's deadliest killers.

The detective looked up at the camera in the corner of the room, his eyes portraying his defeat. He stood up, groaning to himself. He had to pull on his focus face once again. "Okay, fine. You can take some time to think, and

then I'll come by and try not to beat the answers out of you." Clay raised his chin, the smirk oozing vile energy until the officer left the room. Now that he was finally alone, it was time to re-evaluate his situation.

The room was empty; nothing but a long rectangular table with a horizontal metal bar, which his handcuffs were attached to. The only other chair aside from the one he was sitting in was on the other side of the table. They took his suit and instantly exchanged it for an orange jumpsuit. They probably knew he would have had some tricks up his sleeve if they let him wear his suit, otherwise he would have been out of here by now. If his calculations were correct, Arsenal would be on his way here already. Something was up, though. It wasn't like Arsenal to take this long when he had the perfect window of opportunity for his revenge handed to him on a platter. Something was up, and Finn had to be ready for it. Where was he?

The door to the staff room opened wide. "I don't know," Officer Phil Gleean grumbled as he held the big purple welt on his forehead under the palm of his hand. "I pulled this cosplayer over and before I could say anything, he just pistol whipped me upside the head."

"You think it was him?" Eddie Henderson asked as she sneaked past Phil, pulling a chair for him to sit. "You think that it was the real Night Watcher?" She walked over to the large fridge that they kept near the sink, reaching into the freezer to produce an ice pack. She wrapped it in a cloth they stored in one of the cupboards near the coffee maker, and handed it to Phil. The welt was swollen and puffy, harsh to look at and clearly painful to have. He wasn't hit just by someone trying to get away from a speeding ticket; this man was angry. He was taking his frustration out, that much was obvious.

"It's the Night Watcher, what's he going to do if I discovered his secret identity? Show up here and murder me in cold blood?" His question might have been answered quicker than he ever could have thought. Instantly, the lights flickered off, emerging the two officers in both silence, and darkness. Phil's first reaction was to reach for his gun, but Eddie decided to make the smarter move. Her flashlight was out, and she was heading toward the door, peering outside to see if there was any lights out in the hall.

"I think there is no power at all right now," She said as she shined her light through the window. "I don't think this is the kind of situation we want to be in, at least not right now. I'd hate to be wondering around in a station filled with cops on edge about the current terrorist attacks...trigger happy. Make sure you have your vest on."

The door to Clay's interrogation creaked open slowly. Clay sat there, as still as a rock as he listened. He couldn't see anything, not even a foot in front of him. But he knew someone was entering the room. He could feel the presence of another human being entering the room. Clay sat up, readying himself for whatever came through that door. Before he realized it, a flashlight was shining on his face, blinding him at first until he had a chance to adjust. "Alright Clay, time to transfer to-" The lights were back on. If it were a Batman movie, the woodwind music would start fading in as Clay's eyes widened, watching as the grey, caped figure appeared behind the officer.

"I knew you'd come." His smile was brighter than the lights themselves. A loud crunch rang through the room as The Night Watcher grabbed the side of Oiler's head, slamming it against the two way mirror. Grabbing the detective's gun, Clay's ears began to ring as if someone had rung a bell in his ears. The security camera burst into sparks and electrical parts as The Night Watcher squeezed the trigger. "Well, you still know how to make an entrance then, huh?" His grin looked painted on, as if he knew he had to act intimidating, but couldn't bring himself to. The Night Watcher wouldn't say anything. He simply dropped the gun, grabbed Oiler's unconscious body and tossed him out in the hall.

"Decided to come and get your revenge while you had the chance?" The Night Watcher turned his back, facing the door. He started fiddling with someone, most likely revolving around the door knob. It sounded like he was rigging something...explosives. It had to have been explosives. How else would he be able to make sure nobody interrupted their little talk. "Do you even have anything to say? Or are we just going to cut straight to the chase, Conner?"

 

[Mobley Eats]

Benny "Ben" Law | Interaction: Angie | Location: Conference ==> Unity in Diversity Studios​

Whooooa... Even more people were showing up now! But like, from where? Where did all the dudes in fancy suits and shades and super boring rock faces come from? Somebody's pocket? Bro. That had to be one huge freaking pocket. Now he was craving some hot pockets; he was certain the fridge was stocked with a full pack from his recent grocery trip with Angie. So yeah, he was hungry and ready to go and eat something. Time to head back.

Wait. Wait, wait, wait--why wasn't he home to begin with? What in the heck made him leave? This always happened to him, to be honest. And yet, the desire to question how frequently it occurred was lost on him. Besides, what was the point of asking questions when he knew innately, deeply, instinctively, that he'd never ever find an answer to them? That was just flat out exhausting. And one couldn't waste their energy on thoughts that were never exact. In a way, Benny wasted them all the time, just by existing, because his existence no longer contributed to the overarching goal designated to his birth and purpose. Where one was useless, one was also expendable. And soon--only expendable.

Heh. Expendable. That was such an SAT word.

"...Welp." Pausing in the heart of chaos, he shoved his hands into his pockets, caught the gaze of a nearby paramedic, then flashed the confused man a peace sign. "Laterz, medicine man!" In the blink of an eye, he plummeted out of view and slipped into the cold void once more. Floating and rising. Frost lining his limbs like a series of pinprick needles puncturing his skin. Reaching in. Deeper and deeper and deeper until he no longer had a right to claim his body as his own. That was cool. He liked the void anyhow and his body was never his to begin with. Oh, bro--did he just see a taco fly by?? Wait--no. He probably just imagined that, considering everything around him was a darkness so achingly hollow that it could drive any mortal mad. Crazy. An absolute lunatic.

Dope.

Another blink and he popped through gravel like a mole. Or a prairie dog. Yeah, he preferred the latter; they were more fun to say out loud over and over. Anyway--home! Yay! Bouncing with excitement, Benny beamed up at the sign of his beloved dance studio before bursting through the entrance. Oh dude, it was unlocked? Weird. Angie liked to keep the doors locked post business hours, but then again, she probably left it unlocked for him.

Then again again, she wouldn't need to do that. Benny could easily teleport inside. Angie rarely slipped up on security measures like that; she was always on top of things, her mind running a million miles faster than Benny's and with utmost efficiency.

Welp. That couldn't be a good sign.

But still, yeah. He like... kung fu kicked those doors open. "ANNNNNNGE! I'm back! Hey, hello! You still up?"

No response.

"...Ange?" Slowly, the energy dwindled form his features and in its place was a blank canvas. His system couldn't pinpoint what sentiment to plaster over his features next. Worry? Curiosity? The same brightness per usual? Somehow, none of that felt right. Something didn't feel right. The studio was empty. Nothing unusual about that. Like he mentioned beforehand, business hours weren't up and running. He padded through the studio with the back lounge as his destination in mind, each step weighing less than a feather. Not a sound made. Not a puff of breath daring to slip through his teeth harsher than what was necessary. In all meanings of the word aside from physical appearance, Benny vanished.

"Intruder." The slither of an echo bounced around Benny's skull. "Identify. Detain. Exterminate."

He didn't care about the whispers. Not right now. He just wanted things to feel right again. Why couldn't they? Why didn't Angie respond to him?

Benny crept down the halls, his guard as relaxed and limp as a wet noodle. The irony was found in the harsh concentration of his gaze; an indiscriminate calculation. Scanning. Scanning. Checking. No unrecognizable shadows peering around the corner. No unexpected sounds or movement--No. That was a lie. Above. Benny looked up and his ears twitched like a bloodhound. The second floor held their shared apartment, two rooms and a single bathroom, with a kitchenette and tiny den to boot. Their safe haven. Their secret place to unwind and be themselves and escape and cuddle and ignore the outside world and deny the truth and--

His room. That was where the movement came from. Not Angie's.

"Exterminate the intruder."

But I promised Angie.

Even then, a butter knife was nestled in his grasp. Where? Where did he get it from? Oh yeah... pizza. They had ordered pizza and didn't have that fancy circular knife to cut them. The pizza place wasn't all that good at cutting. Why? Was it all that hard? Did it come with a special technique or something?

The movement hadn't stopped. No, it got stronger. Rattling. Something was shaking. Crackling too... Static.

Soon, the staircase came into view. There was nothing, like, cool about it. Pretty simple and wooden and stuff, but had a bunch of scuff marks and cracks because Benny wanted to sled down them on a giant trashcan lid. He managed to make Angie join her. That was her first bruise in months and his first since the week before, but they both had laughed hysterically on the floor. Gut busting laughter. The kind that made tears prick the corner of their eyes and burned their cheeks red.

A foot moved towards the first step.

Then sunk into shadows once more.

His next step met the second floor, the staircase now behind him and left untouched. Not a single creak could be spared. He came to a stop near his bedroom door, taking note that it was agape. Not slightly, but wide open. Unabashed. Careless. Reckless. The last mistake the intruder would ever make.

Angie. Must. Stay. Safe.

"Kill the intruder--"

Keep Angie safe.

The quakes came through in sharp clarity now. With every shake, a creak followed. Moving furniture. What for? To rifle through his belongings and steal whatever they could? Maybe. He wasn't sure at all. He wasn't a thief or burglar. How was he supposed to know what they wanted out of this? But the possibilities. The possibilities were more than enough to keep him tense. A shapeless blob of darkness stretched from his him and into the halls, granting him general perspective of where the intruded was located. Near the window. The only window in his room. Where his bed was pressed against the same wall. Come in from behind? Under the bed?

He came to a decision.

Benny never thought to empty himself like the void, because that was impossible to achieve. But he didn't need to think. Thinking was never his strong suit. His body was never really his and shut everything down for him. A chilling inhale was pulled through his teeth and froze the twin organs in his chest. Froze the third organ beating between them. Clenching tightening around the butter knife, his shoulder rammed into the wall like stone against silk, and he melted into the inkiness.

His form peeled from the ceiling and he dropped towards the bed with frightening speed. He landed with a loud creak, looming over the humanoid form hidden beneath the sheets and blade poised to jam into the vulnerable gap of an eye socket. Benny ripped the blanket away and swung down--

Then stopped inches away from Angie's face. Her convulsing face.

Angie trembled and shook violently, every muscle in her body tensing and relaxing sporadically. Her eyes had rolled into the back of their sockets, her wild mane splayed about the pillows and her face in a tangled mess, and a picture of her and Benny posing in front of the studio on opening day clutched painfully close to her chest. Benny instantly paled and dropped the knife. "A-ange...? Oh no. Oh no. Um! I-it's okay! You're okay, just!"

He knew what to do. He swore he did. Angie was prone to seizures, but Benny had only handled this situation once in the time he'd come to know her. What had triggered it? Quickly, he scooped her up and knocked into the dresser in his hastiness, nearly jostling the TV onto its side. The crackling voices of Washington local news buzzed cruelly in the background. Taunted Benny. Rubbed the salt and lemon into his wet eyes. Please be okay. Please be okay. Please be okay...

He kicked in Angie's bedroom door. Oh God. Oh no--did he break the lock? Was it locked to begin with? He couldn't remember. Please no, he couldn't afford to forget anything right now. Angie continued to shake fretfully in his arms, rivers of slobber drenching his shoulder and chest. He didn't care. He swore he didn't care and he was so so so sorry for not being there when she needed him and going out being dumb and forgetting he was being dumb and taking too long to come home and keep her safe and be happy and eat pizza and cuddle like he promised her and just remember things right for once!

Benny stumbled inside and laid Angie onto her bed. On her side. Right? Right. Yes, that's what she told him. That's what he just now remembered, so he turned her accordingly and rushed over to her closet. Oh no. Where did she put her Epipen? She never told him about it. Or did she? Benny's chest quivered with a suppressed sob, one hand landing on the metal plate sewn into his scalp. This was his dumb broken brain's fault. His fault. His stupid fault. Of course Angie told him where it was. Where--

Drawer. Top row and second from the right.

"Pen. Pen. Pen. P-pen. Pen." What was she talking for? Why did he need to write so badly? Why did it make his heart race so damn badly? Then he turned around and saw Angie convulsing on the bed... Epipen. Right. Don't forget. Epipen. Epipen. Epi-- "Pen. Epipen. Epipen. Epipen." His frantic mantra never ceased, even as his fingers finally curved around the little device. Even as he leapt back into bed and cradled Angie's head in his lap. What next? How did it work? How, how, how how how how how how how how how how how how how how how how how--

Little black cap thing. Pointed down. Inject into upper thigh.

Shakily, he pressed it into her thigh... Nothing happened. Why not?! Shit--the cap. He had to take it off. "S-sorry, Ange. Sorry. Sorry. I'm sorry," he whimpered, the guilt threatening to devour him from the inside out and leave behind nothing more than shards of bone. She was suffering in his arms because he couldn't be not stupid for five minutes. He ripped off the cap, letting it sail behind him and land in some forgotten lonely corner of the room, and injected the adrenaline shot into her thigh. A tiny, pressurized hiss. There, he'd done it. What next? Please, brain. Please work. Please tell him what to do next... Oh no. It was blank. Everything was empty. His body was never his; it wouldn't listen. Why turn against him so much? Why right now? No no no non no nono nonon lnononn ;nononon;nosnosnonon; onosoakdlsnonononNOn NOnono...

Nothing.

Benny remained where he was, curled tightly around Angie like a protective cocoon. He was supposed to wait and do nothing, just let her ride out the waves until stability found home within her once more. His face buried in the sweaty crook of her neck, the scent of musk and vanilla sugar perfume and pizza and salt stinging his nostrils raw.

"Sorry... Sorry... A-Angie, I didn't mean it... S-sorry..."

Exterminate

 

[Elle Joyner]

Sabine and Co.​

---

CLANG! WHAM

Like a cymbal in an orchestra, the metallic crash reverberated through the alleyway as simultaneously, the trashcan and the man it had been thrown at smacked hard into the concrete. In near unison, the four remaining gunmen spun towards the sudden clatter, as two figures landed amidst the chaos. The duo wore suits, nearly identical, beyond the small aesthetic differences - One, tall and lean, the other smaller, feminine in form. Across seamless black neon red honeycomb lights pulsed through the armor like gears, reflecting off black face shields that seemed to focus with pin-point accuracy on the agents, despite no identifiable features.

"...Five against three." The taller figure droned, voice quivering with an electronic buzz, "And you said we shouldn't come… Not exactly fair odds, is it Castor?"

"Agreed, Pollux. And armed, too."

"Shameful…" They remarked together, the crackling voices eerily devoid of emotion. Rather suddenly, a sharp metal disc separated from the back of the larger of the two's armor, and unfurling, a blade sang with a sharp metal hiss. Castor, the smaller counterpart, produced two equivalent weapons, and shifting their stances in practiced coordination, the pair stared down the agents, before rushing forward.

Four shots fired, the thunderous crack resonant and nearly deafening, and the bullets bounced with 'pings' off armor, three of them ricocheting into stone walls with enough force to crack the stone. As pebbles littered the alley floor, a swish upwards from Pollux sent one agent careening into a dumpster, while a slash from the flat side of the blade delivered another with bruising force to the ground. Castor, meanwhile, slid into a crouch, and swiped at the ankles of the two remaining, before spinning, rising swiftly and hammered the butt of one blade into the back of one agent's head and her elbow into the chin of the second.

In the span of a few seconds, the alley was still, the only sound, for a brief moment, the 'shhhnk' of three blades returning to their resting places on the backs of the exosuits.

"And that's that… looks like you folks are s--"

"Pollux. Shut up… look!" The second voice, this from Castor, despite it's static hum, sounded nearly frantic.

Then came a softer sound…

"...M-mr. Pearson…" This, as Sabine slumped back against the doorframe they had come through. Her hands cradled just beneath her ribcage, slick with oozing crimson… Her eyes danced frantically between the four remaining figures, pausing on the vice president with a weight of panic, "H-help...!"

---

TAGS || @Sail , @Seductress

 

[Zerofighter]

Liz kept trying to figure out how to contact the heroes. Suddenly a voice broke her train of thought. Lady Lightbulb? Really? That was so uncreative. It didnt have the spark that Sunspot had. No creativity. Turning over to see who called out to her. "Lady Lightbulb? Thats so insulting. I'm the hero with the light to pierce all Darkness. Im Sunsp-" Her eyes widened as strange energy wrapped around her. Her Sunfield activated, her eyes glowing in a golden light. Doing all she could to break out her entrapment.

Feeling her body move toward the purple clad assailant, she glared at her. Her glowing golden eyes glaring. "Who do you think you a-ahhhh!" THe Golden Light hero slammed into the Prius, denting it in. Even with her sunfield up, that really hurt. Standing up shaking her head glaring at the hero. "Well, I would love to answer them. But you just threw me into a car. So I'm a little pissed right now and feel like punching you!"

Her golden eyes glaring up at the purple woman. She didnt seem like any hero. Whoever she was, it was really pissing her off. If she wanted to talk to her, then just talk. She didnt need to throw her around like a ragdoll. She sent a golden fist toward the purple fiend. Once more she was stopped and thrown again. This time crashing into a brick wall.

If she could only move, then she would show this purple cow what for. If she could only move! Feeling the iron tight hold on her release. The Golden light hero felt a sense of relief. "Is that all you got?" Liz said panting, standing up her eyes a flame. "So you can do telekinesis. How about you fight me like a real woman?" Raising her fists ready to beat this person down. This was her first real fight with another super. Before it was random thugs, or stopping a car crash. She wasnt going to back down.

"A villain like you cannot dim my golden light!"

Before she could punch this chick in her stupid purple face, but then these men with guns began surrounding them. Her eyes widened at sight, and it seemed like the purple chick looked nervous. "What? I'm not going anywhere! Why should I-" She saw the tranquilizer. Her emotions got the better of her. She wasn't paying attention and nearly got taken out. Seeing a man come out talking about how they were properties of the state Clearly he had history with the purple freak. "No one owns me! I dont fight for the government. I fight to protect the innocent!" She snapped, but before she could finish talking, the purple witch told her to help Pearson and the others.

Reluctantly, she said "Fine. This isnt over. I'm going to punch you for throwing me around." Despite not trusting this purple crayon, she knew that it was the lesser of two evil. Liz ran into the deli, her golden aura illuminating up the deli. Reaching inside and saw Pearson with a girl. "Mr.Pearson, let's get out of her. That purple chick sent me. Though, she couldve made a better first impression" Giving him her confident smile. A confident smile to let those she saves know; that everything will be alright.

Following him to the back door, she looked at the man and said "Get behind me. My sunfield can protect you." The agents were on the other side. It felt like all time froze. Was this it? Was Sunspot's light about to be taken out? Closing her eyes, waiting for the worst. Daddy, I'm sorry.
When she opened her eyes, she looked and saw two remaining figures. Liz was dumbfounded, wondering what just happened. Though that didnt matter, as she heard a weak voice. Turning to an injured woman. Seeing blood pooling out. Shit...this was turning bad. They had to cover that wound.

"I can carry a few people. My Sunfield can protect us." She looked at the two in strange suits. Either they were on their side, or they were about to be shot in the face. Either way she kept her guard up. Though, based on what she could tell. These guys could kick her ass more ways than one. "I can fly Pearson out of here. I can carry someone else." Looking down at the injured girl, already determined to take her to safety.

Looking at Pearson, she asked "Know someplace safe where these guys won't be shooting at us?"

 

[Sail]

A strange, foreign energy filled his body; it was like a bolt of electricity firing through every neuron, every blood vessel, muscle, and bone. It pulsed repeatedly as he placed the last letter of his name onto the paper, watching the ink bleed from the nib. And then, it dulled. He felt his heart pounding in his chest, a bass drum within his body.

That's when a foreign voice echoed from within him-it seemed to emanate from outside his body, a very odd opposition. "You are now a slave of them. Enjoy it...for now." And just as soon as the presence arrived, it vanished once again.

His eyes snapped to the trademark Chevrolet Suburban SUVs of the Secret Service; it was the loud crunching of gravel he heard first. Soon, the doors swiveled open, revealing a large amount of agents.

The began to rush toward him and the heroes near him like a wave-heck, even a tsunami would be a decent descriptor. In perfect unison they moved, never straying from the path; forward, right on a collision course with perfectly innocent individuals. Kallen felt a tugging on his thoughts, begging him to come back. He pushed back, trying to stay in the front; they slowly began to pull out their guns and---

"Are you seriously kidding me Kallen. I leave you alone for less than a minute and things get this bad. Well, I guess I'll have to…" As Sal thought those words, he noticed the guns, his brain making a connection to the past. Everything seemed to freeze as a memory began to dance before his eyes.

The emergency flood lights had already been turned on-the shrill sound of the fire alarm echoed through the theatre. But he wasn't interested in the lights, or the gunman, or even the movie that seemed to still be going forward. No, he was interested in the injured woman before him.

"Ma'dam, are you alright?"

"No...please, save me...I...I ca't brea'he…"

He placed his hands on her to begin examining for injuries, wounds, anything of the sort. His eyes fell upon two small bullet holes in her sides; for some odd reason, they seemed to be knitting back together, almost like a wall of plants growing to fill an empty space.

Boom.

Boom.

Boom.

Boom.

It seemed the gunman hadn't been apprehended. Kallen didn't even have a chance to form a thought as the world became an unmoving mass of darkness.

And then, the lights came back on.

And then, Sal watched as everything resumed. A knife going deep into Sabine's side-he winced in pain, realizing he'd have to take that upon himself. He didn't even hesitate for a moment. Hands placed upon her shoulder, he mumbled, "I'm going to heal you," and began to focus on her to take her pain away.

====

They watched from atop another one of the local broadcasting stations. The smoke had attracted them a few minutes earlier, and they did not hesitate to zip across the surface and up the side of the building. Their eyes fell upon the one called "Syn", and if a chill could run up the spine of an ætherian, this was definitely something to cause it.

 

[Seductress]

Anarchy | Marked for Demolition

---

Collins was already pissed - and reasonably so. The Night Watcher and Anarchy went together like baking soda and vinegar, pie and ice cream, James Patterson and bad writing. They were a combo deal who truly complimented each other and forced the inner mechanisms of each other's abilities to function properly. Even when Anarchy wasn't with The Night Watcher, however, she still found a way to annoy and frustrate her opponents. The problem with Charlie was that, however, she wasn't going to be smiling for very long. He'd prove to be a much bigger dent in her day than she was in his. This old sack of bones might not have looked like the most intimidating fighting force, but Anarchy learned many years ago that she can't be judging based on appearance alone.

Charlie went in for the right armed jab; his brass knuckles leading the attack in full force. Anarchy didn't dodge or try to deflect the attack. With her fingers controlling the string-less metal puppet, a robotic real boy who's got no strings to hold her down, Anarchy pulled her arm across her body, the unconscious Nellie striking at the man's arm. The attack was instantly blocked as his wrist itself took the damage; Nellie's shoulder being lowered to crash against the joint that connected Charlie's hand to his arm. In frustration, he attempted to cock his arm back, preparing to dent Iron Head's helmet in. Anarchy raised her other arm up, bending her thumb and index finger like in those pictures of tourists pretending to squish the head of a monument.

As the puppeteer pulled on the invisible strings of psionic energy, she couldn't help herself but to laugh at her own shenanigans. She visualized Nellie's arm flailing skyward, bitch slapping Mr.Collins. It worked, and it was god damn hilarious. She heard the fleshy slap of skin meeting metal, but the sound wasn't the worst part. A grinding sound rang through Charlie's ears as his teeth began to loosen. One of his canines and a molar exploded from his mouth, the blood trickling down his lips in crimson rivers. "You stupid bitch," He shouted out at Anarchy before looking at his agents, who were shaking in their $800 Roberto Cavalli dress shoes. "Well? Get her into custody, let's move come on."

A blank look crossed Anarchy's face as she had Nellie's body appear beside her, the woman looking over at the armored woman, controlling her head to look at her. It was as if the typical pot smoking losers in your generic Seth Rogen movie had looked at each other with unsure eyes. Though, as Anarchy continued to play around with Nellie as a weapon, she couldn't help but feel the veins in her head tightening up and becoming swollen. She was using her powers far too much, and she was sleeping far too little. If she could, the Purple Guardian would have joined Nellie on the ground, enjoying the comforting confines of nap time.

There was no time to lay down and take a power nap. At least one person had to stick around to make sure everyone can get away. And besides, Iron Head was going to need a place to rest and recover. Anarchy's sleep was going to have to wait a tiny bit longer at this point. The only problem was that her arms were starting to numb as her legs began to wrap themselves in the tight contractions of muscle pain as she struggled to keep herself standing. Her legs wobbled and twitched, but the tension eased up just a tad bit as she placed Nellie down gently by the wall. Once her eyes resorted back to their usual, empty state and her psionic energy ceased, the weight that clung to Anarchy's back lifted. She clenched her fist tightly, the balled up fingers instantly cracking as she tightened. If this old fuck wanted to resort to letting his goons do a bosses job, then so be it.

Once again, Charlie took a step back and let his four remaining agents take center stage. He held his bleeding hand; the gash gushing in a cartoonish fashion. The blood covered his hand, dripping down his fingers as a burning sensation took over, the feeling of flames searing the nerves up his arm overwhelming him with agony. He could tell that he wasn't the only one here in pain; Anarchy's shoulder still refused to stop bleeding. The agents holstered their weapons as one of them produced a pair of handcuffs for the Crayola princess.

Strategy. She needed a strategy.

Swearing off the use of her powers for the time being, but the good news was that she didn't need her powers in order to fight. There was a handful of competent fighters in the city - that handful now belonging to Pearson and Taffer's group of tight wearing, spandex baring warriors. Luckily for Anarchy, she was at the top of the list of people who knew how to handle themselves. She took a few steps away from the closing group of opponents, her back pressing against the brick wall of the deli. The first attacker stepped up, throwing a punch toward her chest. She stepped across to the side, grabbing his wrist. Like a dancer, she gracefully spun him so that it was his back against the wall. She cocked her arm, her elbow pointed out before she forced her fist against his schnoz, causing his head to smack against the wall.

Acting quickly, Anarchy ducked into a squat as a fist flew over her shoulder, giving her the chance to reach up and grip the new attacker's arm. She threw her legs up, flipping backwards over her opponent as she felt the bone of his arm separate from the socket. It was a loud, pop-like crunch that resulted in the man screaming out. Anarchy found herself slapping her elbow into the crook of the man's neck, letting his body fall to the ground without any consciousness left. There were two more left. One with handcuffs, the other with a murderous rage replacing the fear that the others showed when they attacked her.

Both men moved in on her. She had more room away from the wall, but she still didn't like the idea of two men coming at her from either side. Maybe she was going to need to use her powers at least once more. Her angry attacker led in with a kick; it wasn't anything special, a poorly chambered attempt at a front kick aimed at her knee. Anarchy reached forward, catching his leg and tripping him up, causing him to fall flat on his back as she reached out, psionically grabbing Nellie by the foot and swinging her through the air. The large metal form crashed against the handcuff holding goon, knocking him to the ground before putting her gently back down.

The angry gentleman was the first one to get up. His rage had still yet the be quenched as he jumped to his feet, the need to beat this woman to a bloody pulp bubbling through his veins. Anarchy watched him wipe the dribble off his lower lip, baring his teeth at her. She gave him an awkward smile, a sort of sorry I just kicked your ass, please leave me alone look. She prepared her fighting stance, debating on whether to take the defense or the offense. That decision was made for her as they both lunged at each other; Anarchy staying low and to the ground while the Secret Service agent neglected all of his weak points and kept himself open for any and all attacks.

Body blows were the first to land. She popped up in front of him, keeping her shoulders angled inward as she slammed a fist into the right side of his ribs, her other fist digging into the flesh of his stomach. He refused to relent, however. Anarchy was quickly popped in her mouth, his first punch sending sparks of white pain shooting through her face before the man managed to jab her in the chest. He went for an uppercut to her jaw, but Anarchy was able to get her head out of the way before he could. Just as the fist whoosh past her face, she slammed her head forward and nailed him on the nose with her forehead. Nobody was supposed to win with a headbutt, but you still can't blame a girl for trying.

Mr.Handcuff tried to stand up. As he finally got back to his feet, Nellie's body came sweeping forward, knocking his legs out from under him and once again finding himself on his ass. Smirking to herself, Anarchy put her hand back down and chambered her leg, holding it up like a crane. As her angry opponent came back toward her she twisted her hips and extended her leg, finally knocking her target into a state which he wouldn't be waking up from any time soon. If Anarchy wanted to limp walk away from this encounter, she was going to need to wrap this up quickly and take care of the ring leader, who just stood there, attempting to rub the frustration out of his temples.

Stepping on angry badger's chest, she walked across him and toward her other opponent. Handcuff still hadn't gotten up - a side effect of him giving up on the fight. He looked up at her, his eyes following her slender, toned legs until she brought her boot down against his head, knocking him out as the back of his head slapped against the pavement under him. "Can I go home now?" Anarchy called out toward Charlie as her grin covered her face once again. "I've got stuff to do tonight, so I'm going to need time to sleep, even for a few hours." She knew that without even just a lick of sleep she wasn't going to manage to pull off her little mission she gave herself for the night, so this was going to need to be wrapped up quickly. She knew that wasn't going to be the case, not unless she took the proper precautions toward making sure this whole shit show was finished ASAP.

"You're property of the Secret Service now, a witness in a Homeland Security matter." Charlie pinched the bridge of his nose, looking at the highly trained agents that had just been easily brought down. "Clear your schedule and put your hands up. You don't want to go the painless route," His hand throbbed with pain. "So I'm afraid I am required to use excessive force."

"Oh, yeah, if round one told me anything, it's that you're pretty much unfuckwithable. I don't know how I'm ever going to beat you at singular hand-to-hand combat." She sighed, her eyes rolling as the sarcasm leaked out of her voice. She peered over her shoulder, watching as Pearson and his group found themselves surrounded. For the love of Jesus, Mother Mary and Joseph, I can't leave them alone for five minutes, can I? She might have had her back head, but she did not have her guard down. The air around Anarchy whooshed into a disturbance, the friction of momentum catching her attention as she threw her right hand up, catching Charlie's wrist as he attempted to slam a hefty hook into the side of her head. Why did they always think it was gong to be that easy?

Anarchy's head whipped back around toward her brass knuckle boxing enemy, eyes widening as his other fist came tearing toward her. She quickly released his other hand to swat away the incoming attack. Her palm connected with the side of his fist, but the hand she had just released came back into the picture quite quickly. Collins' forearm slammed against her neck, pushing her back to pin her against the bricks once again. She felt her fists clenching as she started slamming them against his stomach - one after another, punch after punch. He was one thousand percent unphased, however, her windpipe being crushed under the weight of his arm.

Charlie's fingers grazed her chest as he gripped the neck line of her costume, removing his arm from her neck and slamming his brass knuckles against her jaw. This was a situation her telekinesis could get her out of, but as she attempted, the veins in her forehead pounded her willingness away, shaking her head in pain as her eyes defrosted themselves. There was another punch to the side of her head. This time, it truly hurt. It hurt like a bitch, in fact. There was no smile painted across Anarchy's face anymore. There was no optimism or careless thoughts that this would be over quickly. This was one of the few rare instances of Anarchy actually buckling down, and musing about how she might have very much underestimated this man.

He was only one man. No super powers. He relied on those brass knuckles - sharpened bottoms and tops, dangerous toys to be playing with - and fighting knowledge. He seemed to specialize in boxing. He wasn't using any kicks or elbows, or knees or any specialized martial arts attacks. This man, Charlie Collins, was using his boxing techniques to overpower his opponent and create a vast confusion between punches. As he dropped another punch to the side of her head, Anarchy could feel her whole body ringing. This was more fun that she could have ever imagined. It wasn't every day she went up against someone who could actually put up as much of a fight as she could.

Anarchy brought the palm of her hand up, slamming it against his wrist. His grip refused to ease up as he slammed the sharpened edge of his brass knuckle down against her swollen wound, causing a scream to leave her lips. Her body tensed and buckles as a fresh stream of blood cruised down her shoulder, causing her to slam the back of her head against the bricks. Hitting her head should have hurt, but it didn't - not nearly as much as it helped contribute to her anger.[/FONT]

​

There came a moment in her life that replayed itself every now and then. Like hitting rewind on the confines of history and watching an event play out once again, this time with a set of different circumstances. The sensation began at her toes; a swirling tingle that built it's way up in an internal snowstorm that spun and danced around in her body as it traveled up her legs, moving past her hips and into her stomach, climbing into her chest and consuming her until her entire body felt like nothing more than a surreal, out of body experience. This had only happened to her once before in her life...or, maybe twice? In the long term, the detailed memories of what happens next always fades away from her memory. She only remember flashes of the power building up, and then the memories begin to repress themselves as days turn into weeks, and weeks turn into months.

Either way, she was grinning again. This time, the cockiness was back in her face. Charlie wound back his arm once more, but froze as he watched Anarchy's eyes burst open to finally reveal emotion. Like Blair freezing water, her eyes glossed into a cloudy white ice looking colour, complete with a rough texture that looked as though there would be many bumps and cracks if Charlie were to run his finger across her eyeball. Her grin carried the heaviest burden of all; evil. It was vile, dripping with hate and contempt for the warrior that held her, manhandling her to his heart's content. The rubble and debris around her began to levitate as her feet left the ground, her body beginning to ascend as her arms flew backward, a burst of energy shaking the buildings around her and throwing Charlie to the ground.

The room was white. Pure white. As Anarchy's eyes darted around, she couldn't figure out where the walls met the floor. Not again. She wasn't in a room; she was in what she could only describe as a space. Coming alive in her subconscious once again, all fear left her body. Pain, suffering, anguish, she didn't feel the negatives that came with unleashing her power. She felt comforted, even. The veins in her head attempted to pulsate with pain, but instead pulsed themselves into growing dormant once more. Her body was being cocooned by the baby blue psionic energy that she claimed to have control over.

That's a lot of power for one woman to be using. Came the voice of a man that felt familiar. Are you scared?

Anarchy's head shook itself as her eyes tried to find the source of the voice. It came from all around her, sweeping by like a movie theater surround sound system. No. How could anyone be afraid of their true potential?

The man appeared out of no where; floating in from an unseen entrance into her safe space. This needs to be controlled. You and I both know what the Anarchy is capable of, and it must be controlled properly. His hair was a sand blonde, kept well and tidy. His chin was chiseled into an action movie star's wet dream, only boasting light stubble. His overcoat was beige and classy, covering a chrome body suit that had a golden number three over the right breast.

This power, it is who I am. How can I lose control of myself? I know this power better than anyone ever could, I've learned to control it while others crumbled under the weight. Neither of their mouths were moving. Their voices were nothing more than screamed echoes blaring from all directions.

The man shook his head, his eyes finding hers. You have to listen to me, Nicole -

"My name," The woman bellowed as she raised higher in the air, her hair floating in ripples as if she were under water. She spread her arms out, the debris swirling and swarming to create what could only be described as a giant whirling like tornado. Charlie crawled backward, staring in awe at the woman. Nellie's body was gently lifted into the air, being moved to float at a safe enough distance. "IS ANARCHY. AND I AM IN CONTROL." Without moving a muscle, the tornado focused itself toward Charlie, slamming down toward him with an aggressive, bloodthirsty demeanor.

The Secret Service agent jumped up, running for the cover of a car that was crunched itself into nothing more than a trash heap - the windows shattering and fuel tank blowing and knocking him backward. He turned, looking up at the falling storm of debris as his eyes closed themselves. He accepted his inevitable fate as the chunks of concrete, bullet cases, glass shards and the likes began to surround his body.

​

The overgrown, sentient suit of armor had been placed on the couch. A blanket was lazily draped over her in a last ditch attempt at comfort. Obviously, it was a sarcastic, vain attempt at humor that Anarchy was able to appreciate. Aromatics of egg, Parmesan, cream, basil and parsley fought for control against the smell of chicken that threatened to take over the stylish, modern apartment. Anarchy felt the steam burst against her face as she dumped her freshly boiled spaghetti into the metal strainer in the sink. She had to stand on her tippy toes to reach properly, and she almost dropped the pot on the way over, but that didn't matter to her.

A playlist containing all of Anarchy's favourite Blink 182 tracks pounded against her six speaker surround sound system in her kitchen. With glossy eyes, she pointed at the sauce that was bubbling on the stove, a wooden spoon lifting off the counter that began it's job of stirring the substance as she grabbed a head of broccoli from her fridge. She took her cheap yet trusty chef's knife, separating the broccoli from the stock before throwing them in with the sauce. Next came a few handful of sun dried tomatoes, and then she seasoned with salt and pepper. Taking a spoon, she felt the scolding flavors burning her tongue after a dainty slurp on the edge of the spoon.

Before she put the noodles in with the sauce, she flipped the four pieces of chicken off the frying pan and on to a freshly washed and sanitized cutting board. She chopped the flaky, crisp caramelized meat into tender shreds, dropping the pile into her white sauce. Then, finally, the spaghetti was ready to go in. She motioned toward her strainer, the pot lifting over, only a few water droplets hitting the ground, fluttering toward her before tipping into the culmination of ingredients. Once she set it back down in the sink, the little bean grabbed her wooden spoon, pulling her silk purple pajama pants (which matched her silk button up pajama blouse) up to his on her hips as she started swirling the noodles into the sauce, shuffling all of the flavors around so that they weren't in one specific spot.

A smile crossed her lush lips. Her eyes might have been dead, but her smile was very much vibrant and alive. The smell was phenomenal. A mix of flavors that she could be proud of once again presented itself in front of her, contributing to the fact that it felt like days ago that she patched up her shoulder, instead of the actual hour and a half it had been in reality. Her nap lasted less than an hour, but her warm shower massaged her aching body and washed away the sorrow left in the form of dirt, dried blood and the looming feeling of failure that lingered on her shoulders. Either way, the distress she had felt earlier was long gone.

She opened the cupboard beside the stove, pointing once again to bring two plates to settle in front of her. They were the plates that mixed with bowls, sloping inward slightly. She held one plate in front of her, her other hand mimicking that of the claw from an arcade as the food was lifted from the pan, the heat kissing her palms sweetly as she tucked the serving at the bottom of the plate. She always prided herself on her ability to stack, presenting the food in a display suitable for Gordon Ramsay.

Settling the plate down beside her, she picked up the other plate and repeated the same process. Sometimes, having super powers really did make her life much easier. Sure, it got her ass kicked quite frequently, and was the reason she was forced to be around Conner so often, but she couldn't complain. As the garlic spread baguettes finished crisping up in the oven, Anarchy made her way over to the window. Her view of the demolished downtown block that the conference took place at was astounding. She could still see the smoke bellowing in the air, and the distant flashing lights of the emergency response vehicles. She picked up the framed picture that sat in the sunlight, smiling at it.

The picture detailed her without her costume, her arm around Conner's shoulder while good ole' Monkey sat in front of them on his knees, pretending to be a child. She ran her index finger across Monkey's vibrant smile, her eyes moving to the girl that stood with the three of them, Anarchy in the middle so that she could have her arms around both the girl and Conner. She shook her head, the smile still lingering as she got up and mentally opened the stove, the garlic bread lifting out and resting on the stove. She took some time to chop up a few scallions, grouping them nice and neatly on top of her pasta stacks.

One piece of garlic toast on each plate, and a fork stuffed into the sides of either stack of pasta, her chicken carbonara was finally finished. She plucked them both off the counter, placing Nellie's plate on the living room table as she sat down on the other couch. She reached forward, the TV remote landing in her hand so she could flick on the television. A&E was already on, showcasing a true crime documentary about Angelina Trevors. Happily, Anarchy sat on the couch with her legs folded under her, criss cross apple sauce.

 

[Elle Joyner]

Sabine​

---

Too much yellow... Like Scrooge McDuck's money bin, and streaks of crimson and black… angry bumblebees, and blue, mirrored with great blobs of hazy, jagged grey and white, violet tea mingled with lemon, curdled cream clumping to the top. Something else stirred inside her mind, flashing purple and red, a dragon, not the sort she sometimes saw when Charlie took her to China town for their New Years celebration, but a raging, roaring thing, more suited for Saint George. All surrounding, swirling in a cloud of confusion, colors running together. And red. Too much red. Spilling, pumping, oozing through her fingers, pinched white against green, staining her dress, her life, her mind scarlet. The scarlet letter… What a stupid book…

Daddy, I'm sorry.

Pearson. Where was…

"I can fly Pearson out of here..." Yellow was stringent, and decidedly less Scottish than she liked her wealthy ducks. Taking Pearson was good… get him safe get him… "I can carry someone else…"

No. Poison. Poison. She was poison, and Pearson wouldn't understand. He'd try to save her. Try to help her. He'd take a drink, deep and long and she'd kill him, too. All those poor people. Empty, vacant… Eyes staring, ever seeing. Judging. Did they know? Did anyone? They knew. They had to know. They could see. See her for what she was. Poison.. Fast acting, and damn near untraceable. A few drops in his coffee and he won't know what-- BANG

"How could you do this? She's just a child... how could you do this to her? You're sick... you're sick, and you need help..."

"N-n… no..." The frame pressed into her spine as she curled into the door well, desperately trying to will her body to melt right into the building, into the brick, into oblivion. The back of her dress had a keyhole and she could feel the prick of frigid metal between her shoulders. Keyhole to where, though? If only…

He told her it was too much. Told her it would draw attention. It was a stupid rebellion, but it felt good to defy him. Maybe she was Saint George. Useless, though. He wasn't a dragon. He was the devil, and only God Himself could thrust the man into the pit for eternity.

"Are you seriously kidding me Kallen. I leave you alone for less than a minute and things get this bad. Well, I guess I'll have to…"

"Ma'dam, are you alright?"

"No...please, save me...I...I--"

"We have to do something... She'll die..."

"I'm going to heal you…"

"No! No!" Scrambling back, antelope from the lion, Sabine's knees buckled and the world crashed down from her shoulders, rolling through the alley like a bowling ball as the pressure of his hand left, her shoulder cold again. Striation of blue and brown drifted, faded upwards, mingling with the pale sky. Time was a flicker. A blink. There was so much of it and so little, all at once. Tick tick tick… Why did bombs and clocks all make the same noises? She's a time bomb. I know you think you're helping yourself, here... Screwing around in that head of hers, but you have no idea the risks. One mistake. One wrong move and she could lose it. The taste of metal mingled with the resilient savor of Earl Grey.

That's a lot of power for one woman to be using. … Are you scared?

Lavender blue, dilly dilly. Lavender green... If I were king, dilly dilly, I'd need a queen…

"S-so scared…" She whispered, voice crackling with emotions, "M-Mr...P-pearson, please. Listen." Her hand crawled upwards, craned towards the fuzzy outline of the vice president. Pearson's a problem, you know. We need to find a way to-- kzztch, "Get out!"

Fingers curling around his, slick and greasy with life's precious fluid, Sabine met Pearson's eyes with panicked clarity, "Too many voices… too much… noise. Mr. Pearson! Y-you have to listen… Please..."

Sucking in a sharp breath, Sabine willed her eyes to open. When had she closed them? She didn't remember doing that... "This is all my fault, Mr. Pearson. I... I should have told--" Hissing, her palm pryed free from her ribcage and red blossomed too swiftly over the moss green lace of her ruined dress, "I should have told you, sooner... but I didn't want you to see... to see what he's made me. What he's turned me into. I didn't want you to know what I'd d--AUGH!" A brittle cry cracked from her lips, and wincing, curling into herself, digging her nails into her temples, Sabine willed the pain away, icy cold curling, licking at her toes, numbness folding in around her like a pointless blanket, "It's not over... Please, Mr. Pearson... you hav-- you have to..." Waves. Black waves washed over her mind, rose high, like a tsunami. Red pulsed against her vision. A phone rang... sharp and shrill. No. Not a phone. It was in her head. Ringing. Her tongue felt heavy. Thick. The Earl Grey was all rusty, now, "...He'll kill them all... Le Diable veut sa couronne. Il va tuer tout le monde ..... Let me go."

Eyes rolling back, Sabine's hands slackened, slid free of Pearson's, before the rest of her body fell limp, the black waves crashing down.

---

TAGS || @Sail, @Seductress, @Zerofighter

[French Translation | "The Devil wants his crown. He will kill them all."]

 

[Sail]

They stood atop the structure, shaky and unsure of themselves. Were they really seeing their previous Inhabitant? Or was it a deception, a lie told by their senses after a long day? Had the smoke already caused them to get loopy?

They placed a hand onto the radio tower, letting it vibrate faster, faster, faster-a pattern soon emerged, calling out for him. "Please, follow me…"


Transfer began to reach deeper into her, throwing out all of his normal precautions; what was the point in being careful and being precise if it meant this woman who had helped him would die. "Come on. Don't fu…"

His presence finally fell upon the bullet wound. He began to sift through the frayed nerves, the torn muscles, the shattered bone and even the frayed blood vessels, looking for what exactly was the culprit of her unconsciousness.

It was like a whirlpool of pain, funneling towards a single point; he had not quite yet found what that single point was. He allowed his consciousness to funnel to the heart, waiting for that THUMP, THUMP, THUMP- pump, twist, pump, blood swished around him, like a flood whelming a person. He latched his consciousness onto a single blood cell, riding it through the body like a surfboard.

He found himself being rapidly pulled towards a foreign destination…and then, light. He sealed the gaping wound with a massive pulse of energy, drawing it out of her body like a sponge. He deposited the "sponge" on his right arm, prepping himself to bleed out like she did. Then, an idea; he turned to Sunspot and shouted, "Hey, you, I saw your fancy blasting and stuff. Think you can cauterize this wound for me?

@Elle Joyner @Zerofighter

 

[Mobley Eats]

Flashback: Approximately 2 Years Ago | Nellie King | Location: North Star Labs - Hematology Department

"This thing's got a funky looking flagella..." Shelby's intelligent remark almost didn't reach her partner's ears, though it echoed throughout the lavish and massive laboratory. Florescent lights peeled away the strips of ink peeking through windows, remnants of the late hour. Three in the morning, to be exact, but this wasn't all that different from their usual routine. The miracle resided in the fact that Nellie was able to pose as "decent" company for Shelby, though she was always became so swamped in her work that the brunette often held one-sided conversations.

Like now.

"Seriously though," she continued, still peering at the volatile little specimen through the microscope, "It's so... erratic. And hyperactive. Like a kid that lost its balloon. Or a cannibal going vegan." A snorted at that last bit, amused by the mental image. Damn, consuming human flesh... That was dark. She liked it.

Nellie, who was seated at a desk opposite of Shelby's, had her back turned to woman, diligently studying a stack of results that could make ninety-nine percent of North Star's employee pool quake in their boots. And yet, she flipped through and scanned each and every file like a glutton, sky blue eyes twinkling with a frigid fascination behind her over-sized glasses. "We've seen more extreme outliers before," she muttered, barely existing beyond the confines of her mind.

Finally, Shelby pulled away from the microscope to spun in her chair to face Nellie. The skepticism was clear on her visage, albeit dull. "Yeahhhh, but... We're in Hematology. You know, the study of blood? Outliers for us is a sudden spike in oxygen levels for sickle-cell patients. Uncooperative platelets. Not some aggressive little... synthetic protist-animal cell hybrid. Why do the higher ups even think this is a good idea?" Sighing, she stood and crossed the short distance between them to make herself comfortable on the edge of Nellie's desk, one leg swinging idly back and forth. She risked a peek at the documents in her partner's hands. "What about you then? You're looking at the, uh..."

"Blood samples from the mitosis assignment." Robotic. Straightforward. Refusing to utter a single nanosecond beyond what was necessary. Nellie still had yet to rip her gaze away from the results. "There are a few setbacks here and there, but nothing of lethal quality. I'm roughly guessing a seventy-two percent success rate."

Shelby stared.

"...Right." I've got no clue, yet again, what the fuck she's going on about. Shocker. "Nellie. Babe. Look at moi." When the blonde didn't immediately respond, Shelby stealthily snagged the specs right off of her face and held them up out of reach. Nellie blinked. Once. Twice. Then pulled a light grimace before huffing in defeat, lowering the files.

"I can't read without those..."

"Good. I can't get a single word out of you tonight besides this mad scientist spiel. At least try to be entertaining tonight. You're usually just..." Shelby waved her free hand like an aimless wet noodle. "Casually geeking about MTA or the next big ole shiny video game or something. My ears aren't bleeding. You see the problem here? Cuz I do."

Nellie rolled her eyes, though the tiniest hint of a grin graced her abnormally pale features. Sickly pale. It had shaken up plenty of employees on the day she was initiated into the North Star Program; if her ghostly appearance and frail frame didn't steal their attention, then the long string of biological discord that came tumbling from her tongue like oil against tin definitely did. "Hardy har... I don't make your ears bleed. And if I do, that just makes you a masochist since you keep begging for it."

Shelby protruded her bottom lip. "What did we say about kink shaming?"

"...Honestly? I don't remember. I think I was too busy outbidding some noob online." Like Hell Nellie was going to let some basement-dwelling prick steal away a rare edition of Injustice 2 Deluxe Set, complete with the rare skins that had yet to touch the public eye. Hers, goddammit. All hers.

"Now see? That sounds more like you, nerd," Shelby giggled, booping Nellie on the nose with her own glasses. However, it seemed that she was still in a confiscating mood; without a word, she took note of another opened file splayed about the blonde's desk and snagged it up. An initial skimming of the contents inside rendered her confused. A second made her eyes squint. A third and she squinted even harder. "...Okay. I give. I haven't even heard about the wild shit in this one."

"Are you a kleptomaniac? Because I believe you are," Nellie grumbled while snatching the said file out of Shelby's hands. She decided to ignore the tongue poking out at her. "It's all speculative right now, but it's not the first time boss has tossed unorthodox ideas our way--"

"Your way. Let's be real here. We're not a special little prodigy like you~."

Again, Nellie ignored her. "I believe the Immunology Department are dabbling in the manipulation of the Na/K Pumps or, at the very least, the voltage threshold a human body can produce." It was... bizarre, but Nellie had no room to judge, considering her little side project. But still, she couldn't help but internally bulk at the thought of persuading the increase of electric production and its rate of re-absorption. The only comfort she could draw form it was that harmless tests were being run on some rats. "In lay men's terms, I think they're looking into potentially strengthen the autoimmune system with, well... a jump start. Think Static Shock from the comics but... minus the superpowers. And coolness."

"Aaaaand that has relevance to the mitosis blood samples becaaaaause?"

"I'm... close." When Nellie spoke, she did so tentatively. As if she was uttering a confession. She avoided eye contact with Shelby. "To figuring something out, I mean. I'm hoping that looking into other areas while helping out the other departments will give me inspiration, is all."

"Close, huh..." Something devious twinkled in Shelby's gaze. She hopped off the desk and looped her arms around Nellie form behind, squishing their cheeks uncomfortably close together. "How about you get reeeeal close with Thomas from Cetology? You know he's been giving you goo goo eyes since the day you got here, right? Ugh--you guys would be such a nerdling power couple. I ship."

Nellie seemed far from impressed. "That ship will drown and kill me," she muttered, not even fighting the invasion of space. Past attempts at doing so have taught her that retaliation was futile. When Shelby demanded attention, she got it.

"That's why you gotta be a risk-taker. You know, like a normal person?" However, Shelby regretted her words the moment they left her mouth; she felt Nellie tense before she actually saw it, and it did nothing short of the deepening the guilt in her gut. She tightened her hug around her sickly co-worker. "Uh... Sorry. You know I didn't meant it like... like that. I'll talk less."

"It's fine." Despite Nellie's words, her voice was incredible tight and slipped through teeth.

Shelby didn't need to be a scientist to catch on.

"Well, uh... Hey! I'm gonna take a Starbucks run. You want anything?"

"Peace and quiet--"

"A mocha frappuccino, got it. Be back in thirty tops."

Nellie bit back a sigh.

She barely paid Shelby's retreating form any mind and didn't dare to move until the doors clicked shut. A moment passed. Then another. Then several more. Cautiously, she stood and crossed the lab, coming to a stop before the twin slabs, her gaze trained on a dial pad located next to it...

She entered a four-digit code. A confirmation deep resounded, followed by the green light switching to red.

Click

Nellie approached a separate table on dead feet, numbly taking in a long collection of vials and test tubes. There were thirty of them at the very least, each labeled with a piece of tape and permanent marker. Some read as "Succ" and "Fail", while a scant few were reserved for "Review". However, a lone tube was perched next to the tray, standing proudly and catching a streak of light. Seemingly fresh blood resided within it but a closer inspection brought attention to... an usual motion about it. Movement.

Sentient.

Delicately, Nellie examined the vial between gloved fingers while her free hand skimmed the inside of her forearm with a feather's touch. "...So close." So goddamn close. Just a half of a step away from achieving her life long goal. Her life long dream. With the musings currently stirring up a harmonious storm in her mind, she could possibly grasp the solution to her woes. Right her. Right now. All she needed was the perfect specimen to run a test trial on.

Slowly, her vision veered to the other end of the lab.

To a fresh and unopened pack of syringes.

So close.

---

Nellie King "Iron Head" | Location: Anarchy's Apartment @Seductress ​

Nellie lurched forward with a strained growl, arm extended and teeth flashing a vicious snarl--

An apartment... She was in someone's apartment.

...How the fuck? When the fuck? And why the fuck?

I was dodging torpedoes. Taffer lost a leg. Pearson pulled out some contract. And then that machete woman was right... Stiffly, she turned, granting herself the view of someone seated next to her and chowing down on a plate of... something. Like Hell if she cared, though it did smell beyond fucking amazing. For a split moment, Nellie wondered what it tasted like--

Answers, Nellie. Get some fucking answers.

"...Where the fuck am I. What the fuck happened."

 

[Zerofighter]

It felt like so much was happening at once. There was a young woman injured, and not she was meeting everyone else. Taking a deep breath to compose herself. She said "Umm well its nice to meet you all. Call me Sunspot." Giving a soft smile to the others around her. At least the newest faces she met wasnt throwing her into a car. That Purple Bitch was still gonna pay. Just thinking about it made her angry.

Now wasnt the time to throw a temper tantrum. She had to get Pearson to safety. She also wondered if she could trust these new people. Well, seeing they just saved her from being pumped full of lead. They were trustworthy for now. Looking at the person talking about cauterizing their wound.

"Umm yea about that. I dont know if my powers generate heat. You see what I have is called a Sunfield. Basically I use Solar energy, but its like a battery. I have only so much before it runs out. I have to make sure I have enough energy to fly Mr.Pearson out of her. Some purple chick wanted me to get him out, that was before she threw me into a car." She said "Honestly, I havent trained with my powers for a day in my life actually. This is the first real hero work I did."

"Yesterday I was stopping cars and petty thieves. Now I'm involved….honestly I dont know what the hell I'm involved in. I'm just a young girl trying to do the right thing." Giving them all a soft look. She took a deep breath, regaining some lost composure. "Lets get a look at that wound. I wont know if my powers can do that if I dont trhy." Her hands began glowing, and went up to Transfer.
Please work

Lying her golden hand on the wound, letting out a small amount of energy. Seeing some rise as she held the wound. A burning smell coming off it. It was working! Actually working. Quickly removing her hand, as to not severely burn the guy. "Wow! I cant believe that actually worked! I was scared for a moment I was gonna blow a hole through your body! N-Not that I was trying to do that."

"Pearson, we need to get you to safety, do you know anywhere we can go?"

 

[KatSea]

Jethro Marcus Carver

Carver wanted nothing more than to go home and bury his sorrows, perhaps reclining besides Juliet as she drummed her fingers against his head. She would make sure he didn't over do himself if he decided to d

rink that night. Take away the bottle after a few swigs. Maybe she would throw blankets over the two of them, as if they were children again, and insisted they bundled close, laughing at a b-rated horror movie, or yell at fools who dared to over sear a steak on some ridiculous cooking show. Juliet knew how to take care of him, better than he knew how to take care of himself. It was a miracle she had become his partner, and while the circumstances around their living situation were less than ideal...he was glad she was around. If he never found a wife, if he never found someone to nag him through the rest of his days, he had a feeling Juliet would fulfill the role herself. God...God help that poor soul who had her as a wife. The best, overbearing, gentle, obnoxious, beaver-teethed woman he had ever met. The question became, however, was how well Juliet was going to be able to take care of herself after this horrible ordeal. She had enough on her plate regardless, and he was fully aware that her...emotional state was not ideal. She was a strong woman, there was no doubt about that. There was only so much a human body could take, however, and with the situation regarding her husband now being battled against potential post traumatic stress...Yeah. He was going to keep a close eye on her, even if they were both expected to return to work the following day. Maybe drinking was going to be a no go tonight. He should probably try and be as alert as possible...just in case.

But then again, bourbon sounded really fucking good at the moment.

He turned in the direction of Amy, a sudden twinge of guilt hitting him in his gut. Yeah. He'd rather she didn't see him like that. At the very least, he could make sure she got back to her apartment safe and sound. Maybe recommend a therapist like he did for Jules. He wasn't keen on the idea himself, but he also didn't carry as much weight as Jules did. Or how Amy might handle the new developments. As detectives, he assumed the blow would have been softened considerably. They saw nasty shit all the time, went home, processed the tragedy, then removed it from their subconscious. Or well, Carver would try. Amy most likely didn't know how to handle any of this and...well, even if she was a nurse, even if she had seen things in the hospital, a mass terrorist attack was...beyond what anyone in their lifetime should have to deal with.

Clicking his tongue at the top of his mouth, he felt Serene leave his range entirely, and he prayed quietly under his breath that she would meet him at home later. He didn't usually ask the man in the sky for much, but when it came to his baby girl, he was willing to give it a shot. It didn't hurt.

"I'll try to make the hospital t

rip quick, Amy. I wanna make sure you get home and feel safe and settled, I can imagine after today you just wanna go back to the complex." He tossed in her direction, eyes darting around the area until he caught sight of Juliet with Vihaan. Her arms seemed filled to the brim with paperwork. He could have sworn her face would be obscured by it, or her arms would have slouched beneath her waist from the weight, but she seemed to hold her own, and even gave Carver a warm beam as he approached with Amy.

"Hey! Detective, you ready to leave the premis-" Her eyes caught onto Amy who lingered behind the detective, warmth and confusion flooding her tone and creating a bizarre collage against her demeanor. "Amelia! How lovely it is to see you, are you alright? Jethro did you make sure she is safe and sound? We aren't going to have to bring her to the hospital are we? Oh dear oh dear-" Before Juliet could hobble over to the ginger woman, paper stack, Jethro gingerly grasped her upper arm and gave it a light squeeze. She quickly skidded to a stop, eyes peeking up innocently at her partner before he spoke up.

"Already checked her. The blood on her...isn't hers. Others. She's okay. I don't know if she's in shock. She seems to be okay, but when we get to the hospital, if she's up for it, she can get a check up. I know I'm not a doctor or a miracle worker, Jules, but I think she's okay."

"Oh thank God." Juliet stepped back from Jethro's grasp, gently shrugging off his hand from her. "Good. Are we...is she coming with us to the hospital or should we drop her off at the complex first? I don't want to hold her up too long."

"She said she would be okay to come to the hospital. I told her we will make it quick. Besides, I'd prefer if we were all at the complex..." He didn't want to. admit that he didn't want the poor girl to be alone. Considering her abilities and the government's desire to round up any poor bastard who owned such abilities... Yeah. He'd rather make sure that she had two gun owners on her floor for the rest of today.

"Okay, Jethro. I've got all the paperwork for tomorrow so we should be all set to go. No one else you wanna go check up on?"

"No. I don't think there's anyone else to check in on..." Most people had been evacuated off the premises by this point. The gunmen had been filed away (hopefully to death row, those horrible sons of bitches). The heroes...had been all gathered in the nearby deli from what Carver could tell. The sooner he got himself and his two friends away, the better off they would be. He doubted anyone could recognize him or Amy as containing meta abilities...but still, he'd rather not risk the chance. Especially not with his baby girl on the line. They'd have to fight tooth nail and bullet if they wanted to put her under any contract.

"J-jethro? Um, is that something we should be worried about?" Juliet's voice broke through Carver's thoughts, his eyes darting in the direction that Juliet had gestured to. Oh. Oh no. Those definitely did not look like friendly associates of the vice president. They looked like official agents regardless- Nope. Carver was never about leaving a crime scene unattended, but this looked purely political, and he refused to be forced into a crossfire. Nope. Fuck that. Not fucking today.

"Not in my fuckin' pay grade- Ladies?" Jethro gingerly tugged on Juliet's arm before doing the same to Amy's making sure they were both in fair distance from him. "Car now questions later." He mumbled, turning from the clusterfuck behind him to go find where Juliet and him had positioned their car earlier that morning.

---

"Alright, Carver, you are not allowed to DJ-" Juliet commented from the backseat, her blonde head peeking over Carver's driver's seat.

"Neither are you, that's the shotgun's job. Not to mention I am not letting you play any more fucking butt rock-"

"Butt rock? I am deeply offended. Pearl Jam rip off bands are classic."

"Anyone who can lower their voice like this-" Carver mimicked, trying not to snort at his own ridiculousness as he started up the engine, rolling up the windows nice and tight before pulling out onto the road. "Do not deserve a band of their own."

"Fineeee, Amy can handle that." Juliet pipped up with a small grin. "Just as long as she doesn't play the crummy bubble gum pop that you blare on the daily..."

"Oh, that is just not fair-"

"Maroon Five is bubble gum pop and you know it."

"It's not always Maroon Five..."

"It's either that or Pink Floyd...which I'm not complaining about. I just can't take hearing about a man's misery anymore cause the women he dates are psychos or one night stands."

"Pink fuckin Floyd it is then I guess."

----

Serene

The purple lady scared her. It took a lot to scare the creature. She wasn't particularly a pretty sight to look at, and having acknowledged this with a daily glance in the mirror, she found it hard to otherwise find horrors around her. The terrorists didn't scare her. They enraged her. Ignited a cool fury that she hadn't felt since a villain had gotten a hit on Jethro. The rage itself wasn't vocal. It was swift, a brutal response. If Serene was feeling in the mood? She may have unhinged her jaw and unleashed an inhuman roar.

But now? No rage. No fury. Just fear, an anxiety that lingered deeply in her belly. This woman was like a bullet. Swift to violence with a deadly precision. Serene huddled into a crouch, watching the scene of chaos and anarchy unfold before her. She was swinging another woman around, forcing her to crash into a vehicle. There was no rationality to her movements, only brutality, even as she moved back to the deli to handled strangely dressed men. Carver told her to never trust men in suits. Suits means they are hiding something. She wasn't sure where his logic came from, but she followed it to the T.

So she remained safely cloaked, her hidden form remaining close to the concrete below in case she needed to pounce into action. This was a heavy situation, she could feel that by the air around her. If anything, she knew that Carver would want her to leave. Go home. Wait for him there. Still, there was a concern nestled in her stomach.

Something bad could happen. Something bad could happen and she refused to see any more bodies scattered on the floor today. She wriggled forward, claws scraping into the smooth material ahead of her. Her milky eyes remained glued to the strangely dressed men. The scary purple lady did the same.

Serene's tail whipped behind her anxiously. The fuzz at the end of her muscular neck stood up straight. A growl burrowed deeply into the back of her throat, any semblance of conscious thought muffled out by primal instinct. She felt whatever humanity had lingered in the back of her skull go quiet. This was about survival and protection if worse came to worse. The beast was much more needed than the soul.

That, and the soul within was scared. The beast was primal.

Her jaw clenched, shattered teeth rubbing against irritated gums.

It happened so quickly that Serene barely had time to process. The scary purple lady advanced to the suspicious men. Scenes seemed to blur together, as if Serene had accidentally stepped on a remote and played the forward button. Consciousness flooded back into her pupilless eyes.

She inched forward to the heap of debris that trapped a man below. There was no telling if this man was conscious or even alive. But Serene didn't want to take that risk. No one could see her and no one was paying attention to the heap. They were distracted. Hurting. So much hurting. Serene wanted to go to the harmed woman and cradle her in her arms. But she would do more harm than good. She would frighten and she would hurt.

She said a prayer to the man in the sky. The memory of him did not fade, even after so long, but her mind was not fully equipped to handle specific names. It had been too long to fully connect names and faces and concepts. She wished for the woman to heal. To recover and breathe without strain. To grow stronger from each blow she took today. May her soul grow and grow and grow.

May those who surrounded her heal her and give her comfort. May she prosper and may Serene be blessed to see her beauty when she was herself again, without blood and the fear that stained her features.

She moved passed this, eyes burning. She turned her attention to the debris. Her claws dug around the first massive piece of debris, and with a labored but stifled grunt, she tugged the weight off him. The second piece came soon after, her biceps and forearms scorching. It didn't matter. There was a life to save and her discomfort meant nothing with that perspective in mind.

The last bit gave way, relief flooding in her chest at the sight of the suited man. She dug her grasp onto his shoulders, gingerly tugging him from the mound, laying his back out to the cool concrete below. She pressed her claw to his chest. Breathing. She wasn't sure how, but he was. She didn't have any excess energy for him. There was no villain around to take. She nuzzled her forehead into his. Anything to wake him up. She nudged him, placed her claws to his shoulders...Eventually allowing the skin that circled around her maw to slither to her chin, revealing lines of broken teeth. She refused to drop the cloaking, keeping herself invisible still, but gentle words did escape her.

"S...sir..." She struggled, her words mangled like the flesh that hung from her jaw. "W-wah-ke...uh...uh...p..."

 

[Seductress]

Hoods & Capes | I'm Still Here For You

​

---

There were many times in Joe Pearson's life where he had been afraid it was finally over. Most notable are the fight he had on an oil tanker. It was dramatic. The next, the one time a mutated half chicken half goose was super sized and released to the masses. Finally, the third most notable was right here, right now. While Transfer wasn't fast enough to snap into action, and the newest member of the tire fire, Sunspot or whatever she exclaimed her name was, had already frozen. That's just great; the forces he had just employed were already cracking under pressure. That just wasn't going to work, there was already so much training that had to be done.

That was going to have to wait, though, Joe, we have other problems to worry about. Problems that were a lot better trained, and much more organized than the only solution could have been.

The vice president buckled his knees, raising his hands in front of his face. He braced himself, ready for the attack. The moment the guns came up, and even so much as one itchy finger squeezed the trigger, time stopped. His body went cold as fear zipped through his appendages. The feeling of tremble inducing terror splotched through him, moving through his body like the ink of an octopus.

It had been longer than the retired hero thought, since he had looked down the barrel of a gun. Back then, waaaay back then, a gun that size would have been considered child's play. He was able to disarm a pistol point six seconds faster than the average male, and that included an extra second to land an attack. It had always worked out in one sift movement, disarming an opponent. Pearson used to practice it like steps in a dance, not too far off from how Anarchy had times her attacks against Finn.

Disarming enemies and keeping calm under the barrel of a gun had been a long time ago. Now, Pearson realized that his fists were still balled as the world stopped around him. What could have caused this? Who could have caused this? Was there anyone out there who was capable of manipulating the space/time continuum?

And that was when it hit him.

It wasn't the world that had froze; it was him. He was quite literally frozen in fear. Quite like Sunspot, his body paralyzed itself. He was certain, he was so certain that he was ready to handle this. There was no way that Mr.Kringle himself wouldn't have one last fight left in him. It wasn't just himself who needed protecting. Sabine, who had no business being caught up in the middle of this. It was one thing to attack Pearson, and

the city, and the heroes, but not Sabine. She had never done anything wrong to anybody, and the idea of her getting hurt was out of the question.

Everything was happening so quickly. What looked like a ray of light took over the background of Pearson's vision. His mouth jerked open as the two new figures joined the fight. They caught the intruder's attention, marked by the barrels of the guns turning away from the young supers and toward the new duo. Pearson could breathe once more.

Bang. Bang. Bang.

The three bullets that stuck themselves into the walls echoed heavily through Pearson's brain. He fell backward, holding his arm out to catch himself on the counter. With a life filled with gunshots and a memory riddled with facing fear, the gunshots caught him off guard. His heart wanted to stop, hence why he groped at it with his free hand. It was almost as if his heart had stopped just long enough to jump into his throat, before dislodging and falling back down.

Before Pearson could even realize it, the targets were down. It was a wonder that anyone was still attacking the group, in all honesty. The conference was over, finished. Everyone should have packed back up and went home. But no, the secret service decided they wanted to keep trouble brewing? He would have to get some answers when he got back to the white house. Someone was either going to have to start producing answers, or jobs would start being taken away.

"Well, now that we have the dramatic entrances out of the way," Pearson managed to push out, collecting himself as quickly as he could. He stood up straight, dusting off his hands as his eyes scanned around. There didn't seem to be any more of them, but one could never be too sure. "We really should get out of here, especially if -"

That was when the world once again froze over.

He didn't even remember looking behind him. All he could see was Sabine, wounded and in pain. It would later occur to Joe that it wasn't fear that froze him this time. It took him a while to figure it out, but he wasn't frozen at all. He was boiling. Of all emotions he could have been feeling, Joseph Pearson was boiling with red, hot rage. He couldn't move, once again, and that made him angrier and angrier. The thing is, anger had never really been an issue for him. Pearson was the king of keeping his cool under pressure. He could defuse a hostage situation and talk his way out of nuclear warfare all while shaving with on hand and cradling a kitten in the other. But this time, every little thing made him angrier and angrier, angrier and angrier.

The world outside of Joe's mind continued in full speed. Transfer jumped into action, Sunspot not far behind. This was embarrassing. Look at you go, old man; the ones you're meant to be leading and guiding are already on top of it while you're standing there like a dear in the headlights. He had to start moving. He had to act, and he had to act fast. "You two," He managed to call out with professionalism, looking over at the two armored newcomers. "How soon can you two get her to a hospital?"

It took all of the might that the human body could muster, but Pearson managed to take a step forward. His legs felt the sting of an uncountable number of pins and needles piercing his flesh as he moved, but still he pressed on. "You two get her to the hospital, I'll meet you there in about fifteen minutes. I'll hold them -" He pointed outside, toward the secret service. "- off long enough for you guys to sneak out the back door." Finally, Pearson was at his destination. After what had felt like a lifetime of stomping his feet off the ground, Pearson was finally standing with Sabine. He could finally comfort her in what was quite literally her time of need. "Transfer, you and....uh..the new girl can leave, You've done more than your share, we'll take it from here. Remember to meet at the headquarters tomorrow by noon."

As Pearson turned his attention to Sabine, he didn't even notice that the shitstorm was still brewing just outside the deli. Agent Liam Saddler's vehicle turned the corner, banking hard and slamming on the breaks as soon as he saw Chore standing near the motorcade. He parked his vehicle in the middle of the road, pointed diagonally as if to stop the imaginary traffic. What was going on over at the deli?

Liam Saddler couldn't believe his eyes. He jumped out, eyes wide as he stared at Anarchy as she ascended higher and higher. What could only be described as a tornado of glass, cars and vehicles, and overall debris surrounded her. Liam pulled his sunglasses off the bridge of his nose as he started moving toward Chore, his eyes glued to the scene playing out in front of him. "Does someone want to tell me what the fuck is going on over there?" He called out toward the politician and his security detail.

Clifford Chore was nearly terrified as well. Keyword; nearly. His demeanor was cold, calculated. Anarchy had built a name for herself as it is, but she was truly panning out to be a pain in Chore's ass after all. The woman seemed like the type to take pride in frustrating others. She was the kind of person to knock you down and then poke you with a stick to see if you were still alive. As long as she stayed away from him and kept her nose in her own business, everything would pan out perfectly. With that being said, this was becoming a bit of a problem.

All the congressman wanted to do was take everyone who was supposed to be going to the white house, and bring them all to the white house. Chore was going there anyway, so he might as well have brought Sabine and Pearson along with him. Chore's head poked up as he heard Saddler's voice. It was so gruff, harsh and distinct. Chore could pick that voice out from a mile away. As he turned his head and saw Saddler heading his way, he stood up from his position sitting against one of the vehicles from the motorcade.

"We were rounding up all presidential and political personnel," Chore called over to the stunned Saddler, navigating through secret service agents so that he could get to him. "And everyone's favourite psychopathic psych decided she didn't want to trust our men. She got violent, Collins stepped in, and now I think I'm abo

ut to have to pay a visit to his family to tell them he was buried in a pile of shit." The two men met half way, stopping and turning to face Anarchy when they reached each other. Chore folded his arms over his chest while Liam held his hands on his hips.

"Well," Saddler inhaled. "That's going to be a bit of a problem, now, isn't it?"

"It would be one thing if Vice President Pearson hadn't just gone through an entire terrorist attack and attempted kidnapping, and Anarchy decided to act out." Cliff couldn't help but shake his head. The fact that he felt like he was talking about some teenager acting out in class was rather absurd to him. This was a full grown woman. There was no way that the title of superhero and quite the powerful skill set created the illusion that she could operate outside of the law. "But unfortunately there was just a terrorist attack. Pearson has more than enough shit on his plate right now, the last thing he needs is for some rogue metahuman to decide she wants to make his life even more difficult."

"Yep," Liam reached under his jacket, wrapping his hand around his service pistol. "When the president gets his leg blown off, more heroes get their ass kicked than heroes who ended up kicking ass, and you have to watch helplessly as innocent people get terrorized because of you, I could see how it would be preferable to not get attacked by Anarchy."

"Are you able to fix it?"

The agent pulled his weapon out from the holster. "Me?" He turned the unloaded weapon to the side as he reached down to the back of his belt. Opening a pouch, he pulled out the magazine for his gun. "Of course I can fix it. That's what I do; I can fix anything." Slamming the magazine into place, Saddler looked up at Chore as he cocked the weapon back. Safety off, locked and loaded. He was ready to do whatever means necessary to get to Pearson.

"I know, I just like asking every now and then, just to test you." Chore flashed a fairly out of place smile as he clasped Saddler on the shoulder. "I expect you to be quick and efficient. Take her down, I'd prefer her alive but if she puts up too much of a fight, just take her out of the picture completely. I don't know too many who'd notice she's gone."

"Right," Liam said as he started walking away from Chore, toward Anarchy. "Shoot her, do it quickly, and then go home. I think I can do this." The confidence in his voice betrayed what his spoken words would say. He used the same language he would have if he were nervous, but there was a certain shine that carried through his tone of voice. He even walked toward the shitstorm with confidence. Saddler wasn't even worrying about the fact that the hairs on his arms were attempting to stand on end, pointing toward the psionic vortex that hid Anarchy.

Charlie fell backward, landing against the pavement with a heavy thud. The reflection of the deadly wave of crap echoed in his eyes, watching what could only be his demise build itself right in front of him. Was this all that was left for him? Did God up above decide that today was his last? That he'd lose his life to some out of control metahuman? Charlie knew that nobody could control the circumstances around their death, but he did know that this wasn't how he pictured it happening.

"Hey, Charlie" He knew that voice anywhere. It seemed as though held had arrived.

"Saddler!" Charlie called out, looking over his shoulder. "I'm over here!"

In what seemed like record time, Liam slowed his run into a jog, and then slowed to a halt as he reached Charles Collins' side. With his weapon drawn and pointed toward Anarchy, he kept his head straight but his eyes moved to look at Charlie. "I left you in charge for one day, and this is the situation you decide to get yourself into? I guess I can't take one day off anymore."

"Mind if we worry about who's fuck up this is later?" He called out as he crawled behind Saddler, pulling himself back to his feet. His legs were wobbly and shaking with fear. This was the first time he had been in a situation as intimidating as this, and he truly didn't feel comfortable handling Anarchy anymore. If it were up to Charlie, he'd run and hide in a little hole and never come back out. "How do you think we stop her?"

"Easy," Saddler adjusted his aim, firing off his weapon with a loud pop. "A bullet or two could always do the trick." In theory, Liam, my dear boy, that would have worked. The bullet he fired off, which made Charlie grab his ears and hunch over in terror, soared through the air. It was aimed perfectly toward Anarchy, but never managed to hit her. The bullet was instantly sucked up by her whirlwind and left her completely untouched. Good news for Anarchy, bad news for the two attackers.

"I hope you were trying to piss her off, because that's probably all you've done."

"She's already pissed off," Saddler called out as he fired two more shots at her, each shot failing.

Pearson wasn't expecting to hear the gunshots. He simply placed himself near Transfer, and took Sabine's hand. Tears wanted to fill up his tear ducts and stream down his face. Now wasn't the time for that, though. He couldn't let himself stray from the path. Sabine could still get medical help, and Pearson had to do whatever he could in order to make sure that happened. That was his job now. Still, his eyes looked the poor girl over with a certain tinge of sadness. One could even go far enough to say he looked at her with despair.

"You're going to be okay," Pearson promised. "They are going to get you to safety. I'm going to be right behind them, okay?" Pearson forced a smile, looking down at the wound. He felt his body shuddering, wanting him to look away. "I'm just trying to -" The first gunshot snapped his attention straight toward the outside of the deli. He couldn't help himself. Standing up, Pearson released Sabine's hand, walking toward the front door.

"Everybody, get out of here."

The hairs on Pearson's arms stood up, pulling him toward the vortex. He couldn't believe his eyes. He had heard about this happening once before, a very long time ago, but everything had been in check for years now. This didn't make any sense, at least not in Pearson's head. He couldn't figure out why she chose now of all times to lose control, but still, Pearson had to put on his big boy pants and figure out a solution. This was going to end badly if he let things get messy.

He had to take in his surroundings. What would be beneficial to building a solution? There were two familiar faces; Charlie Collins, and Liam Saddler. Charlie was attempting to keep his distance, but as Anarchy got more and more angry, the vortex grew larger and larger. Liam was, of course, being the cause of Anarchy's ever building frustration. Anarchy wasn't going to stop until the shooting did.

With the speed of a moped, and the grace of an over weight bulldog Pearson began to run. He needed to avoid Godzilla long enough to group up with the two secret service agents, and talk them into standing down. "Agent Saddler! Stop shooting!"

Ironically enough, Liam's gun clicked empty. "And why would I want to do that?" The empty clip slipped out of his weapon, clanking as it hit the ground.

"Because we need her to calm down and -" Just as Pearson managed to get within talking range of Liam, Anarchy struck. First, the vortex moved. Anarchy shot her arms out, the collection of materials finally lunging for the attack. Joe had looked away for a second. Just one fucking second. Charlie was quickly swept away, disappearing in a coffin in the middle of the road. Already, the man's flesh grew battered and mangled. Gashes from the discarded glass guided themselves across his skin. They had different levels of depth, ranging from surface level all the way to an inch below the fat in his body. The heavier objects - large slabs of concrete, chunks of machinery that had broken off of the drones that had attacked Iron Head and Taffer etc. - crushed more bones in his body than he had even realized belonged in his body. Into the darkness he faded...consciousness leaving, fading into the back of his mind....

What a grisly day this had turned out to be. A day of celebration hadn't ended this terribly since The Night Watcher accidentally fought off Reaper in the middle of a fourth of July celebration. The Public Relations department of Metahuman Affairs would have had a field day with repairing the damages, had Pearson of actually went through with attempting to establish such a government department. The smoke was finally starting to clear from the horizon, news helicopters sticking around to get the last shots of the disaster before heading back to their designated landing pads to refuel and wait for the next big disaster. If this was a sign of anything, it was a sign that not only did Washington, but possibly the entirety of America required a collection of masked vigilantes with the guidance of government officials to properly tackle these threats.

Taffer would have never imagined that his first attempt to reach out to the self proclaimed guardians of peace and justice would have ended with two young supers fluttering around a deli with a wounded girl and two twins beating the sweet Jesus out of secret service agents. He probably would have told you that you were full of shit if you told him that something bad was going to happen. Luckily, with Transfer and Sunspot's combined efforts, Sabine's wound seemed as if it was going to heal up perfectly, despite the rather amateur job performed by the two young avengers. That wasn't to discredit the two youngsters, due to the fact that they found more results than Pearson managed to.

A loved one that he cared about was on the ground bleeding from an attack performed by the same same service that created the secret infrastructure designed to keep attacks like this from happening, and all Pearson could do was bark orders. Not only did the two high tech twins act faster than Joe, but two of the younger, experience lacking heroes managed to come up with a real solution that didn't require a waiting period before Sabine's wound could effect her too much. God, what a failure Pearson had turned out to be. He didn't even know that the group had managed to find a solution, Taffer was still under the assumption that they would be regrouping at the hospital.

If it was possible to say that Anarchy's hazy eyes didn't enjoy the chaos they just watched enfold, it would still be a lie. The violence she had just unleashed against poor Charlie triggered a thin smile that would have made the Joker cower in fear. She let her hands hover at her side as the tips of her feet touched back down on the ground.So this is what it's like to finally embrace untapped potential. Anarchy raised her blood soaked right hand up in front of her blank eyes, her grin growing as she examined her instrument of destruction. What an electrifying feeling. Freedom, a bitter-sweet word that I can finally say I've experienced. The colours couldn't even introduce such a wonderful depiction of mayhem. The sensation of tasting colour combinations that had still yet been introduced to the inferior made more sense than the visions of burning flesh and the smell of freshly spilled blood.

"You've crossed the line for the last time," Pearson called out, finding the anger inside of him to take charge once again. Despite Liam attempting to pull him back, Pearson pulled his shoulder away and started cutting the distance between Anarchy and himself. "Agent Saddler, I'm going to ask you to place Anarchy in custody, please."

A lump formed in Liam's throat. His eyes went from the casket of rubble - not even noticing that it was magically digging Charlie out of itself - and back to Anarchy. He wanted to pull out, to run back to his car and give his wife a hug. What if he hadn't gotten the day off? What if that was Liam finding himself at Serene's mercy? Without the creature's heart of gold, Charlie probably would have been dead by now. His lungs finally filled with air despite sputtering and refusing to work for a second or two, but pain coursed through his body as the dirt crusted Charlie was brought back to the life of the barely living. He couldn't open his eyes; he felt like even his eyelids were broken. Her nuzzling snout caused a light smile to cross his otherwise lifeless face, his body cringing in pain as he attempted to pet the invisible guest with a shattered arm.

"Are you sure about this, Joe?" Saddler asked, reluctantly reaching behind him to produce his own pair of handcuffs. He looked up at Anarchy, watching as her head slowly turned to face him. Her face was still little more than a fogged out shell of psychotic thoughts. "Do you actually think I'm going to be able to get close enough to her without losing an arm?"

The agent wasn't wrong. In fact, Pearson had no choice but to agree with him. "You're the one who wanted her arrested in the first place, right? So, go and do it." There were probably better ways to communicate that Pearson wanted him to fall back, but he really didn't want to deal with any more of this. That was when he noticed her face. This wasn't Nicole, was it? This wasn't the woman who had attempted to find her brother against all odds. This was the young girl who lost control before she could even learn about her powers. This was a desperate woman who couldn't afford to lose anymore. Lose what? A fight? Her job? Bragging rights?

That was when Pearson's eyes found it.

Psionic energy levels were finally dropping as Iron Head's unconscious body floated back around to rest on the ground in front of The Anarchy. "Wait, agent. Look." Pearson held up his hand, pointing it as The Anarchy slid down to her knees, the glass and bullet casing easily creating discomfort under her bloodied and bruised knee caps. The colour began to return to Anarchy's hauntingly pale face as her eyes examined the sleepy hero. Empathy painted itself in Anarchy's demeanor as her shoulders slouched once more, her hands resting on her knees.

"Okay, arrest the bitch, or don't arrest her?" Saddler's confusion found it's way into his voice, watching as Pearson approached The Anarchy slowly but surely. The bitch's eyes were slowly starting to draw themselves once again as she looked up from Nellie's body, her beautiful eyes locking on Pearson. Agent Saddler's own gaze went over his shoulder, his focus finding Chore as the congressman shook his head in disappointment, pointing at Liam before sitting himself down in the motorcade. Things weren't going to end very well, and that was obvious.

"She's okay, Anarchy." Pearson said, squatting down to find himself eye-level with Anarchy. Tears had formed at the sides of her eyes, the stream threatening to trace itself down her dirty cheeks. Pearson shook his head, exhaling a deep breath. "You're both going to need to get out of here, okay? I'm going to go with agent Saddler, do you have a place you can bring her until she wakes up?"

It was hard seeing so many people getting hurt after you've created your own expectation to not care about those around you. What hurt the most was that Anarchy was starting to realize that the mental barriers she had erected was either destroyed or no where near as strong as she thought they were. "Y-yes." She nodded, her eyes moving back to Nellie. If she didn't care, she wouldn't have jumped straight into action earlier. That feeling when she thought that blue psycho with the fin was going to kill Transfer, that was a pain she couldn't describe. Even after she had manhandled Sunstop...or Stopsign or whatever she called herself, right before yelling at her to get to safety...it actually created a blanket of guilt Anarchy could wear around her shoulders. Now, the idea of Iron Head being taken into captivity when she couldn't even defend herself, that was the last straw. "Mr.Pearson, I really don't want to lose anyone else."

Anarchy knew captivity all too well. She knew what it was like to forget how long she had been tucked away because the feeling of the sun on her face was but a distant memory. She knew what it was like to wake up to torture, and to pass out for the rest of the night because of it. Of course, she ended up getting used to the pain as her nerve endings gave way from the abundance of strikes, lashes and different techniques of torture that even James Wan would cringe at, but she still refused to let anyone else get that way. "Go, get her out of here. I expect to see you two tomorrow at 633 Viscount Street, noon. Ori

entation. Now go, before more of them come."

Chore's window slowly rolled back up as he watched Agent Saddler walking Pearson to the car. He would have someone come to pick up Charlie's body later, assuming he didn't survive The Anarchy's attack. Yeah, he had done his research. If Pearson thought it was a good idea to have someone with that kind of power running around in the street, unchecked and unsupervised, then he truly wasn't fit to help run an entire country. His mind wandered back to the Anthony Harris case years ago, back when Nicole was still only discovering her power. The fact that one woman could mentally tear half a man's body apart, only for him to be saved with a host of nanobots that functioned as stem cells was beyond his comprehension.

The world was dying. It might not be today, it might not be tomorrow, but the looming feeling that something big was coming filled the atmosphere that fell along with the now aggressive amount of snow. Armageddon was little more than a profitable venture, and someone was going to have to bottle up the chaos and slap some form of label on it. Cliff looked down at the pair of sunglasses on his lap, realizing that he wasn't going to need them now. The sky had darkened itself out despite being the middle of the day. His eyes looked away from Pearson as he approached, his gaze fixated on the abnormal sky.

Saddler lead Pearson toward the main vehicle meant to take him back home before entering Chore's car, sitting down with him as the motorcade began to move. What was the next step from here? How was Chore supposed to prevent a societal collapse when the men leading the country toward failure had just let potentially one of the most dangerous women in America run free. Changes were going to have to be made, and fast. As much as he loved Taffer and Pearson, he was going to be forced to wage a political war against them to achieve what he knew was best for the country. It wasn't a preferable scenario, but it needed to be done.

"You were supposed to fix the problem." Chore's voice was calm.

"I'm not too sure how much of that you saw, but I'm pretty sure that woman was seconds away from killing me."

He had a point. As much as Cliff hated to admit it, Liam was better off alive than in the ground with Charlie. Speaking of which, if Charlie managed to survive that lethal blow from the crayola queen, it would have amazed him. Chore could dress Charlie as a hero, a hero who either sacrificed himself or risked his own life to handle an out of control super who was threatening the vice president, after her friend caused president Taffer himself to go to the hospital in critical condition. Yeah, a public relations campaign. If Taffer wanted to try and command a secret army of meta humans, then Chore was going to have to have to create a bigger army. He had the perfect breed of soldier in mind; the average American citizen.

---

There were currently twelve known people in the running for the title of the most dangerous wo/man in the world, and Anarchy sat around number six (at least, according to some subreddit that she enjoyed skimming through daily). Yes, Anarchy; the same woman who had just tucked her fallen scrap heap in with a redundant blanket and then cooked her a warm meal in her silk pajamas. Her matching shirt and pants were purple, of course. The only colour she could ever find comfort in. She twirled her pasta on her fork, letting the piping hot plate flutter off of her crossed legs and settle itself on the living room table beside Iron Head's plate. She placed her hand under her fork as she wrapped her lips around the piece of cutlery, taking extra caution to make sure the dainty bite didn't slather her face or fall on her lap.

As the iron avenger finally began to stir, Anarchy's brain examined the commercial for the evening news that cut through her true crime documentary.[/FONT] Tonight at seven; a look into the transportation of high profile danger meta humans that's required to move them into cells meant specifically geared toward their powers. There was footage of Sadist's showdown with The Night Watcher, Transfer and Iron Head the night before, and then cut to the large armored transport truck that was going to be essential in containing him properly. "Oh hey, that's my team." Anarchy smiled to herself, gently swaying from side to side as the flavors of her home cooking burst across her tongue. She could kill a man with more methods than a special forces operative, could kick a villain's ass in thirteen different languages, and apparently she could cook better than she expected. Can someone say jack of all trades?

Iron Head was finally awake. She wasn't wasting any time; she needed her answers, and wasn't going to wait long enough for a sarcastic "good morning" and a few playful jabs. "Eat," Anarchy said, letting her on fork dig itself into her plate that still sat resting on the table. "You clearly put your body through just enough stress to put yourself out before the true fun began." She unfolded her legs, standing up and stretching to the sky. Her pale stomach attempted to poke out from under her shirt, but she didn't extend her back far enough for it to completely rise up. "You did a damn good job helping me take care of those agents, despite not even being awake."

A chuckle escaped the blonde as she walked past her groggy companion. "If this whole grumpy superhero gig doesn't work out for you, I feel like you've proven yourself a pretty talented bowling ball." She couldn't help but think back to how cool it felt having Nellie fly through the window, cracking their attackers with swift movements. She was like a conductor, and her symphony was little more than violence and controlled mayhem. She made her way back toward her kitchen, waving her hand to pull open the cupboard above the sink. She reached forward, grabbing and twisting the cold water nozzle and letting the water spill into the sink.

Her smile faded as the taste of teal crawled up her tongue. The images of Charlie being buried flashed across her brain, the memory of his casket causing the sensations of yellow and blue to boil in her stomach. "Thirsty?" She called over to Nellie, one glass levitating from her cupboard and landing in her hand, which she then extended to fill with water before sending it floating to Nellie. She filled up her own glass, making her way back toward her spot in the living room. She looked up at the television as she sat down, watching the lawyer in charge of the prosecution of Angela Trevors walking through a court house.

"Three hours of sleep is only going to get you so far," Anarchy said as she waved her hand toward herself, her plate of food rising up off the table and nuzzling itself happily against her lap. "We both know that I'm not the type to nurse you back to health, and we all know that you're not the type to need me to nurse you, so, lick your wounds, rest for a second, but more importantly," She said, pointing at Nellie. "eat." Once again she let her finger bend, flicking it toward herself. Not too long after, maybe a few seconds, a roll of fabric traveled down the hall, the roll levitating itself from Anarchy's room. She pointed toward the table, and it followed her command. As soon as it settled down in a spot, she unrolled it. A glimmering selection of different sized knives, pokers and pig stickers revealed themselves to the two women.

"A balanced diet isn't only important for your health, but can really change your outlook on life. Good food is better for the soul than most things," She reached forward, pulling her favourite machete from it's spot in the roll. "Except for sharp, shiny things, of course."

 

[Elle Joyner]

CASTOR & POLLUX​

---

CLANG! WHAM

Watching the situation unfold was unlike anything the twins had experienced, and there was a strange sense of melancholy that despite a successful first run of their suits in public, things hadn't gone exactly as intended. The gunmen's unconscious forms did little to assuage the sort of gut riddling guilt of knowing one of the innocent bystanders could still very well die. But of course, they weren't there just to look pretty and as the vice president turned to them to instruct them, neither armored mech-pilot hesitated.

"Of course, sir!" The taller figure answered swiftly.

"Indeed." The second responded almost in sync.

A sudden burst of concrete exploded at the edge of the alleyway and both figures turned towards it to see a cyclone of material swirling above them... glass, rubble, metal... It appeared as if every stray bit of debris had been sucked inside, swiveling around a bright purple...something inside of it. Pollux opened his mouth to speak when the sound of gunshots rang out, concentrated on the whirlwind of purple death.

In those few seconds, one of the others in the alley - the young man - moved to the injured woman and Castor's expressionless mask stared as he absorbed her injuries into his own form. Next up, the bright yellow clad hero approached and for a moment, rambled a little too excitedly for comfort. Before she could stop him, Pollux was already speaking.

"Cause this is time for small talk and introductions…" Though she could hear no intonation, his sister knew all too well the sarcastic nature his voice was taking behind the mask. Rolling her eyes, she turned to him and her fingers and hands formed a silent message before she stepped closer to the unconscious woman.

"We will take it from here. You two had better listen to Vice President Pearson. Find somewhere to lay low."

"We should move, Castor..." Pollux muttered, and Castor turned to see he was watching the chaotic torrent again, which had whipped up into its full frenzied fruition.

"Noted..." Stepping forward, she knelt down beside the unconscious woman, before casting a glance to the man who had healed her, "You did well. It's alright, now. We will keep her safe."

Arms folding gingerly beneath the woman's blood-soaked form, Castor gently lifted her up from the ground, "Time to go, Pollux."

Her brother stepped forward and gave a nod, holding out his arms to receive the girl before both mechs, with a rumbling sound, suddenly lifted off the pavement, a bright white light shooting like flames from the bottoms of their mechs. Swiftly, like mini-jets, they ascended and were off in the direction of the hospital.

---

TAGS || @Sail , @Zerofighter ,@Seductress

 

[Ragamoofin]

They stood atop the structure, shaky and unsure of themselves. Were they really seeing their previous Inhabitant? Or was it a deception, a lie told by their senses after a long day? Had the smoke already caused them to get loopy?

They placed a hand onto the radio tower, letting it vibrate faster, faster, faster-a pattern soon emerged, calling out for him. "Please, follow me…"

[Anselle]

[Location: City Streets > Radio Tower]

[Status: Getting Mixed Signals. @Sail ; Seven]
​

Perhaps he'd blinked for too long, or stopped paying attention to the order he was putting his feet ahead of him, but Anselle felt nothing where he should've felt ground; his foot sprung forward, propelled out of his control, keeping him from falling onto his face. Anselle shuddered, breath rolling as a prickling mist over his lips. "S-Sorry," He muttered, clenching his jaw to keep his teeth from clattering. He stared out ahead, a shifting sea of people finally beginning to break apart, the chaos of the conference behind them- the gunshots, the bodies, everything.

Everyone. A terrible ache nestled in his joints as the cold continued to sink through his frayed sweater, a tangible squeeze of concern wrapping around his mind. He'd left in such a hurry, he couldn't be sure if he'd missed anyone that needed help, direly or otherwise. The sight of the bodies that remained was...disheartening, to say the least; his body ached with how much energy he'd given, and still- still, it hadn't been enough.

[We've done all we can. You've done all you can.]​

He drew his mouth into a tight line, teeth chewing over the skin of his inner cheek. His hands felt heavy at his sides, cold and grasping at the air. A quiet fury sprouted in his chest, small enough to irritate, not enough to warm him with anger. It snuffed itself out with his dejected sigh, resignation smothering it. "I know."

Anselle pulled at his wrist, clenching his fingers into his palm- he could almost feel the pinprickle of cold over his skin, where he'd touched Snowfall, imbued her with more power than he should've and watched the most spectacular display of ice and snow since Frozen- Elsa, eat your heart out. Snowfall...he hoped he hadn't frightened her too much. Anselle made a mental note to apologize the next time he saw her...if he saw her again, anyhow.

Although, considering how he'd found her along with Tamer, it couldn't be too hard to reach out. Carver had been a wild card in the madness, he'd give the man that. His vanishing act...it certainly came in handy in a pinch, and all while grabbing Anselle's former interrogator-turned-ally. Anselle had to wonder where Serene had gone, though, she couldn't had been too far from Carver at the time.

Regret tugged at Anselle's heart, feeling it jump in his chest as his foot missed a step again, a hiss in his throat as he caught himself on a wobbling knee.

[We should stop for a moment.] ​

Anselle shook his head, breathing harder, arms wrapping around himself to conserve his body heat- what little he hadn't expended on his last few...patients. "Gotta get home," he whispered, throat clenching up around his words. He felt the chill of the air down to his bones, skin and muscle feeling frozen over, bittle and easily shattered. He felt horrible, he felt...drained. "God, I'm so cold, Syn."

[I know. I'm sorry, just...please, stop for now.]​

Tears beaded up in the corners of his eyes, stinging and icy in the brisk wind. Anselle's hands crept up to his shoulders, squeezing them hard, pulling into himself. "I'm s-sorry," He stood among the parting crowd, shivering hard, eyes shutting against the burn of tears rolling down his cheeks. "I-I'm so sorry, I c-couldn't help them. I-I couldn't-"


A hand settled between his shoulders, Anselle's shudders crawling back up his spine, leaning into the palm. Into the warmth pouring off it, sinking into his spine and racing up to his skull, eyes fluttering from the stroke of heat.

[Forgive me, Anselle.]​

Wait...oh, no. Oh, no, no, no. "Kid, are you okay?!" The voice was...faroff, too loud to be so close to him, another hand resting on his shoulder. His skin drank in the heat, bone warming, muscle untensing as the whorls of warm dipped through his tissue. The man gave a hiss, hands snatching away from him. "What the f- you're freezing!"

[Ngh, not enough...]​

Anselle's eyes squeezed shut, a flash of vibrant light behind his eyelids. "S-sorry! I-I'm fine!" Totally not, but whatever it took to get this guy away from him. "It's really cold, isn't it? You should, uh-" Anselle blinked hard, gritting his teeth against the shear of the wind, skin hungry for that warmth again. Wait, no. Hell no, that was so- so fucked! "I-I'm sorry!" He ran, he felt up to it, now. Jesus.

[Syn, what the fuck are you doing!? Were you draining that guy?!]

[Anselle, I'm sorry. My intentions weren't to harm him, only to siphon-]

[Siphon?!]

[Let me finish! I was only absorbing a relatively small portion of his body heat-]

[Syn! We! Cannot! Drain! People!]
​

Anselle's skull ran hot, the familiar surge of his aura beading up under his skin. Anselle could feel Syn's frustration, quickly boiling over into a simmering heat. It was a fleeting thing, but potent nonetheless.

[Anselle, your preferences for energy sources makes recharging very difficult.]

[It's not a preference to not want to feed off people! Syn, I- please, don't...don't do that. I know this sucks, but don't-]
​

The air was trembling, a crackling static that filled his head, filling it to the brim and shoving his thoughts out of the way. It was a harsh, metallic noise, bouncing around the curve of his skull- it was continuous, buzzing screech, a pattern emerging from the warbling sound thrumming through his cells. His hands drew up around his head, squeezing hard, eyes wincing shut from the metal screech.

[Syn, what's happening!?]



[_̴̩͙̘͚̬͍͓͔̱̩̆̉̂̓͝_̶͙̽̃̍͗̔̅͋͐͊̓̽̃͐̕͘_̵̙̟̦̠̤̯̩̩̈̏̑̚ͅ_̴̡̢̨̛̬̳͔̪̗̦̙̹͕̈͊̀̌̇̏͊̀́͐̆̆͘̕-̸̜̩̮̰̥͍̘̑͑̑͐-̴̧͐͌͑̾͂̎̎̀̌̅͝-̴̗̩̰̖̎͑̊̈́̀͗̉͛̾̌̿̅̋̀͋́-̴͚̖͇͉͛̌́̐͗ͅ-̸̱̖̾̅͊̈́̈́̈-̸̨̜̩̬̣͉͔̭͊̇̌_̶̧̢̨̛͉̩̳̗͕͔̞̝͈́̆̂̏̀̈́͘͜͜͝͝ͅ_̶̨̪̮̣̰̳̦̤̿́͂̽̌̑͌̒͝_̴͇͕͕̯̬̭͖͕͙̭̳̗͇̤̲̈́͋̎̓͠_̴̜̼̇͌͜_̴̒́͒̿̓̀̓̐́̂̔̓͊͜͝͝-̶̰̠̳͔͍̺͍̬̪̒̓-̵̦̺͚̝̳̻͍̣͎̝̞͙̞̈͂̍̇̈́̾́̍̚̚ͅͅ-̵̛̛̩̰͗̎̓̂͗̅͗͂͑̒̕͝-̵͍̰͚̖̖̯͍̰̥͚͉̂̀́͛͘-̸̼̳̞̗̦̖͙̐͠͠ͅ-̴̈́̇̋͜=̶̨͎͔̰̣̥̘̥͇͎̎͗͐͌͋̋͋͂͑͠ͅ=̶̢̱̣͔̫̞̹͐̈̏͑̈́͛=̴̛͓̯͎͔̬͕̮̝̃̂̆̃̾̽̉͂̀]


​

Well, that was unhelpful, but the sound was dying out. The head-splitting sound ebbed quickly, static fuzz in his thoughts breaking up, stealing a hard breath of the air and shivering.

[Ugh...Syn, are you okay?]

[...I don't believe it.]

[Syn? What's wrong?]

[I...no, it can't be.] ​

The hair on the back of Anselle's neck stuck up, his eyes snapping wide at the static wail that crept up in his head. "Shit-" He flinched, hands squeezing into fists at his sides, teeth grit tight through the crash of scrambled noise. "Uggh, another one? What is that?"

[...I...Anselle, we have to find where that noise is coming from.]​

Anselle gave a pained rub to his head, still buzzing from the last roll of jumpy sound. He bit into his lip, a twist of uncertainty in his belly. "Syn, I don't think-"

[Please.]

[I...I can't explain it, but I just have to be sure.]​

Anselle hesitated, lifting his eyes from the ground, squinting against the wind. Syn sounded...awfully serious, almost desperate. It was a little more than strange to hear them so worked up about the noise, but he couldn't feel any true fear from them; a complicated knot of emotion bore on the forefront of Anselle's mind, urging him in the direction of the noise, his heart and guts feeling funny from the second-hand nerves. "O-okay," he sighed, reluctantly stepping off the sidewalk, not entirely sure where he was headed. He just had...a feeling, which wasn't a very dependable navigator.

[Thank you, Anselle. I'm sorry, I just...I just need to know.]​

Syn was oddly quiet in his head, which failed to settled Anselle's stomach. They knew something, something they were keeping from him. What was so important about that sound? He supposed he'd find out soon enough.

[...It can't be..]​

 

[Sail]

He stood there silent, unable to truly comprehend the events of the previous hours. His chest rose and fell, giving away the rapid rate at which his heart beat. With a resigned sigh, he turned to Pearson for just a moment and said, "Okay. Stay safe my friend." Away he went, crossing the street, tiredness slamming into his mind like a fog on a cold morning, choking every bit of life from him. A voice echoed in the back of his mind-"It's my turn."

Kallen floated in an endless void-a living stereotype of what "unconsciousness" was like. He floated until his form slammed into an invisible wall, crumpling to the ground. He laid there, unmoving, until a thought crossed his mind-"Get up." He warily stood up, his legs an unsure foundation for the rest of his body.

A flicker of light-his eyes snapped to it, funnily enough, like a moth to a light. Closer, closer, until it consumed his entire field of vision. And then-

He shot up in his bed, sweat dripping down his face. He reached over to his bedside table, pulling a water bottle from its home. He unscrewed the cap- The light slinked away, revealing a large field with buildings of various sizes strewn across it- and downed half of the lukewarm water in a single gulp.

He spoke to himself, his voice dying before it could escape his lips. "Is this real? I'm sure I'm just faking everything-there's no way I'm not fully in control of my mind…" A shiver ran down his spine as-

The memory had finished it's playback in its entirety. But still, one thing didn't quite make sense-how did that one person recover from their wounds as fast as they did? He shoved away the thoughts, still uncomfortable with the memory resurfacing. The answers would come one day.

-as the memory scratched across his consciousness. He knew for certain that catching sleep would be like trying to nab gold in the Gold Rush.

 

[Seductress]

Enter: Luca Preston

I: Peacemaker
​

The bar had seemed like a godless roadside attraction that only beckoned truckers, hitchhikers and [FONT=Marcellus, serif]criminals who had fled the law. It was perfect. Luca Preston sat in the passenger's side chair of the semi truck that picked him up at least twelve miles ago. The door was open, and he had his legs hanging out as he lit his cigarette. "Thank you, Garrett." ]Luca had smiled as he turned out, handing his new best friend a couple of twenties and a hundred, then he jumped into the truck stop's parking lot, his duffel bag bag hanging over his shoulder. He looked across the street at that bar, Bangin' Betty's Bar & Grill. Luca's legs were already carrying him through the truck stop parking lot, across the highway and into the front door of the "outlaw" style bar. Instantly it smelled like cigarettes, stale beer and a hint of vomit. Luca hadn't exactly been to a place quite like this; where the floors and walls were both made out of hardwood, there was a wagon wheel hanging up on the wall beside a picture of John Wayne, and there was even a shotgun mounted over top of the bar.

[/FONT]

It wasn't like a movie. Nobody had stood, there was no piano man playing out of tune. There was no group of gruff looking cowboys in the corner shooting each other over a game of poker. There were some retired elderly gentlemen playing a nice calming game of crazy eights or something, but Luca didn't see any poker chips or signs that they were gambling. The moment he took a step away from the door is when the first test of his patience stepped in front of him. The test took the form of a rather tall ginger guy with an American Chopper bar mustache who looked like he spent far too much time in the gym. "If there isn't something I can help you with, I'd suggest you turn right back around and march that farm boy ass of yours out of here."

Luca's eyes started at the man's feet (he wore some really nice boots actually), and examined up and down his body. Luca slowly reached his hand upward, putting his cigarette to his lips and inhaling. He stayed silent, his poker face taking form as his emotions went on lock down. The two men glared at each other with a deathly silence, the entire bar watching breathlessly. This stare down was easily the longest minute either men had to sit through, but it had to be done. "I'd suggest speaking up."

The stranger tilted his head back, his nose rising to the air. I guess in these parts, it was quite easy to disrespect someone. Luca learned that right then and there. He ducked down fast as a sloppy haymaker came his way. He jumped up, giving the man a single jab to the mouth. The moment the hit connected, a collection of the bars patrons jumped up, each bar goer threatening to unleash a meta power on him, with no two powers being alike. So, that's the kind of bar it was. A meta-human bar. As soon as everyone jumped up, Luca took a step bad and put his hands in the air. He could fight, sure, but he could also use his brain. He'd be fucked with a capital "no thanks" if he tried taking them all on at the same time. The man who "greeted" Luca stood upright, wiping the blood from his lip.

Once again, everyone grew silent as they waited to see what Buster's next move was. Turns out, it was holding out his hand. "Welcome to Bangin' Betties, stranger. What can I do for you?"

"Name's Luca." The titular Luca smiled, shaking his hand.

"Buster. That's one hell of a punch you've got there, pal." Buster laughed, motioning for Luca to follow his back to the bar. The stranger followed and sat beside him, taking a comfortable perch on a leather bar stool. The nice lady behind the bar poured Luca a drink, a drink that Buster offered to pay for. "You going to Washington? Or are you just passing through?"

After a quick, frothy sip from his beer which burst to live in a tangent of hoppy flavors, he fished through the pocket of his denim jacket to produce a folded up photograph. "I'm looking for this woman." Luca handed him the photo, to which Buster released a grunt of concentration as he started to scan over the paper he held in his hand. He smacked his lips together a few times, sighed out a few more hisses of concentration, and then sat the picture on the bar.

"Yeah, I know her," he nodded with an extra hint of enthusiasm layered into his voice. "She was on the news today. I guess she helped save the president earlier." Yup, ole' Buster here could remember watching the whole thing unravel on TV. To get out of the city to get to Betty's, Buster actually drove by the scene of the conference while they were setting up. It honestly looked like quite the big deal while everything was still in the beginning stages of putting everything together. "You watch the news at all today?"

Luca shook his head as he looked at the window just over Buster's shoulder, watching the truck that had dropped him off roll away into the falling snow. "I've been on the road for longer than I can even remember. I haven't had much access to television." Had Luca ever really watched TV? That was such a good question that Luca couldn't even provide the answer for that one.

Buster's eye widened as he looked at this quite literally strange stranger. What was he even going on about? "Well you've had to at least heard something about it on the radio? If you're like everyone else and got here through hitchhiking, someone was bound to be listening to the radio."

"Nope. Today I have listened to nothing but Sonny and Cher albums." Nothing but Sonny and Cher. He wasn't exaggerating with that statement. Garret was a cool enough guy, but god did he make the poor man hate Sonny and Cher. "Hours on end. I couldn't stand listening to that tea kettle and her stupid husband." Luca could hear the songs slowly rising to the top of his brain, the melodies getting embedded in his brain, his ears begging to hear the lyrics. Yup, the more he talked about his hate for the musical duo, the more their songs got stuck in his head.

"You poor son of a bitch," Buster shook his head as he leaned back and sipped his pint glass. "I probably would have tossed myself out and aimed for a bush before we even hit the highway." Buster started chuckling, and then Luca chimed in with a soft laugh. Laughter? This felt like it should have been a new concept to him, but it felt like a familiar sensation. "Anyway, there was a terrorist attack today. They targeted the president while he was giving a speech commending the cities' superheroes-"

"Superheroes?"

Buster found himself bamboozled to the point of speechlessness once again. "Sweet testicular tension, boy. You mean to tell me you don't even know what a superhero is? What kind of rock have you been hiding under?"

"I don't know, Buster. Whenever I try to think back to certain memories, it's almost like I can't pull them back into the spotlight, y'know? All I do know for sure is that I need to find her -" He tapped his index finger against the woman in the photo. "Her. I don't know who she is or what role she plays in the grand scheme of things, all I was told was that she's a key element in stopping the end of the world."

What kind of person talks like that? Russians Superheroes. Maybe this guy was a superhero, and he just wasn't allowed to say? Well of course, Buster, he's not allowed to say. Secret identity, dumb ass. Buster had probably next to a million questions, but the only retort he managed to squeeze out was the twitch of his eyebrow. Then it dawned on him; maybe this guy is one of the key elements to saving the world, and by helping Luca find this other key player, Buster is inherently helping in the prevention of Armageddon. "Hm...Yeah, okay. I'll give you a ride into the city, and I'll help you find her."

 

[Seductress]

Luca Preston

II: Highwayman
​

The country roads were the same as they were miles back; bland, boring, and not worth looking at. Buster promised that it wasn't going to be a terribly wrong drive. They were pretty much already close enough to the city as it was, the car ride was just meant to kill the last little bit of distance between Luca and Washington. As they drove down the fairly desolate roads, Buster stayed true to his word as far as not listening to Sonny and Cher. Instead they cruised on by while cranking Def Leppard's On Through the Night. Buster claimed that it was one of his all time favorite things to drive to. Was it possible that....no, it was far too early to tell. Still, who's to say that Buster wasn't going to be the next piece of his mission? Either way, while Buster was still sticking as his companion, he was going to need to utilize whatever Buster could bring to the table. What was he thinking? That doesn't make any sense. His mission? Utilize what he could bring to the table? Was Luca possibly some sort of secret agent who isn't allowed to remember his mission all at once? That would be pretty cool.

With his head resting against the cold window, Luca's eyes watched the road shooting past. They were driving some sort of pickup truck with a cap on the back and contained pretty much all of the tools that Buster had in his possession. With that being said, his truck was far from disorganized. Shelves, chests, this bad boy had pretty much any and every storage accessory that Buster could find. The ginger haired Buster seemed like he enjoyed conversation just as much as - if not more than - the average person that Luca had encountered so far. It was hard not having a proper reference to go off of. Feeling as if you can't remember any of the conversations you've had in your entire life was a terrible sensation. If you asked him if he had lost his memory, he'd tell you that no, he in fact isn't any form of amnesiac. He could feel the answers to his questions on the tip of his tongue, he just can never really seem to put his finger on it.

"-and then," Buster managed to wheeze out between laughs, one hand slapping at the side of the steering wheel. "that's when she finally tells me that we're out of bologna. All it took was one divorce and advice from a swami for her to be honest with me." Apparently Luca had stopped paying attention during one of those coveted conversations...again. Luca decided that it was time to sit up. He didn't want miss a second of this intellectually titillating exchange of ideas, thoughts and concepts. "Hey, you know what would be funny? Watch this." Like that. I suppose it's okay to zone out for a little bit while Buster was cranking his arm and imitating a semi horn.

"Hey Buster," The now upright Luca called out, running a hand through his messed up hair. "What exactly is it you do at Betty's, anyway?"

Luca reached toward the glove compartment, pulling it open. "Nobody who gets paid to be there actually really works. Yeah, pour a few drinks, make a few sandwiches. What I usually just do is drink until someone new comes in, and I kind of just bully them honestly." Luca plopped two smokes in his mouth. He flicked his zippo open and lit them both with one flame without having to try multiple times. He might have only started practicing a few miles ago, but now it was as if his practice was paying off. "Earlier I just wanted to see if I could scare you off. You didn't back down, and instead of taking that punch you showed me who's boss. I don't want to drink with pushovers, so when I'm on shift I only serve people that I deem worthy of my time." Luca slipped one of the cigarettes out of his mouth and waved it in front of Buster's face, who leaned forward and allowed his new pal to plop it between his lips.

"Oh, I know this one -" Luca perked up. "That's called 'abuse of power', right?"

With a defeated chuckle Buster shook his head. "I vacuum the pool tables every day, and exchange they let me drink all I want. You're a real class clown. Maybe you're supposed to meet this girl so she can give you a new sense of humor." Despite words that sounded like they should have venom behind it, the both men were laughing. It wasn't soft, ginger laughs either. Within the time it took Luca to sit up until now, it was as if the ice had been broken. Buster's shoulders were a little more lax, Luca could feel less tension in his neck. The atmosphere was really starting to grow on the two men. Yeah, this was what it was like to have a road trip. The road rushing by, the snow still aggressively falling as the music continues to grow louder and louder, because of your somehow sweaty driver you met at the bar keeps turning the music up when he thinks that you're not looking. Yeah, that's a road trip alright.

"Would you say you're good at your job?"

Buster's laugh carried through the entire car. The car actually shook a little, but it was probably because Buster had taken his hands off the wheel as he bellowed out his amusement. "Have you ever vacuumed? All you need to do is know how to press a button and move your arm. It's just one extra step away from being as easy as pouring a beer." Had Luca ever even used a vacuum before? Well, sure, he had. He was certain of it. He could hear the sound they make while they were in use. Mundane and every day chores like cleaning were on the top of Luca's every day routine...was it? He cleaned his bathroom every Wednesday, his laundry was done on Fridays...wait, huh? What day of the week was it? What chore did they assign Luca to do today? He shook his head, a sudden flash of heat rippling through his body.

Buster reached forward and switched from the disc to his phone. Instantly, the riff to Off With Their Heads' song Tear Me Apart burst across the surround sound system. "Start tearing me apart, stop holding it all in," Vocalist Ryan Young's melodic style punk shout/sing-song sound sent shivers down Luca's spine. "Run red like the anger running through your veins. Start tearing me apart, that's what you wanted. I deserve everything that's on it's way," Buster kept playing so much great music. Def Leppard was really fun, Buster couldn't believe that Luca had never heard of them before. Everyone knows Def Leppard. He didn't expect him to know Off With Their Heads, but clearly he was enjoying them. Luca was nodding his head to the drums, surrendering to the high energy of the music.

"Take the fact that you're sweating in a fire and you're glowing red, don't stop stop 'til you done and everything in your path is dead."

Fire. Luca could remember the fire. It burned everything it touched, as if it was devouring the world that Luca lived in. The fire, though, wasn't caused by a normal explosion. There were loud sirens, bright flashing red lights. Smoke filled the entire facility's hallways, threatening to smoke out all of the-

"Fuck, man," Buster switched on the air conditioning. "Are you that hot?"

Luca looked at him, his expression filled with confusion. "Huh?"

Buster used one hand to mimic the motion of rubbing his hand across his forehead. A very puzzled Luca brought the back of his hand up against his damp forehead, wiping the screen of sweat from his face. "Shit, I'm sorry," Luca's smile was still warm. "I think I'm starting to get a bit of a fever."

The car had pulled up to a large bridge that connected two pieces of land together in order to extend over a river like body of water. It was suspended up by large concrete legs that jutted up from out of the water. The only problem was that the bridge was blocked off. The entrance and exit were both only big enough for once vehicle to fit on, despite the fact that the bridge itself could hold four vehicles going vertically across.

The unmarked van blocked off the only way off of the bridge that didn't include chucking yourself over the edge. "Who the fuck is this guy?" Buster spat out as he slammed is palm down against the horn.

A wave of dizziness took over Luca's body as he looked into the tinted windshield of the van. "I don't know, but something tells me that they're not the friendliest people we could be running into." The feeling of a fire sparking in the back of Luca's head began to engulf his brain, his vision growing blurry. "Put it in reverse."

It was too late. The van had challenged the two men. The driver of the van tapped on the acceleration, the sound of the engine revving sending shivers down Luca's, who was starting to build up a line of sweat around his forehead, spine. "Yeah, you've got the right idea, stranger." Buster extended his left arm, resting his hand on the back of Luca's head rest as Buster looked out of his back window. The moment the truck started to edge backward, the attacking van floored the acceleration. The first thing Buster heard was the sound of tires burning, and then his eyes jumped to face the front again. The moment Buster saw that the front of the van was seconds away from crunching the front of his truck, his foot hit the ground.

The vehicle began to barrel backward, just barely missing contact with the utility van. Buster and Luca might have been on the fast track to escape, but the opposing vehicle was relentless. As the truck shot backward the van stayed inches off of the front at all times. The driver must have been calm and laughing at the pained expression on Buster's face, his teeth clenched and jaw taut as he focused on getting them off of that god damn bridge. Luca squirmed in his sweat as his clothes started to dampen. A heat had taken over his body, bringing his temperature higher and higher. "Hold on, stranger!" Pulling an old Fast & Furious trick, Buster managed to do the perfect combination of the right things at the right time, because the tail of the truck whipped around the face of the van, Buster managing to violently circle around to the other side of the van. They weren't trapped anymore.

Luca had seemed like he had fallen unconscious - at least in appearance. His eyes had shut on themselves, and he was slumped against his chair, his body not moving. "Come on, wake up," Buster's eyes went from Luca to the now unmoving van. Was this really the time to be sleeping? On the inside however, Luca was very much awake. His vision had filled with images of explosions burning bright whites and dark grays. He could feel the wind rushing past him, he could feel the power bursting through him. Somehow he knew what had happened; his mutation finally activated itself. Finally? What is that supposed to mean? Luca didn't know anything about mutations, he hardly even knew what a superhero was. Still, the knowledge clicked instantly.

The driver's and passenger's doors to the van opened up. Buster could feel a wave rush across his body. A wave of what though? As Buster reached down and grabbed the hammer he kept between the seats, he realized what it was; adrenaline. He kicked his door open and jumped out, watching as the driver and passenger of the van hopped out. Buster was so ready to crack some skulls, at least he was, until the van started to shake violently. Suddenly the two back doors flew off, slamming on the ground and sliding for a few feet. The "person" inside the van looked more like a ball of playdough than anything; he was far too big to be stuffed in a space that small. He climbed out, revealing to be the eight foot seven, eight hundred pound Monolith, and he looked hungry.

"Yup," Buster said as he climbed back into the car, shutting the door. "That's not happening today."

Luca's chest started to heave at a violent pace. There was no way his heart was supposed to be moving as quickly as it was, but Buster didn't have time to show concern. The fact that he could actually hear Luca's heart thumping hard against his chest should have complicated things a little bit more than Buster was acknowledging. He slammed his foot on the gas, an idea popping into his head. No matter where Buster tried to go, this obnoxiously large ball of play-dough was going to catch up and puree them anyway. Might as well try a little bit of offense before that time came. "Buckle up," Buster said to his pained companion, using one hand to put on his own seat belt. "We're not dying like ducks, we're dying like lions."

The hood of the truck swung around as Buster circled the sandy haired driver of the van, quickly opening his door so that he could smack the driver with it as the truck made a doughnut movement around him. The door slammed hard into the man's side, causing Buster to let out a whoop of victory as the driver crashed to the ground. That was one problem figured out, but what next? Suddenly Monolith's foot crashed down against the hood of the car, sending the tail end of the truck upward. Buster's head slammed against the steering wheel as he cursed at himself. "Oh yeah very smart Buster, you just had to try and impress yourself." He unclipped his seat belt as he felt the truck begin to rise up into the air. He reached over, quickly tugging Luca's seat belt out of the clip. It was strange, because just leaning over Luca, he could feel how much heat was radiating from his skin.

Suddenly, a voice came from outside the truck. "Aye, big guy." The voice had a thick English accept, and it dripped with confidence. "Put the truck down or else my friends and I are going to have to take you for a little swim."

"Yeah but Scott, isn't he a bit....big?" Who was that? He sounded like a teenager.

"Shut up Spence, let me have my cool crossover cameo."

"Sorry Scott."

---

Fifteen Minutes Ago

---

Monkey's lips wrapped around the hot dog, lines of perfectly straight ketchup and mustard rubbed against his tongue as he basked in the glory of god's gift to the animal kingdom. "Hey Dae Dae, you know what would make this even better?"

"If you stopped talking." Kang-Dae pushed out in a monotone as he tapped his foot on the gas pedal, the stop light finally turning great.

"No, you grumpy prune, if you put on some Elvis Presley."

"The king," His eyes never left the road, and his voice failed to find any emotion. "Is dead." The city had been put behind them now. After Kang Dae stopped to make his pick up - okay time out, hang on. I'm getting ahead of myself. Let me tell you why Monkey was bored for forty five minutes in a parking lot, waiting in a hot car without the windows down or his favourite Bon Jovi album.

Kang-Dae told his partnered primate that the kind of people he was getting in touch with weren't the most patient people. When asked why that affected Monkey, the only thing that Kang-Dae would tell him was that "It becomes your problem when they cut your tongue out because they're tired of hearing your voice." It was probably a bad idea to spend over twenty minutes telling Kang-Dae the history of nutella, or maybe the bad idea was reciting the alphabet using swear words and insults. It probably didn't help that after he finally finished reciting grown up swear words, he also included a "Toddler Edition" where he just made up different silly sounding forms of profanity. It was just so strange being out of jail so abruptly. Even goldfish have time to adjust to the water. Monkey dove right into the deep end without even knowing what life on the outside would be like. The biggest similarity between jail and the outside world is no matter what, someone is always going to try punching Monkey for running his mouth too much. He had faced plenty sloberknockers during his time in jail, and used to atually fight back. Eventually, however, he just got tired of fighting for himself that he started to take the beatings. He missed the days of fighting in order to protect others. It just didn't feel the same when the fight was over self preservation instead of the well being of those around him.

It was simple. Every modern society needed three main components; the innocent, the evil, and those balancing in the middle. Every hero and villain always started at some form of innocents. Each person is given opportunities along their path through life. Each opportunity decides how far down the scale they'll go. They build from their experience and can either harness themselves into a protector or a destroyer. Monkey wanted to be as far from the villainous path of evil, but how far could he get when his role was designed to sit in the middle? "Where are we going anyway?"

The bridge that Kang-Dae needed to cross was coming up. Just a minute or so and they'd be there. "My own personal safe house. The people I work for set up a base of operations outside of the city for me, whenever I need to lay low and prepare for a job." The car turned down a winding road, leading up to the bridge. "We need to go over the plan and get a good night's rest. I want to go over the equipment with you, and show you how it all works. Plus, we need to see if your new suit fits."

Suddenly the car stopped. They weren't even on the bridge yet, but the fight of a monolithic cretin terrorizing a car smaller than himself was just too much to behold while focusing. Oh. Fuck. Monkey opened his door and got out of the car.

"Looks like you fellas have a very big problem." Monkey called out to whoever it was in the car. He rested his hands on his door and leaned forward. Was there anyone still in that car? Maybe Monolith already got to them, but didn't realize. No, Monolith wasn't stupid. He reminded him of a man he once knew, honestly. The figment of Monkey's past was one of the strongest men he ever met, both mentally and physically. The only problem was the main similarity between the two men; they had brains that could function better than most people's, but they just decide not to use their brains to their fullest potential.

Kang-Dae hadn't been as quick to jump out of the vehicle. He had to access the situation first. There were two men and a monster. One of the men was hurt, that was clear. The man, let's call him Slick , who boasted a head of sandy hair, well kept and gelled back. He wore a cheap looking three piece suit with a striped tie that didn't match the colour scheme of his jacket. How disgusting. Kang-Dae would give anything to rough this man up, nobody frustrates Kang-Dae like his tie did and got away with it. "You're not going to be a problem, are you, Slick." Kang-Dae muttered to himself as he watched Slick hunch over, grasping his stomach as if he were attempting to deal with some form of abdominal pain. His buddy, however, was answering Monkey's calls. Let's call this guy Jack. He was honing in on Monkey, walking quickly and with urgency down the bridge to close the distance between the vehicle and himself. "I hate that you're always talking," Kang-Dae huffed out as he kicked open his door. "Remind me to tell you about the man who met his echo." Kang-Dae reached over quickly, grabbing the case for the Conmen CD that Monkey had made the two of them listen to.

"Oh yeah?" Monkey watched as Jack had gotten to the hood of the car. Monkey pushed his door closed so that the two men were now staring each other down. "Please tell me he kicks his echo's ass like I'm about to do to this guy."

[FONT=Marcellus, serif]The case spun through the air like a square Frisbee, striking Jack in the side of the head. "No." Kang-Dae said bluntly as Jack fell to the ground with a heavy thump. "He fell in love with the sound of his own voice and fell down the well." Monkey blinked. He looked down at the now fallen man, who was looking up at the sky with hazy eyes. There was no way he wasn't seeing stars and rocket ships.

"If you do that I'm going to throw you down a well." Monkey's voice was stern and serious. He was as pissed as a man with a big smile across his face could be. He saw Kang-Dae had started walking toward Slick and Monolith, and followed suit.

"How am I going to feed my family if I'm stuck in a well?" Monolith had spotted how close they were getting. He bellowed out a primal roar that caused birds to leave their perches and dramatically flea to the South. Kang-Dae reached out, grabbing Slick by the jacket. Planting his left foot down, he spun his shoulders with as much force as he could and launched Slick into the driver's side door of his own van. His body dented against the door with a heavy crunch, followed by the shattering of Kang-Dae hitting Slick with a right hook that caused his head to hit the window with enough force to cause what used to be a window to crumble into shards and pieces. "Are you going to send money to my family when I can't get out?"

There was a loud howl of laughter that caught Kang-Dae's attention. He looked over to the other side of the bridge, spotting Scottt sitting on the hood of his car, Spence beside him reading a book. There looked like a third person was sitting in the car, maybe a woman? "You sure told him!" Scott called as he stood up, jumping off the hood. "Are you guys like superheroes or comedians? I'm hearing more joking than any world protecting superhero dialogue."

Spence didn't even look up from the pages of his thick, leather bound text. "Be nice, Scott."

Scott's hand ruffled the inattentive Spence's hair as he stepped forward. "Wait in the car, I'm just going to make sure they're okay." Scotty knew that it wasn't a matter of being okay or not. He wanted to help, but he didn't want that to start becoming expected of him. His work with the Seven is strictly the department's way of showing Cyclone respect, but he could never take up the mantle of a crime fighter full time. He pulled his fingerless gloves on, rubbing his palms together. As his hands moved in a circular motion, his left hand clockwise and his right counter-clockwise, his eyes started to flutter closed. What Scott saw can't be described just yet, that secret isn't ready to be leaked out to the general public now. It's far too soon. But, with that being said, it was enough for Scott to stand down the moment his eyes opened back up.

The Brit's eyes scanned the scene playing out in front of him. Kang-Dae and Monkey were fine. There was no way they'd lose this fight, at least not with what was about to happen. Scott stuck his hands in the air. "My work is done here, fellas. You're going to be just grand. Gotta run now though, tea time calls."

Wait a second. Monkey knew this guy. The pale skin with purple tinges on the cheeks, the inhuman size, and odds are if you were to dismember him, he'd just have a snack and regenerate. "Hang on, what's Tommy Giovanni's guys doing here?" Monkey wanted to react to the joke. He really did. The problem was that now that Tommy's guys were back in town, something big was going down. Tommy had been run out of town a long time ago, and it was all thanks to N-

The car that Monolith had his hands wrapped around exploded. I'm sorry to word it so bluntly and unoriginally. Would you prefer I tell you how the flames weren't normal fire? The explosion sounded more like a long hiss, followed by a metallic popping sound. The flames were a pale white, and somehow they looked like they were....thick? Thick globules of flame? No, this could only what Professor Phasma had coined as "plasma". The flames from the car rushed up Monolith's arm, catching quicker than the dock that was covered in oil from The Punisher (2004). While Monkey would never turn to that film as a credible reference for how quickly gasoline caught, he would admit that Monolith's arm lit up faster than anything Monkey could compare it to aside from that. It was like a freak show; the clown attempting to put the fire spreading across his body off. With the flaming vehicle now literally nothing more than a liquid puddle on the ground, floating in the sky was one of the most magnificent sights Monkey could see;

The being looked as though he was made of pure plasma, yet the ginger that sat in it's arms was untouched. He glowed beautifully, his plasma shell ceasing to breath.

The reborn Luca's feet touched the ground. His body slowly phased back into that of his oh so handsome self, Buster climbing out of his arms. Though he was butt ass naked, that truly didn't matter. Luca was recharged, and ready for a fight. There was a subtle flash, and Luca's plasma form phased back into reality. As soon as he had transformed, his body shot forward like Superman rushing his opponent, his arm chambered and ready to land a punch. Luca shot upwards the moment he reached Monolith, his fist pounding into the behemoth's chin. Monolith's feet left the ground, but only a few inches. Luca might not have been given enhanced strength, but from the angle came in, at the speed that he was flying at, and then the momentum of his swing truly beat gravity at it's own game.

Monolith's arm still on fire, his feet landed just as Luca hit him with a left hook that burned bright, leaving a sizzling fist mark on his cheek as he fell to the ground. Monkey slipped, slamming to the ground while Kang-Dae and Buster reached for each other, grabbing each other's hands as Monolith landed. The bridge shook and rumbled, the foundation violently bursting into rubble and dust. The bridge broke into two, Monolith falling into the water below. "Come on!" Buster shouted as Luca ascended, watching as the two halves began to crumble, break and fall down into the water. Buster and Kang-Dae had used enough common sense to use each other to try and keep themselves steady, but clearly Monkey hadn't been nearly as lucky. He was on his ass, watching as the platform crumbled from under him.

"Monkey!" Kang-Dae attempted to jump forward, wanting to lunge right off the bridge and toward his descending comrade. A burst of white flashed past him, causing Kang-Dae to stop dead in his tracks. He knew what that was; Luca heading to Monkey. Kang-Dae danced backward, the ground trying to give out under him. He spun around, instantly being greeted by Buster who reached out and gave Kang-Dae his hand. With Buster throwing a strong swing, and Kang-Dae pushing off hard enough from the now destroyed ground, Buster managed to get Kang-Dae far enough from the edge that the two could start their run to Kang-Dae's car. With the ever expanding edge just bordering on Buster's heels, the chase was officially on.

The fall seemed endless. The primate had realized that he was already dead. He figured he lost his life the moment he hit the water. If he had a physical body, he probably would have smiled at knowing he died doing what he did best; trying. Trying to save people. He's saved plenty of people when he was alive, though he didn't get to do a lot of what he wanted. There were still roller coasters to ride, villains to defeat, and he died without ever seeing what the hype about museums was. As he fell he had squeezed his eyelids together as tight as he could. He knew that the end caught up with him, because he could see the bright blinding light as Heaven's gates opened for his soul to ascend to. Heaven, huh? Of all the places he could have went.

Was that day salvation? Did he redeem himself by giving his life for whoever that was in the car? Monkey didn't even get a chance to laugh at the Brit's joke. Maybe there'd be comedians in Heaven. Well, that was obvious. It's such a shame that Elvis probably won't be up there, but at least he'd finally be able to meet Hannah. He hadn't even seen pictures. He just got the news from Warden Cusack a month after the accident happened. That very day, he swore off ever using explosives. They said the explosion was caused by a propane tank that reportedly blew up on itself, killing everyone in the house but one person. How could Monkey ever think about an explosion without thinking about her...

Kang-Dae looked down at where the bridge used to be. Buster stood beside him and let out a long winded whistle. "So, that really didn't go the way I figured it would." He scratched the back of his head, his expression filled with concern, yet still carried enough hints to show that he was pretty proud of the group.

"Yeah, it was pretty cool when he transformed." Kang-Dae turned around, looking at Luca as he landed, Monkey curled up in his arms. It was clear that Monkey had started to cry. His eyes were splotchy and red, and glistening streaks marked the waterfall of tears that carried itself across his cheeks and kissed his jawline.

"You feeling better, stranger?"

Luca nodded, placing Monkey back on his feet. His eyes were still frozen shut. Luca didn't realize that Monkey was so caught up in his thoughts that he didn't realize that the two of them had even landed yet. "Yeah, I'm okay now. Who were those guys?"

"Don't ask me. You're the terminator on a mission, remember?" A terminator? That didn't sound like a title Luca could get behind. In his head he brought up that picture of the woman. Was he supposed to kill her? No, he was told that she was going to save the world. There's no way that there was going to be anybody losing their lives.

"Haha," the familiar sound of Monkey's laugh caught Kang-Dae's attention. "Tea time. Classic."

​

 

[CloudyBlueDay]

Hello, Neighbor!
introducing Lawrence Archambeau, wwith @Seductress

Everyday this hero business was getting a little more real.

Lawrence hadn't really come back to America with the intention of becoming a superhero. It was more about finding a place to make his own; a place to build a life, to enjoy stability, a 9-5, make some actual friends he wouldn't have to worry about leaving the next morning. Despite it being a good five years since he'd planted his roots in DC, the revolving door that was his childhood still haunted him, and he tried to keep his focus on things he could control. So, with the execution of his life plan going decently smoothly, how exactly had he ended up with a letter under his door to meet with the chief of police?

He really didn't know. But a voice that had been growing rather loud inside his head lately buzzed with excitement about it.

Lawrence had fairly impressively grabbed the handles of his steady-life bike. He had a well paying job, a cushy apartment, and even a few friends, and that was all it took to label someone as successful, right? Still, something deep within him craved more. He wanted an understanding of his abilities, to the farthest extent. He wanted to be sure that his life wasn't a product of subconscious manipulation, that he was the true master of this strange extension of his body; his powers. And yeah, he wanted a cool training montage. How else was he gonna get it if he didn't get out there and fight crime?

And then there was the other side of things - the growing sense of unease he felt watching everything unfold on the news from the comfort of his couch. There were heroes out there, fighting their hardest, fighting against crazy psycho villains that just kept on getting more and more psycho. He had power too. He could do something! So why wasn't he? Sure, he was a little green on the nose. He hadn't had a kung-fu master or escaped a secret laboratory. But he could be someone, something more, and he wanted to help. If he could, why shouldn't he?

Uh, you could get killed? The logical angel on his shoulder reminded him.

Eh. He was riding a little too high to worry about that.

Lawrence had decided it was too late to back out now. Wayne also… had sort of seen him trying to re-enter his building through the window after a failed attempt to persuade some criminals not to rob a bank. Simply put, the guy had leverage, but not only that, he had connections. Intel. Opportunities. So when that letter slipped under his door, detailing a meeting with the promise of an opportunity to do something right, he couldn't say no.

The sun had started to dip as Lawrence left his apartment and made his way to the designated cafe a few blocks over, peering over his shoulder to see if anyone was following, though he wasn't sure why anyone would. This certainly felt straight out of some drama TV show which Lawrence felt his life was well on its way to becoming. Dressed in a simple button down and slacks, he entered the cafe and scoured the seating area for the familiar stoic face. There, in the back.

Despite all his attempts to quell his emotions, as Lawrence slid into the chair opposite Wayne, a certain uneasy yet curious energy radiated off the young vigilante, seeping into the air and coating the room, infecting those around with a foreign sense of disquiet.

"Evening," Lawrence murmured with a polite nod of the head. "Are you, ah, getting anything to drink?"

The gentleman looked up from the folder that sat in front of him. A slight smile crossed his aging face as he listened to Lawrence's warm greeting. "Evening. Yeah, I'm thinking about it." Coffee. Lord, did he ever need it.

The day had been long and filled with stress and far too much action for his liking. Wayne wanted little more than to sprawl out in bed and let sleep take him, but he knew he had a job to do. The police chief's job was never done, especially not when he knew that his own police force couldn't handle some of the threats that had taken over the cities' rising crime rates. As much as the Brit wanted to rely on his own force, he just couldn't.

"We can either get drinks and make small talk," Wayne said as he slid the file over toward the opposite seat. "or we can cut the small talk and get down to business. Either way, I don't want to be here for too much longer."

Alright then. Right down to business it was. While Lawrence wasn't going to admit he wouldn't have minded a moment to sip some overpriced coffee, that wasn't what Wayne was here for, so he didn't take it personally. His eyes followed the file pushed his way, manilla and unlabeled, just like every other file out there in the world. So… normal. Yet so obviously not. Lawrence had to admit, he felt a little badass. This scene could have easily been pulled straight out of his favorite action movie. Somehow he was the star. Okay, maybe not the star. The sidekick. The subplot. The random pedestrian?

Before he could flip open the folder the waitress arrived in front of them, hair gathered in a sleek ponytail and looking a little tired. "Anything I can get for you gents?"

Offering the server a warm smile, Lawrence looked back to Wayne. His posture seemed worn, like it'd been a long day. He imagined a man like him had a lot of things on his plate, an increasingly busying schedule. So he made an educated guess. "Two coffees, I believe."

Wayne couldn't help but pull his attention toward the comforting promises of coffee. He brought his hand up, scratching at an itch with his wrist. He nodded to the server as his eyes looked toward the small basket on the table. It was filled to the brim with sugar, sweetener, milk and creamer packets. He couldn't help but feel like it had been a slow day in terms of customers. Either that, or they had recently restocked the baskets. Wayne didn't really care to figure out that mystery, seeing as how it truly didn't matter.

"Coffee it is." Wayne smiled lightly as he looked around. There was one person. Two people. Three. There were only three customers lingering around, and it seemed safe enough to openly speak about their business. "I trust that you kept yourself safe during the shenanigans that happened today?" As much as he knew this kid, Lawrence, was attempting to solidify his name as a hero, Wayne was even more certain that the boy wasn't ready to take on the likes of mass slaughter and terrorist attacks.

The best option for helping his neighbour was to prepare him for what he was going to have to face. He could spoon feed him information on issues and situations he would be able to handle; Wayne could put together missions specifically to measure Lawrence's current skill set, and build up his abilities. He was going to need to create a reputation, get noticed. Wayne figured he could vouch for him and recommend the hero to Taffer and Pearson, but he would have to know[/] that Lawrence could handle himself.

"I'm assuming you saw the news today. I wouldn't even be surprised if you could feel the gunfire from the building. Shit really got out of hand."

Sending the server off with a polite thank you, Lawrence turned his attention back to Wayne. He cringed just the slightest at the mention of the mess that had occurred today. Kept himself safe? Well, he'd tried. Definitely fought the urge to run into the fire. It was hard not too, but he couldn't help but feel for an attack so massive, so violent and physical, he would be more of a hindrance than a help. He wasn't a heavy lifter. No super strength, no invulnerability, none of that. He'd probably be dead before he could coax someone into taking a nice little nap.

"Ah, yeah. I watched. I heard it all. I… Trust me, I wanted to, but I know my limits. I think that fight was above my paygrade, as much as I wanted to help." He sighed and sat up a little straighter, forcing himself to overlook the guilt. "I'm more useful in the quiet spaces, right now. I can do a lot of good from the dark." These words were spoken with much more confidence, jaw tightening with a sense of grim realization. Lawrence knew he wasn't up to par with the big leagues yet, but that didn't mean he was useless. And when your neighbor was the chief of police and head of metahuman relations, well, he didn't feel wrong in thinking there was a place for him in the superhero world.

With that, Lawrence flipped open the folder. "What've you got for me?"

"I've got your chance to step into the spotlight." Wayne reached toward the basket, scooping up three little packages of cream and setting them vertically in front of him, his spoon taken from the napkin roll and placed beside the display of dairy. "Yesterday, a meta who goes by the name of Sadist was apprehended after a fight with The Night Watcher, Iron Head and Transfer. Luckily, the fight was contained enough to only include damage to the surrounding area, and didn't include any casualties or injuries to civilians."

The fight was something to behold, in all honesty. Wayne hadn't been able to see the fight as it played out, but he had seen clips from CCTV footage. Viewing the footage would probably make some good homework in terms of teamwork and using each other's abilities to the team's advantage, but that would come later. First, Lawrence was going to need to focus on working on his own before he can learn to work with a team.
"Now, where do you come in? I don't know how filled in you are on your superhero history. Everything you need to know is written down in that folder, but I might as well give you the Cliff Notes version of it while we're here." A yawn broke through his dialogue, causing him to stretch his hands above his head. "Excuse me, sorry. Anyway, it's common knowledge that Joseph Pearson used to be a super. His arch nemesis was a man named Ben Verrick, who went by the alias King Nothing. After years of getting his ass kicked and his plans foiled, he finally decided to change his attitude,"

"Ben Verrick finally saw the potential in reforming those touched by evil. He financed programs meant to fix the same attitude that he once had. After a few too many mistrials and failed attempts, he helped to create Ben Verrick's Institution for Meta Rehabilitation. On the surface, it looks like a regular prison. Underground, one of the law enforcement's best kept secrets, sits the single most high tech prison meant for housing only the most dangerous super criminals that can be found across America. You following me so far?"

Lawrence blinked in surprise. So much for operating in the dark, then. Though he wasn't sure why he'd expected anything less; Wayne wasn't playing with small fish. Good, good. This was what he needed, right? Shaking away jitters, refusing to allow his nerves too much thought, Lawrence's eyes scoured the contents of the files as Wayne spoke. He tried not to smile at the man's stifled yawn. It was a little funny to see such a serious man deterred by such a simple signal of exhaustion.

"Following, sir." He nodded resolutely, fingertips gliding along the pages. Sadist was definitely a big fish. Night Watcher, Iron Head, Transfer. Those were big names. Woah. How lucky did he get with his neighbor? "All those big bads have to end up somewhere… fun for us that they're underneath our feet, eh?" He attempted an awkward chuckle but glossed over it by clearing his throat. "I-I'm following. Where do I come in?"

A smile crossed Wayne's lips once more at the quip. "Precisely." Wayne nodded slowly in approval as Lawrence acknowledged his understanding, and seemed fairly eager -if not a bit nervous- to get this show on the road. "Somewhere in that pile of papers includes a write up on a state of the art covert prisoner transport vehicle. It's designed to look like nothing more than a semi-trailer truck, but on the inside of the trailer are cells dedicated to holding meta prisoners, and are generally designed to accommodate the different powers specific to each perpetrator."

Tired eyes looked around once again. Now, it was time to get down to the meat and potatoes, so it was imperative that nobody overheard the details of the mission. It was never easy to tell who was listening in. "All I need you to do is follow the truck, starting from the specified pick up zone -which you can find in the folder, all the way to Ben Verrick's. If anyone tries to intercept the transport, which I can almost guarantee they will, I'm going to need you to back up any hero who shows up to solve the problem. I'm confident that The Night Watcher will most likely be the hero on the scene, so in the case that Sadist gets loose, you're not going to have to worry about taking him down. Let The Night Watcher or whoever shows up handle the big guy, while you play crowd control and handle whoever shows up to free the big fella."

Oh. You know what? That sounded manageable to Lawrence. Yeah, giant spooky bad guy by the name of Sadist was in the armored car, but it wasn't even actually his job to fight him off. Cool, cool. He could totally do that. His eyes widened a bit in excitement as Wayne mentioned that the most likely hero to show was The Night Watcher. As in, The Night Watcher. To be on a mission with him? That was more than Lawrence could have hoped for.

"Sounds right up my alley." He said, trying not to let too much of his eagerness poke through the confidence. "Crowd control's a specialty of mine. Whatever help the hero on scene needs, he's got." Pretty quick jump from shadows to spotlight, but this actually seemed like perfectly in the middle. Night Watcher would be handling the big guns, and the support was equally as important. With a seemingly normal truck heading straight through busy streets, keeping people out of the way was necessary. And if he could maybe help the Night Watcher in keeping the Sadist calm and sedated, well, that was a win win. "When's this going down?"

Perfect. This kid, Lawrence, was already proving himself. If Wayne was able to come to him whenever he needed to fill in some holes and smooth out the waters, then Wayne would for sure be a returning customer to the hero's service. "You're going to be required to be up and ready to rock n roll for eleven in the morning tomorrow. That means if you're doing a patrol tonight, which I don't suggest, you shouldn't be out too long.This isn't the sort of thing that you can do on a half full tank. You'll need all of your energy, focus and enthusiasm."

What else was he going to need to know? In the end, this really isn't rocket science. It's a routine transport and protect; something that so many cops tend to fuck up on. Back home in England, Wayne had seen so many officers either get hurt or die on missions like this, all because they weren't properly prepared for the operation. "Make sure nobody else finds out about this. I wouldn't even discuss this with other supers you might run into before the mission begins. If word gets out, you'll have every hero in the city trying to get in on the action. I'm vouching for you, not them. So I need you to be the only one that comes to watch The Night Watcher's back,"

"There will be four unmarked vehicles with officers in them following the truck at a distance. I promise, the team that comes to rescue Sadist will most likely take out the officers first in hopes to snag the package before any heroes stick their noses into their business. I suggest you keep a distance, stick to the shadows, and only make yourself known what it's time to make yourself known. Think you can do that for me?"

Lawrence nodded along, hanging onto and agreeing with every statement from Wayne's mouth. This sounded almost too perfect for him. Out there, but not too out there, in the spotlight but not center stage, and the perfect amount of risk. Not too many supers got to mentally prepare themselves for an entire night beforehand. It was like spoon fed superhero work. He didn't mind it at all, at this point. Maybe later on he'd get a little more in the middle of it all. Not sure that's the best, thing… but… you're getting ahead of yourself, Lawrence. Back to the present.

"Lips are sealed." Lawrence said, an easy promise to make. His superhero alter ego was a well kept secret, especially from the few people close to him. It was just better that way, easier. Plus, he didn't really…. Have any superhero friends, so. No one would really get it. Lawrence scoffed at the thought of telling Jem all the shit he was getting himself into. He'd lose his mind.

Everything seemed perfect, except for one thing that rubbed Lawrence wrong. He opened his mouth to seal the deal, shake Wayne's hand, but hesitated, fingers curling into his palms. Of course, there were going to be officers surrounding the caravan. But if Wayne predicted they were going to be taken out so quickly… it just seemed like needless suffering. "The team that's coming to retrieve Sadist. Are they… do they, you know, shoot to kill?" He asked quietly. It might have seemed like the green hero was asking in fear of his own life, but it wasn't exactly the case. He'd rather show himself sooner than later if it meant protecting those nonmutant officers.

It's not that the question had caught him off guard; not much surprised Wayne anymore. He had seen too much and been through too many missions to not know what to expect. Still, he couldn't help but feel like that question was a bit...yeah, he didn't have an accurate word to describe it. It was a fair question, but still. "You know," he said, rubbing his clean shaven chin with his hand. "How the fuck am I supposed to know?"

A laugh bellowed from the pit of Wayne's stomach. "I don't know who's coming after him. For all I know it could be an army of dwarfs armed with rubber chickens. All I know is that he has some pretty powerful friends. He works for an illusive man we've deemed The German. We don't know what exactly the German and his men have been after, but they haven't left a body count behind them. They've mainly been ripping off North Star Labs and pharmacies linked to them. We think that there's something much bigger at play, but all I can tell you is that so far, from what I know, fatalities aren't on our list of concerns right now."

Lawrence was at first a little stunned by the laugh that spilled out of Wayne, but just as quickly as it came that apprehensiveness melted away, leaning back in his chair with a little laugh of his own. In the midst of all this planning, this stardom and this danger, he'd forgotten the man he was talking to was human. His neighbor, no less. A good man doing honest work. Lawrence laughed along with him, tenseness easing from his posture. What information Wayne did give him only comforted him further. Seemed like this group wasn't terribly unmerciful, despite being the villains.

Before he could say anything else the waitress returned with two steaming cups of coffee. A little late, Lawrence realized, but he didn't really mind. Flashing her a smile he took a sip, basking in the warmth it sent down his chest. This was a new start for him. A new chance. He was gonna do it right.

"Then… I'm your guy." Lawrence said firmly, putting down the cup of coffee and extending his hand to Wayne. "I'll be there and ready tomorrow. Lips sealed, fully rested, ready to make this ride as smooth as possible."

"Good lad," Wayne said, not taking his eyes off of Law as he reached down, pouring his cream packets into his coffee one by one. As soon as his two sugars were in, and the liquid had been stirred, Wayne reached out and returned the shake. "If you pull this off, which I know you'll be able to, you'll be hearing a lot more from me. You're making my job a hell of a lot easier." The taste of the coffee stained his tongue, lingering longer than he wanted. It just made him sip once again to attempt to replace the taste, but it was just an unending cycle. No matter how great coffee tasted, it still made it difficult to save as much coffee as he could instead of chugging it all back in one go.

"I'm sure The Night Watcher is going to be pretty grateful as well. He usually gets his shit rocked when he faces multiple enemies without any backup. He's good at getting the job done, but the less time he spends getting his ass kicked, the faster the job can get done. We need to stress that this needs to be carried out as quickly as possible to eliminate any unnecessary damage done to city property."

A slight brush crept across Lawrence's cheeks. He knew he had sold himself pretty well, but to hear Wayne so confident in his abilities made him that much more eager to prove himself. "That's the goal. Make everyone's job easier." He'd been working for this - late night patrols, small time robberies, petty crime. Making sure he could twist feelings the right way and at the right time, sway people one way or the other, and most of all, control his abilities in even the simplest moments. All this uptalk, though, reminded him of a bubbling fear, an ever present question he'd nearly forgotten. What if he'd just… edged Wayne the right way, without even noticing? Convinced him that he was the perfect fit, totally skilled, could do no wrong. It had happened before.

No, no. Lawrence chastised himself. He'd been watching himself the whole time. He'd been nothing but cool, even, catching every emotion and putting it back in its box before it crept out too far. Wayne had faith in him because he'd shown himself as confident, reliable, useful. And that was everything he wanted so desperately to become. Deep breath. This was alright.

"It's an honor to get to work alongside him, really." Lawrence was a little more subdued this time, though still smiling pleasantly. "But I'll be sure to make it clear I'm grateful he's there too… I'm not much of a powerhouse, especially not like he is." He nodded again. "I fully understand. As little damage as possible."

The steam rose from the warm liquid in the vinyl white mug as Wayne wrapped his hand around it. He could feel the scolding temperature warming his skin as he decided to give it a few quick stirs. The flavor didn't feel as balanced as he wanted. It was likely that most of the sugar just crystalized at the bottom of the cup. Oh well, a few flicks of the spoon would probably fix that. Either way, it was probably not going to be the only cup of coffee he had that night.

"Make sure you don't drink too much coffee tonight," He grunted, taking another sip. Yup, that was much better. "It's almost eight already, don't want you up all night because of too much caffeine." The chief knew about long, sleepless nights caused by too much caffeine all too well. He generally enjoyed a shot or two of Bailey's mixed into his mug, instead of cream, but he had to deal with the cards he was dealt. Another sip graced the buds on his tongue and caused his heart to internally buzz with joy.

"That file has everything you're going to need to know about Sadist, and his brother Surge, all we know about The German and whatnot. Advanced blueprints about the semi are also in there, meaning it's going to have to be shredded and burned as soon as the mission is over and done with. You can keep the information on the villains and the little history lesson I included, but I wouldn't suggest leaving the documents out in the open where anyone can come across them. I have one last rule; don't complicate things. Do what you know, and don't take any chances. You'll risk making your life harder than it needs to be."

The coffee cup was halfway to Lawrence's lips when Wayne warned against it. He paused, but took another sip anyway, knowing it was probably going to be one of his last. The man was right. Too much coffee now wasn't going to help him in the long run, though he wasn't sure how much sleep he was going to get now anyway. With tomorrow being, well, maybe one of the most important days ever, he didn't think it'd be so easy to drift off. No, his plans included committing every damn word of this file to heart, and frantically stitching up the holes in his hero getup to make sure it looked halfway decent. Then maybe he'd get some shut eye.

"Just ordered it for the warmth… should've gotten hot chocolate." He admitted with a small hum, putting the cup down. As much as he wanted to make the truck's blueprint his new bedframe poster, that wasn't gonna happen. "Not to worry, I've got a paper shredder on standby." Lawrence's apartment was a mess of books, papers, documents. The other files wouldn't be so easily found if someone were to go looking, not in the mess that was his home.

"I've never been one to try and go out of my way to make things harder." He offered jokingly, allowing himself one final sip. Sure, you just accidentally manipulate people, but we'll gloss over that. Lawrence mused that for most of his life, he hadn't been the one making things too particularly hard. No, more like the one person carting him around the entire world. Though it was easy to blame his problems on her, he knew it wasn't so black and white. But whatever his life had been didn't matter now, because this job was going to go smooth. Sadist was gonna stay put, The Night Watcher was going to love him, and it was all going to be without a single misplaced touch of emotions.

Lawrence cleared his throat again. "I guess this is where I head home, then? I can't thank you enough for this opportunity. I've got no plans to let you down." Boy, did he mean it.

The boy's gests and jokes made Wayne crack a half smile. He seemed like a well meaning and proper young man. It would be a shame if he had to watch the poor boy get his butt kicked on live TV, but the news crews usually only showed up whenever the heroes found the tides of war shifting against them. For all Wayne knew Lawrence was going to hold his own perfectly and avoid any damage that could put his body at permanent risk. It would be wonderful if Conner were to hog all of the pain, but even in a perfect world guardians still got hurt on the job.

"I trust you," Wayne said as he gulped down the last of his coffee. "I wouldn't have come to you if I didn't think you're capable, so you best be keeping these promises. I don't like being let down." His eyes shifted toward the door. Everything still remained calm and there wasn't anybody attempting to rob the place or setting a bomb across the road, so maybe Wayne could finally put his mind at ease. Maybe tonight he wouldn't be forced to take his work home with him, but that was a long shot. After a day like today, what with terrorist attacks and superheroes destroying his police station, it was a little hard to keep himself off the edge.

Wayne reached into his pocket and pulled out a small wallet with the British flag on the front. He pulled out enough to cover the coffees and a fairly generous tip, and placed the bills under his white mug. "The pleasure is all mine," Wayne smiled as he reached out a hand for the young man to shake. "If you impress me tomorrow, you might just have yourself a job."

He knew he didn't have to be careful when talking like that. He liked to think he was good at disguising superhero business as regular everyday Joe business, but that also kind of went to reflect on how much the citizens of everyday life truly don't pay attention to what's happening around them. All Wayne really had to do was find a sneaky way of wording whatever point he wanted to make, or question he had to ask, and he was pretty much golden. Now that the goodbyes were over, Wayne could finally head back to his car and get himself home.

I trust you. Three simple words, yet with such heavy meaning. Trust was a fickle thing. It could be taken just as easily as it was given. Under the guise of an easy smile Lawrence released another exhale, trying to allow his worries to melt away with it. He wasn't the type of person to do something without believing wholly that he could do his best at it. But there was always that worry eating away, hissing in the back of his brain, wondering if this was just another thing he was dooming himself to fail. That he just couldn't break the patterns that held him so tight.

A noise of protest came out of him as Wayne put down cash for both their orders, but it was already too late. Brows tilted in thanks, he stood slightly out of his chair and gave Wayne a good, firm handshake. Transmitted in this touch was a rush of confidence and young resilience, intertwined with the gut-sinking feeling of dread. It only lasted as long as the handshake. "I won't let you down." He repeated. "Have a good rest of your evening, yeah? If you hear me clunking around in my place tomorrow morning, uh, don't say anything." Lawrence flashed an honest smile.

He held his composure until they were both out of the shop, and Wayne was a ways away. While they probably could have walked back together, that would have been the most awkward thing Lawrence had possibly ever experienced, and he assumed he was a busy man with plenty more to do tonight. So, when he was alone, heading back home, he did do a private little fist bump of victory. Maybe things were falling into place, maybe this was right where he needed to be. I mean, come on, an apartment right next to the chief of police? That had to mean something. His pace was brisk walking home, already counting off on his fingers the things he needed to get done before tomorrow.

...He needed to buy new knee pads.