Iron Head: Power Surge (Seductress X Mobley Eats)

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Poison X Comics Presents
Iron Head: Power Surge
The comically dressed Mr.Kringle stood there with his bare arms on his hips as the building came down around him. It was on fire, but it was hard to tell with how poor the special effects of the time was. The title villain, King Nothing, glared over at the man in the red muscle shirt and puffy red pants with white cuffs. The wig and fake beard they had John Malkovich wear made him almost unrecognizable, along with the tinted swimmer's goggles he wore over his eyes. "Last time I checked," Mr.Kringle spoke, having John Malkovich intentionally lower his voice so that it sounded a bit more thunderous (which failed completely). "And I always check twice, you're at the top of the naughty list." Mr.Kringle slammed his right fist into the palm of his left hand, before charging King Nothing, played by the, at the time up and coming, Kevin Costner.

Aside from the sounds of Mr.Kringle 2: Empire of Dirt playing from the small tube TV that sat on the round table in the middle of the warehouse, the sounds filling the building came from bored, chattering thugs who were playing cards, or sitting in fold out chairs watching the cheesy film on TV and smoking cigarettes. The weapons were already stored in crates filled with bananas, stacking one on top of the other by the large receiving door. The Irishmen were late by fifteen minutes, and the six thugs that were waiting around weren't being paid by the hour. At least they had the calming over-acting of John Malkovich to keep them from getting too bored. Those damn Irish just never seemed to be on time, no matter how many times they sold to 'em. It was hard for the boss to build a criminal empire when their main source of income kept him waiting.

Through the night a figure floated up to the top of the warehouse. Looking through the well lit panel windows at the top of the sloped roof, Anarchy counted out all of the targets she could spot. "I count five, maybe six." She said into the ear piece that Pearson had provided for the team upon hiring on with the program. It was hard to tell exactly how many of them were down there, and it was even more difficult to tell if they were armed with weapons. Due to the fact that weapons dealing is a bit of a high risk job, Anarchy would bet her entire paycheck that the lot of them had some form of firearms, pistols at least. "Expect heavy resistance."

The caravan had arrived; one jet black utility van in the front, a large semi truck with a trailer in the middle, and a second jet black utility van behind it. As they pulled up in front of the warehouse, both of the vans opened their sliding doors. Six men jumped out of each van, making for twelve total. Anarchy was on the wrong side of the building, so she couldn't see the vehicles. If she saw them, she would recognize the black pants, black dry fit long sleeves, tactical vests, ski masks and military grade fully automatic machine guns they were carrying. One of them opened the door of the trailer that was attached to the semi, revealing four Irish mobsters getting ready with dollies for the crates. One of them had a duffel bag filled with money, most likely a couple million.

Anarchy watched as the receiving door slid open. That was the signal they had discussed earlier, and knew that now was the time to strike. "Move in, now. See you down there." Using the flexibility that only came from hours upon hours of yoga, Anarchy placed her hands against the roof just under the window, before flipping herself up into the air. As she came back down, her heavy heels hit the glass of the window pane, shattering it completely. She descended down with grace, her arms spread eagle while her feet were pressed together, her purple cape soaring behind her. The glass that had shattered chased after her. She used her mind to slow herself down, also mentally grabbing a hold of the glass.

"Oh boy, now there really is a lot of you gentlemen, isn't there?" She asked as she gently touched the ground, the glass hovering behind her in multiple different sized shards.
 
Welcoming the Angels of Kickass

She could catch the whiff of about... Yep. Anarchy was like. Five total on the inside, though she knew plenty more to come once the caravan arrived. But, for now, the odds didn't seem too annoying. She had opted for crouching on the rooftop of a neighboring warehouse; it was incredibly rundown and dilapidated in comparison to their target location, but it gave Iron Head a perfect angle on the front entrance, along with keeping an eye on Anarchy's shadowy figure right across the street from her.

As the fellow hero's voice filtered into her earpiece, Iron Head placed two fingers against it and muttered, "Yeah, I'm smelling six. And their kidneys are shit." Seriously; how much vodka and fireballs and disappointment did these guys throw back on the daily? It was fucking ridiculous. She was half-tempted to concentrate of them a bit more and see if she could analyze anything else about their systems, only for her attention to snag onto a two black vans rolling up.

Oh yeah. It was almost showtime.

The moment Anarchy's cue and the shattering of glass rang out, Iron Head jumped into action. "On it." She summoned a wave of blood against the side of the building, just a few inches below roof level, and jumped over the edge. The construct caught her weight effortlessly and funneled into a slide, carrying her the rest of the way down and clearing the distance between buildings in an instant. As she neared the window exactly opposite of the one Anarchy shattered, the slide gave a support lurch and chucked her straight through the glass, her heavy metal form crashing through it in similar entrance. The blood followed her loyally, thin ribbons of crimson snaking through the lights overhead as her heavy feet crashed into the floor with a loud thunk!

The first thing Iron Head noticed was the floating shards of glass.

Second was the warehouse full of thugs, their total far more than before. Fifteen? Seventeen? Child's play. She stood back to back with Anarchy, taking in the men that surrounded them on both sides. "Evening, ladies," she drawled. Without giving the men a chance to recover from shock, Iron Head extended her hands and the wisps above them sliced through the florescent lights illuminating her half of the thugs. She watched as the massive light fixtures plummeted straight for them. A few took direct blows to the head, glass and sparks exploding into a shower, while the rest just barely jumped aside in time to avoid the brunt of impact.

No matter. They were just getting started.
 
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As soon as Iron Head began the assault, Anarchy couldn't help but smile to herself. She brought her hand down, the glass plunging into a thug who tried to get off the couch and reach for a nearby .12 gauge. The glass pieced through his chest, pretty much turning him into Swiss cheese with jelly oozing out of the holes. Oh well, lethal force is always acceptable when necessary. Anarchy raised her hand once more, the television flying into the nearest presence she could feel. That was when the muzzle flashes started, and she could hear the gunshots start to ring through the spacious warehouse.

Anarchy quickly ducked, running to the far walls, trying to reach the wooden crates. Obviously they were firing blindly, considering they didn't seem to have any night vision or anything of the likes. She managed to get herself behind the crates, noticing that while the masked men had spread out to try and find better vantage points to take the two women out, there was still three of them lined up at the door way firing blindly. This was going to be too easy. With a little struggle, she managed to fling one of the crates just above the men's head, crashing it against the door way. Frightened, they turned their weapons toward the crates. That gave Anarchy just enough time.

Anarchy was already beside the first gunman. She kicked the gun out of his hand, and then twisted her body once more to bring her heel up and mashed it against his chin. As he fell she raised her hand up, flinging the gun that was now pointed at her into the air, flipping it to point behind the masked man to fire off multiple bullets into the chest of the third man. The target who was still in front of Anarchy tried to throw a punch, but she pushed her palm into his elbow, the bone cracking and breaking through the skin on the other side. As he howled in pain, she forcefully pushed her palm against his nose and then flung him back outside. Didn't know I could do that.

The two weren't out of the woods quite yet. That was only a dent in their numbers. There was still plenty of them to go around. That was when it clicked in Anarchy's head. She's seen these guys before. Not the weapons dealers or the Irishmen who were frantically trying to get the large truck out of the area (but couldn't, due to the vans that blocked the way), but the masked men. They matched the outfits of the paramilitary terrorists from Inova Fairfax. What the fuck were they doing here, helping the Irish mob pick up weapons? This was something that the Night Watcher was going to have to hear about.
 
Despite the lack of lightning brought on by her stunt, seeing wouldn't be much of an issue neither Iron Head nor Anarchy. These men and their systems carried such a foul scent that it was impossible to ignore, pinpointing their locations equated to an infrared screen in her senses via nasal recognition. As soon as gunshots rang out, Iron Head mimicked Anarchy and made a dash for the opposite end of the warehouse while swiping her arm down.

The same blood from above split into a hailstorm of crimson spikes, then rained down on a small group of thugs. The attack skewered them like crook kebabs, their limp and bleeding bodies perched upwards like rag dolls on display. In another life, maybe Iron Head would've felt guilty about taking their lives... but hey, Anarchy was definitely using fatal force as well.

There was no room for guilt right now.

Unlike Anarchy, Iron Head wasn't nearly as fast and nimble, and a short round of bullets managed to nail the armor covering her leg. It didn't hurt, but she sure as hell felt that and knew without a hint of doubt that massive bruises would form later. Wonderful. Assholes. She slid into cover behind a wall of crates, just barely missing another load that exploded the edges of her makeshift shield into a storm of splinters.

She took advantage of the moment of reprieve to close her eyes and focus on the spikes she left behind. They splattered to the concrete and slithered stealthily to the ankles of three thugs trying to blast her to next week. With a violent jerk, they yanked the men's legs apart into a heinously painful split, their squeals ringing through the warehouse as they dropped their weapons. Blood blades driving into their chests silenced their screams--and thank God, at that. It was giving Iron Head a migraine.

"Gotta love it when the fat lady sings," she chuckled under her breath while jogging further into the maze of crates. There was still a lot more thugs to take care of... Heh. Okay. She could try that. She pulled even more blood from her system and assisted her previous batch with wielding the disregarded guns, aiming at a stack of crates resting to her far left. Triggers were pulled and the boxes exploded into another shower of shattered wood, large and dangerous splinters covering the ground. They were nearly the size of switchblades.

Iron Head scooped the splinters with a congealed sheet and raised it overhead, casting a writhing shadow over everyone in the warehouse.

Her smirk was downright smug.

"Hey, Anarchy..." Opening her palm, the sheet unfurled itself, and the splinters began to rain down towards the thugs. "Got ammo for you."
 
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There was a smirk that crossed Anarchy's face as Iron Head offered her the 'ammunition'. Nicole raised her hand, and the splinters moved in unison with her. She thrust her arm forward and sent the splinters hurling toward anyone that wasn't in cover. Obviously, anyone dumb enough to think that they didn't need to be in cover was either torn to shreds or in a massive amount of pain. It was a mix of Iron Head and Anarchy, but blood was starting to cover the floor and paint the walls. If the Night Watcher were here, he would be trying to stop the mission to scold the two about their use of deadly, lethal force. That's why Anarchy liked working with Iron Head so much. There was very little rules when it came down to how they were going to operate.

"Are you okay to wrap it up in here?" Anarchy asked as she pointed over to the Irishmen who were trying to clear an escape route for the large semi-truck. "I have some questions to ask our new friends."

Anarchy walked outside. There was one Irishman in the large truck, and the other two were trying to get into either one of the vans (which must have been a hard feat without the keys). To his horror, one of the men slowly found his feet lifting up from the ground. He was raising higher and higher until he was a few feet in the air. He finally found his way into the driver's seat of the van with a loud crash as the man was slammed right through the window. Anarchy smirked at the irony behind her handy work as she turned around in an attempt to find the other mobster attempting to break into the other getaway vehicle.

The tire iron came whooshing past her head. Luckily for Anarchy, as her powers have begun to grow and strengthen, she's built a sort of weak spider-sense, which she speculates to be a sort of psychic link to the future. Anarchy never understood why she couldn't exactly see into the future, yet she can get quick warnings as trouble was about to hit. She stepped out of the way of the curved tire iron, spotting the other mobster who was trying to get into the van. Upon a second swing, Anarchy caught his hand by the wrist tight enough for him to drop the weapon. She brought her knee up against his stomach, and then let go of her grip shortly after nailing him in the Adam's apple with a flat handed throat chop. He slunk down to the ground like he was almost lifeless, save for the fact that he was coughing.

The passenger's side door to the semi flew open, causing the last mobster to look up in shock. Terror struck him as he was pulled from the cab, and dangled in mid air in front of Anarchy. Using her powers this much...it was starting to get tiring. "The men in the mask, who are they?"

All the woman got was a laugh from the man. She really wasn't in the mood to keep playing around, so she raised her hand to him, his throat slowly starting to close and tighten. "They're the buyers," He started, which caused Anarchy to lighten her grip a little bit. Not a lot, just a little. "We are little more than the hookups. They paid us to introduce them to our suppliers."
 
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Iron Head smirked as Anarchy gladly utilized the ammo she scrounged up for her. And yet, despite the satisfaction kindling up her spine, she wasn't going to stick around and watch the attack unfold. She had enough faith in the woman's skill to see it through and, despite what others on the team may think of her, she didn't enjoy slaughter-fests, let alone watching them unravel. Thus, she was already in the process of honing in on the Irishmen Anarchy pointed out.

"Come on now." Blood slithered after the last men and coiled around their ankles before they could make an escape. "Don't leave me hanging." Iron Head snatched her hand back and yanked them onto their stomachs, dragging them back towards her even as they clawed wildly at the floor. Iron Head couldn't help but roll her eyes. Jesus, they were so fucking dramatic. With a flick of the wrist, her prey were lifted mid air and dangled upside down, taking in the slow approach of the metal-clad hero... Well. No. Hero wasn't quite the term, but a mere formality. She would deal with it.

Kinda.

She placed her focus on one thug, who was visibly shaking and sweating so much that he could fill a swimming pool. Iron Head patted him on the cheek. "Calm down. You reek of high blood pressure; at this rate, you'll have a stroke."

Despite the fear wreaking havoc through his system, he scrounged up enough suicidal confidence to flash a snarl and growl out, "Fuck you, you blood witch freakshow--"

Pack!

Whatever else he had left to say would never taste the light of day. His body fell limp after the skull rattling punch to his jaw, hanging like a wet towel on a rack. The moment Iron Head switched her gaze to the other thug, a pathetic squeak of horror escaped him and he shook his head frantically.


"O-oi! Wait! T-timeout! I don't even like that dipshit! Come on, man!"

Another punch. Another thug out cold.

"Don't blame you." With that taken care of, Iron Head started heading in the direction she'd last seen Anarchy. However, she stumbled when a pulse of discomfort coursed through her body, a massive throb that threatened to swell up her veins until they burst. "F-fucking hell," she growled between clenched teeth. God, her system was such an asshole. Suddenly, a loud and long hiss overshadowed her groan, and a thin cloud of crimson ejected from the vials on her back... Thank God. Instant relief washed over Iron Head and she remained glued in place, allowing herself a moment to recuperate. Once she was certain that the suit had done its job, she finally found Anarchy.

Right in the middle of an interrogation.

Great. Talking. Words were never Iron Head's strong suit. Huh... Buyers. Alright, then. Without sparing a word, she curled her finger in a come hither motion and dragged one of the mentioned masked men over by his ankle, and slammed him back first to the truck. He was securely pinned in place next to the man Anarchy was questioning and just barely hanging onto consciousness.

"You're a buyer. He's a hookup. One of you are bound to know who the supplier is, right?" A blood blade pried gently at the corner of her pinned target's mouth, not enough to break skin, but to inspire his imagination with something unsavory. "Right."
 
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"Do you recognize our masked friends?" Anarchy asked, looking over at Iron Head. "They look almost like those goons who attacked the hospital a couple days ago. I know that outfit from anywhere." The Irishman looked at Anarchy, and then at Iron Head, trying to get away with letting the middle man answer the questions that were being asked. "Someone better start talking, now."

Pain welled up in the man's head. He let out a scream as Anarchy connected her brain waves with his, accidentally creating that psychic wave link with him. Her anger and impatience manifested itself, wrapping around his brain and squeezing. "Okay! Okay! Fuck! I'll talk, just hang on a second."

"You better not," Came the masked man. "At least, not if you love coming home to your family at night."

"I'm nothing special, none of us are. Just the same ole' mob you guys like to use as punching bags from time to time. These guys, on the other hand, they're bad news. They need these weapons to arm their...." His words began to stutter, his tongue was falling over itself and he couldn't regain his mental footing. Due to the fact that Anarchy didn't know how to shut off that mental connection, she could feel his pain. His blood started to spark with electricity, the energy sparks getting stronger, stronger and more frequent until electricity began to surge through his body, smoke rising out of his skin. Quickly, his eyes popped and blood began to pour from the orifices of his face.

"That wasn't me," Anarchy said as she dropped the lifeless body. It was almost as if he had been strapped to an electric chair and electrocuted. She couldn't have done that even if she wanted to. "So, it's your turn to talk. I don't want to hurt you, but I can't do anything to stop my big metallic friend over here." Anarchy smiled, resting her hand on Iron Head's shoulder. Confusion crossed Anarchy's face as the masked man started laughing, which quickly turned to her being angry. That was when the hair on her arm started to stand on end.

Anarchy was thrust into the water that surrounded the North side of the warehouse. All she could feel was a bolt of electricity hit her in the back, and then she was out like a light. The attacker didn't make himself known, he just threw one more lightning bolt at Iron Head, and then one at the masked man. Before turning tail and leaving, who every the lightning user was focused all of his power, hitting the warehouse with enough lightning bolts to simulate a large tropical thunderstorm, which ended up causing the entire warehouse to burst into a raging explosion.
 
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It was quick and impossible to notice through her mask, but Iron Head shot an inquisitive look at Anarchy when she rested a hand on her shoulder. Yes. One of the targets just exploded into a light show of electricity and turned out hard fried like fair food. She was well aware that just happened. And yet, the sudden and unforeseen physical touch was what made her stomach churn with a foreign discomfort. Weird. Unusual. Too close for comfort, no matter how casual it seemed to... normal people.

If this wasn't a mission, Iron Head would've said something. In the end, she simply allowed it and forced herself to focus on the matter at hand. "She's not wrong," she drawled, a hint of a smirk pulling at her lips, "I get trigger happy. Minus the trigger. Plus the blood blade that I'll be cramming up your--!"

And then it happened.

Laughter.

Anarchy flying.

A flash of light so fleeting and powerful that it burned through her visor, nearly blinding her... Lightning. "Shit!" Hastily, Iron Head whipped around in the general direction the bolt that struck Anarchy came from, trying to sniff out the new enemy, but it was too late. She'd experienced pain before. The kind that persisted for hours after hours on end. Needles. Scalpels slicing her open. Exposing her innards to the debris of the world. Gloved hands exploring every inch of her insides.

But this... This was a new breed of pain that even Iron Head's numbed nerves couldn't handle.

Electricity crackled furiously throughout her body, the intensity increased by her giant metal conductor for a suit. A thought. A single thought occurred in fractions of a second. No, far less than that. And it was all the time she had left to come to several conclusions. One, Anarchy was unconscious in water. Not good. Two, she couldn't afford to fall. The woman would drown without help. And three, in order to do that, she would need to take drastic measures.

Just a nanosecond.

Desperately, Iron Head forced all the blood from her limbs into the core of her being, along with halving the blood supply in her brain. A nanosecond. Just a fucking nanosecond. And that was all the time needed for a majority of the currents to run its course. Shaking, she collapsed to her hands and knees, struggling to catch her breath as blood flow eased back into where it should be... Oh. Thank. Fuck. That worked. Barely. But all that mattered was that her extremities and mind were in working condition--

The concrete beneath her shook as the warehouse exploded.

"Fuck!" Iron Head dove over the edge and into the water, catching several flying pieces of shrapnel into the tough armor of her suit. The moment she hit water, a construct looped around her middle and clamped onto the edge of the ledge like a grappling hook, then produced another ribbon that dove underwater. Moments passed. One more. Another. Then another...

Anarchy's body bobbed to the surface, her and Iron Head held aloft like floaties.

Iron Head groaned. "Fuck this. I'm gonna be an alcoholic."

The life of a hero, ladies and gentlemen...
 
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It was safe to say that the masked man was dead. The hole in his chest was instantly cauterized when the bolt of lightning hit him; leaving a charred, burnt fleshy wound that had shattered his breastplate and killed him almost instantly. The figure watched his handy work from a distance, the death, the destruction, the choice Iron Head had to make. She could either submit to her wounds and help herself, or she could save Anarchy and deal with the pain even longer. The unnamed silhouette could have sent a surge of lightning into the water, killing the two of them instantly, but he had his orders. The two of them didn't know anything, and weren't considered a threat to the integrity of the mission on a grand scale.

Wake up. There was nothing but darkness, but her internal monologue was bright and colorful. You're going to die if you don't wake up, you half witted bimbo. Flail your arms, kick your legs, open your eyes and try to scream. Just do something so that you don't look completely helpless.

Anarchy's eyes flew open as she was thrust back up to the surface. Before she could start flailing out of desperation, she realized that she had been saved and that there was nothing to worry about. There's still a mission to finish. Once Anarchy managed to get a hold of herself, she weakly started paddling toward the shore, pulling herself back up on the concrete. That's when she realized how much her back was in pain. The lightning had broke the skin, and left a patch of exposed, burnt muscle near her spine. Now that really hurt.

"What the fuck just happened?" The woman asked, holding her arms out to offer help for Iron Head.

She looked around at the raging fire. There was no way that they would find any survivors; if anyone survived the initial flash over and explosion, they wouldn't be dead for long. If the cause of the explosion was gone, then it was safe to say that the mission was over. Did they fail? No. Was Anarchy proud with this outcome? Fuck no. There was something big going on, and now the two had absolutely no proof to show for it. "Let's not tell the rest of the team about this one, okay?"
 
"Bullshit," Iron Head grumbled, "Bullshit happened." Regardless, she followed Anarchy's league and started struggling her way back onto land. With her clunky suit getting in the way and the recent dispersal of her blood construct (she didn't have the energy to keep it intact anymore), it was nowhere near an easy act, but she at least had a helping hand. Iron Head accepted the gesture and pulled herself up, taking in the mess of fire and discord billowing from the warehouse.

Well, so much for that.

She tried to sniff out the presence that had struck them earlier... but the air was clean. Well, aside from the blood curdling away inside the building, and the overly fried system of the man Anarchy had questioned. "Whoever hit us... the fucker's long gone." However, when Anarchy spoke up again, Iron Head didn't pay her quip any mind. Instead, her gaze locked onto the horrible burn marking her back. Skin seared off. Muscle exposed. Downright grotesque.

"Hey... Let's head back. You need medical attention. Now." She didn't want to say that she felt concerned or bothered, but it sure as hell showed in her tone. In the way her words wavered ever so slightly. What she wouldn't give to wrap her hands about their assaulter's neck.
 
"Emergency responders should already be on their way." The woman said as she looked around at the big ole mess they had made. Why is it that something as simple as a weapons bust always has to take a turn for the worst? It was all so dramatic. Even with the hospital raid a week ago, things just went from bad, to worse, and kept escalating. Now, odds are there was going to be a huge plot conspiring under their noses, and they probably wouldn't have any idea that it's happening.

"Oh?" Anarchy asked turning her head, foolishly thinking the wound would be eye level. That's when the pain slowly began to creep up on her. She didn't realize how much pain she was actually in until it was pointed out to her. "I'm sure Boris could help with this. Mad scientists usually have some form of PHD. Though, I'm still doubting that he's a real doctor."

Nicole knew that she had parked the black Lincoln that Conner let her borrow somewhere behind the trees. She was in pain, and so tired that she couldn't help but limp her way there. It wasn't out of pain, but out of fatigue. When they finally reached the car, she pressed both hands against it and let out a breath. She kept all of her weight against the car, and quickly pulled her mask off when she was sure they were alone. "Next time you want to hang out, let's just do what Conner does, and get pie."
 
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Iron Head wasn't terribly convinced, even with Anarchy's reassurance. All she could do was stare at the gaping wound on her back, easily envisioning--hell, even feeling--the pain she was likely enduring... She supposed that was admirable. In a way. Kind of. The woman was one hell of a trooper, so she figured that's why it wasn't automatically annoying to work with her. Regardless, she had no qualms about following the woman back to their loaned vehicle.

"I doubt on the daily that he's real at all..." she quipped with a roll of her eyes. Absolutely everything about Boris made her skin scrawl; nothing about his personality brought on the feeling (that in itself just annoyed her a tad, bright souls always had a talent for overwhelming her), but the fact that he was such an avid scientist stirred up memories. Unsavory, cruel, and undying ones.

Whatever, it didn't matter. Her thoughts were just trying to throw a pity party at this point and she wouldn't stand for that.

Once they reached their destination, Iron Head watched Anarchy closely, silent for a few moments even after her lighthearted comment. Pie... She kinda forgot what that tasted like. Everything tasted like iron now; a minor yet incredibly unfortunate side effect of her abilities. She adapted to the taste over time, so at least she was able to eat anything and not worry about awful taste. Biting the inside of her cheek, she shrugged and pulled off her helmet, ignoring the wild mess of frizz that it revealed. Her platinum blonde locks stood on end like a cat's hackles rising, or as if someone had rubbed a balloon all over her head.

Again, she didn't care. Despite her best efforts to resist, a hint of a smirk tugged at the corner of her lips, but she smothered it out of existence as quickly as she could. "I'll keep that in mind. Probably the only habit of his that I'm willing to emulate." Then, she opened the door to the passenger seat and looked at Anarchy pointedly. "I'm driving. Don't fight me on this."
 
The woman's facial expressions softened as Iron Head warned her to not fight with her. She raised her hands in defeat, and limped her way over to the passenger's side. She opened her door, and placed her mask on the dash. She then walked over to open the back seat, pulling out her civilian clothing. It was just a normal, white t-shirt and some tights. After a mission, she liked to be comfortable. Especially now that she was in a world of pain. Using the cover of the car, she quickly changed from her costume into her street clothes. She was no longer Anarchy anymore, and officially Nicole. It was always odd, trying to adjust mindsets.

Nicole slowly sat down on her chair, waiting for Iron Head to do whatever she needs to before they took off back to HQ. She plucked the Anarchy mask, twisting and contorting it in her hands. The night she had met Conner played over in her head. She was in trouble, but luckily The Night Watcher had been planning that same operation for months, and was there to sweep in and save her, and they both took out the bad guys together. Her mind fluttered to Jem, and Blair, and that kid, Transfer, and the robot Solomon, and everyone else they had agreed to work with. She couldn't help but wonder what they were doing at that time. Part of her hoped they were safe, and not in the same pain she was in.

There was nothing that the woman could find herself needing to say. She simply rested her head against the rest of her seat. She never found herself getting this tired, except for when she completely gets her butt handed to her. Maybe it was a good idea to let Iron Head drive. It was getting nearly impossible for Nicole to even keep her eyes open.
 
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Good, it seemed that Anarchy wasn't in the mood to protest. Biting back a sigh of relief, Iron Head found herself tensing as she realized what the woman was up to. Even with the car provided as cover, she automatically spun on her metal heels and looked away, granting her momentary privacy. The moment she heard Nicole plop into her seat and shut the door, she forced herself to relax and open the back door, chucking her helmet inside. Unlike Nicole, Nellie didn't care whether the woman saw or not.

Raising her right wrist, she pressed a near invisible point; it sunk inwards under the pressure and emitted a faint click, followed by a soft whir. Several clicks snapped down Nellie's body, from neck to feet, and issued a low hiss. Six caustic stings pierced her back as needles pulled free of her skin, making her momentarily wince. With everything loosened, removing the suit was just a matter of taking off one giant piece at a time. Of course, the back plate rested on top and she handled it with utmost care.

All that she sported underneath the suit was a black tank top and shorts; the suit worked better with as little fabric in the way as possible.

Nellie placed herself in the driver's seat. Then paused. Stared ahead, gathering herself and recovering from the mini-clusterfuck that just transpired. By the time she finally glanced over in Nicole's direction, she parted her lips to speak, "You should probably sleep on the way..." The woman had beaten her to the punch. "Back... Heh. Alright." Rolling her eyes, Nellie cranked up the engine and set off for a course back to HQ.

She would take the smoother path. It was a tad longer than the original route, but it was less likely to jostle Nicole awake.




Time Skip: Next Day, Midday
Location: North Park Apartments, Parking Lot

Nellie King didn't like being outside. It fucking sucked. Now, objectively speaking, there was nothing to complain about. The weather was fair, not a single villain was breathing down her neck and begging her to fuel their toxic egos, and she just heard that a nearby university was opening its doors to the public tomorrow for one of their riveting lectures. Nellie could perhaps sneak in a indiscreet seat towards the back, as far away from others as possible, and strain her ears to pick up every precious syllable.

So yes, there wasn't anything for her to whine about, but she still did.

Just because there were... people. Lots and lots of people. Always hovering around, always holding the potential to bump shoulders with her, look her way, submit to the impulse of talking to her. No... No, no, no. Fuck that. She had a hard enough time socializing with the heroes and that was as her avenging persona. Talking to anyone besides Nicole as Nellie King was just a waste of time.

Anyway--video games. That was what mattered right now. She'd finally got her hands on a snazzy and fresh copy of Resident Evil 2, along with snagging a used version of Red Dead Redemption 2. After all the bullshit she'd been through as of recently, the stress relief was sorely needed. She could only thank god that Game Stop was a short walk away from her apartment complex. She sported her usual attire that day; an oversize sweater with the faded persona of Tasmanian Devil spinning up a cyclone on the front, worn out jeans, and checkered sneakers. A plain black beanie to boot.

Nellie paced through the parking lot at an admittedly rushed speed, eager to slip back into her hermit hole and remain there until someone was in need of Iron Head's services. She only gave pause every moment or so to push up her wide-rimmed circle glasses, but every adjustment was fruitless on her part, as they slid back down the moment she started walking again. "Fucking cheap pieces of plastic," she grumbled. She should probably look into buying a new pair soon--

Thunk!

Her foot knocked into something. A box. One of many, that just so happened to be stacked on top of one another. Nellie had been so swept up in her thoughts that she failed to notice the move in truck until now, let alone the luggage. Unfortunately, her little jostle was enough to send the entire pile toppling over in obnoxiously loud discord.

Nellie stared at the mess.

"..."

Then stared some more.

"Um... Sorry," she muttered flatly, not sounding terribly convincing.
 
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It was interesting how the day could be so quiet and uneventful. Of course, that's only because the night before was so action packed and filled with events. With Nellie and Nicole's sting operation going sour, and the siblings Jem and Blaire needing The Night Watcher to bail them out of a mission they were never meant to be assigned, a calm, beautiful morning after was the last thing that anyone could expect. With Nicole under the government's urgent care, and one of The Night Watcher's greatest enemies apprehended, it seemed like life could calm back down until the next big event. With that being said, there was a slight disturbance in the force.

The day time was usually a bad time for villains to strike, that would be left to the thugs and henchmen. No, most villains would be living out their everyday lives, just like Nellie was. She should have seen the look on her face when she bumped into the box. Kyle hadn't even realized that by sorting through his boxes, separating the heavy from the light, the breakables from the...like...non breakables, he didn't know that he was causing a large mess. When Nellie ran into him, he was in the process of carrying out an abnormally heavy box. The fact that his job kept him too busy for a social life meant he had no friends to help him move into his new place. With his brother currently unreachable, it was just ole' Kyle Eagerton on his own to figure his shit out.

"I'm so sorry!" He called out to Nellie as he dropped the box off the edge of the truck. It was strange, it almost sounded like the box grunted as it hit the ground, but Kyle was too busy making sure that Nellie was okay. "I didn't mean to make such a mess," He said as he jumped down from the edge of the truck. "Uh...I'm Kyle, I guess it's obvious that I'm moving in." He wanted to extend his hand to her, but he read the situation better than that. He saw her posture and mannerisms, noting that she didn't seem like the physical contact sort of person. "I don't want to keep you, but you're okay?" He asked, climbing back into the truck.

That was when the box began to rustle.

"Pssst." Said the box.

"Huh?" Kyle asked, turning his attention back to Nellie. "Did you say something?"

When the box was sure that Kyle wasn't paying attention anymore, he "psst"ed Nellie once more. A small knife cut through the box, carving out a small hole. Sure enough, the familiar, goblin like face of one Boris Stanislavsky peered at Nellie with that goofy smile of his. "Good afternoon Nellie!" The dope said in a hushed, yet excited tone. "I'm undercover! I intercepted a transmission that would place me near you, so I'm a box! It's fool proof, nobody would expect a box!"
 
Nellie wasn't paying the kid's babbling much mind. She was still staring down at the mess, even when he approached an introduced himself as... Kyle? Right? She was pretty sure that's what he said. And yet, despite the indifference settling over her demeanor like clockwork, a seedling of emotion was planted in the pit of gut, just taking in the pure anxiety radiating from him. He seemed like an okay dude, and it was her fault for failing to watch her step.

So, what? Was that feeling guilt? Pity? Her own anxiety at the prospect of interacting with someone? The third option was most likely... Damn. Just as she was minutes away from crossing the proverbial finish line.

Fuck.

Whatever. She could handle this without spiritually eroding on the spot. Hopefully. Maybe. She would see about that. Regardless, she finally offered Kyle her attention, only to quirk an eyebrow at his confused response. "...I didn't say anything," she muttered. The quirk transformed into a furrow, a frown joining the look as a faint noise reached her ears... Coming from the box. The actual fuck?

She was probably hearing things. Again, she focused on Kyle and continued, "Good to hear, I guess. If we're neighbors or on the same floor, just keep away from my door and keep the doe eyed bushy tailed stuff to a minimum. Then we'll be--..." Nellie froze, lips parted in the middle of her words.

Rustling.

From the same damn box.

Was... Did Nellie accidentally take drugs at some point? Was she tripping on acid? Mary Jane? No, that couldn't have been it--the next option to float through her mind was sleep deprivation, but that skidded to a halt when a fucking knife carved through the box.

Revealing the goddamned crazed face of Boris.

Un--


"Good afternoon Nellie!"

--Fucking.

"I'm undercover!"

Believable.

"I intercepted a transmission that would place me near you, so I'm a box! It's fool proof, nobody would expect a box!"

Biting back a groan swimming in misery, Nellie slapped on a tight-lipped smile and shuffled forwards after Kyle, bringing herself closer to the box holding Boris. Whispering through clenched teeth, the woman bent ever so slightly to rush out, "You're a goblin, not a goddamn hamster. The actual fuck makes you think this is okay?"

Then, she snapped back up into normal position and, with her hands clasped politely behind her back, spared a few glances at her surroundings. No one else was around. Kyle still had his back to her... "Uh... yeah. I'm fine. Don't worry," She lifted her foot, "About," Then tipped the box over with a harsh kick, letting the side with the hole flip to smack into gravel, "Me."

I hate my life, I wanna play video games. I hate my life, I wanna play video games. I hate my fucking life, I just wanna play some goddamn video games.
 
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Kyle listened to Nellie's warnings with a warm smile. He had met people like her before, and knew to give them their distance. With that said, however, he was very interested in this girl. There was something about her that just drew a curiosity from him. He couldn't help but paint her as a person of interest. What flavor of interest? Well, he couldn't figure it out yet. He would though, he would have to do some digging and prying, but he would figure out what it was about this girl that made him so interested in her. He jumped out from the back of the truck, and made his way to the front cab. He pulled the door open, and sat in the driver's seat.

Reaching to grab his room temperature coffee, he adjusted the volume on the radio up. He had it on the news station, and it had just caught his attention. "Things have escalated downtown, as the Night Watcher has shown up to stop yet another pharmacy robbery. This is the sixth in a string of robberies, proceeding last week's attempt by the characters known as Surge, and Sadist. Surge had managed to escape custody, while Sadist is being held at a maximum security holding cell designed for metahumans. Something appears wrong, The Night Watcher keeps wobbling and can't even walk in a straight line...The fighting has stopped, and the robbers are very confused. The Night Watcher seems to be vomiting. Is he...drunk?"

Even though Nellie was talking, Boris wasn't listening. Out of the hole came a very long (abnormally long) string of thick paper that contained data. It looked like he was reading it, but his ramblings almost sounded like Mole from Disney's Atlantis after Milo sat in the dirt. "I am this box today because your blood work has come in. *Snort* It broke three machines, but I finally has a *incoherent mumbling* like Kevin Spacey something something something, six foot owl and *something in Russian* escaped Gorilla. What this means for you is that *something that not even a translator could pinpoint* and voila, superpowers. Absolutely extraord-"

The man never got to finish his sentence. Even though he was trying to talk over Nellie, there was no denying that tipping his box over caused him to lose his train of thought. "Okay! We finish this later!" The box shrieked. It wasn't a hushed, excited tone, it sounded like someone had either shot Boris in the leg, or like a child having a temper tantrum. But, I guess that's just Boris for you. There was some more rustling and scratching coming from inside the box, and then it was as if the box had completely died. Grown lifeless and faded away.

"With all of this mayhem focusing around North Star Labs and their pharmaceutical partners, it's becoming much more of a trend to watch out for. Speculations are forming around online circles that North Star Labs is caught up in some sort of illegal, potentially mafia centered activity. While that's far fetched-Oh wait, it looks like The Night Watcher has been joined by a member of the newly formed group, Hoods and Capes. They look like they mean business. The Night Watcher's backup doesn't seem exactly happy about his current condition, but they're going to need to put that aside if they want to stop the robbery in progress."

With a sip of his coffee, Kyle turned the radio back down. He shook his head, and put his cup back in the cup holder. He jumped back out, and walked around to the back of the truck. He saw that the grunting box had fallen over, and leaned down to pick it up. "Have you heard the news?" He asked Nellie. "The Night Watcher is stopping another North Star Labs robbery. Apparently he's drunk." He scooped up the box, which was incredibly light now. The box had opened at the top, and it was completely empty.

"What the..." He asked, looking in. Kyle shrugged, throwing the empty box aside, and picking up a box of cooking utensils and plates, before heading toward the entrance of the building.
 
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She wanted to leave... so badly. Well, perhaps using the phrase "so badly" was a tad overkill; it wasn't as if Kyle proved to be unpleasant or anything. As a matter of fact, Nellie was a tad thrown off by how patient he seemed. Most teenagers she had the misfortune of running into usually found her distance and blatant coldness discouraging, if not annoying. She almost didn't know what to do with herself, at the moment...

No, that was a lie. She was well aware of what she wanted to do. Leave the parking lot, take a trip back to the mall down the street, buy some duct tape and a laser pointer, come back, tape Boris's mouth shut and distract him for a little while with a tiny red dot flicking back and forth on the ground. Like a silenced crazed cat, so to speak. No, wait--he was still a hamster. Goblin?

...It didn't matter. Point was, she prayed this madman's ramblings would start making sense at some point. Nothing he said seemed coherent in the slightest, which only fanned the agitation boiling in Nellie's gut. Maintain face. Maintain face. She couldn't afford to blow up with Kyle around; the poor kid would likely experience a heart attack if she spotted a whole ass bridge troll in his stuff.

Thus, this was all Nellie gathered: Blood tests went through. Her DNA was a fucking mess (no surprise though). And something about... Kevin? The Gorilla? There was a fucking gorilla named Kevin now? Dear God--as if the world wasn't enough of a shit show.

"...You take drugs? I'm getting you drugs. For ADHD. And everything else under the fucking sun," Nellie muttered while rolling her eyes. At the very least, tipping Boris over did its job and his rambles died down with a piercing shriek. She almost feared that she had pushed Gollum into the volcano, clutching his precious ring close to his heart. Nellie imagined the ring for Boris were the results of his experimentation.

Crazy coot.

At least he was appeased, for now. Just as she toyed with the idea of peeking to check in on the mad scientist, a radio feed caught her attention. It traveled from Kyle's car, the report going on about Night Watcher and handling a robbery. North Star Labs...

Just hearing about that place made her blood buzz.

Nellie's fists curled tightly around the handles of her shopping bags, squeezing so hard that crescents impaled her palms and pulsed red. Calm. Calm. Calm... She inhaled. Once. Sharply. Shakily. And forced the emotions aside for later; she figured her apartment wouldn't mind another random hole in the wall tonight. On the downside, that Surge asswipe was on the loose, probably throwing another tantrum somewhere and blowing out fuse boxes...

Wait.

Lightning.

Could he have been the same bastard that had zapped her and Nicole yesterday? It was a damn strong possibility, but the amount of monstrous power behind those attacks were unlike the child's play Surge chucked out the other day. He didn't hold that much potential for danger... right? She hoped not. If these people were one in the same, then fine. It gave her another reason to throttle that brat the next time she laid eyes on him. She swore she would.

A large part of herself to grateful to Kyle for turning down the radio. She couldn't afford to stack on anymore annoyance today. However, she stiffened all over again when he reached out to the box holding Boris.

"U-uhhhh!" Nellie uttered intelligently while pouncing forward, reaching out to try and snag the box before he did. Unfortunately, she was too slow and could help but cringe in preparation... Nothing. Kyle seemed as calm as ever and a glance at the hole made her realize that Boris had... vanished? How and when? Did she literally kick the goblin to hell?

Cheeks tinted a faint shade of pink, she hastily retracted and cleared her throat, gaze glued to the ground. "When is he not drunk?" She nearly rolled her eyes. Nellie respected Night Watcher's authority, really, but he had his... faults. Painfully obvious ones. And she wasn't one to overlook things like that. "Kinda wish he went in even drunker. So what if that place gets ransacked a little? Good fucking riddance." Nellie didn't bother hiding the venom in her voice while watching Kyle closely. The moment he turned away with utensils in hand, she skittered over to the box and opened it, peering inside the empty thing with disbelief...

She stuck a hand in.

Waved around a bit.

Nope. Nothing.

"Must've made a deal with the devil," she whispered under her breath with a tinge of horror. Hastily, she set the box back and grabbed her bags, following behind Kyle with plenty of breathing room between them. He seemed to be going in the same direction of her building... Great. Fucking fantastic. Really. Well--she'd dug herself this deeply into a nightmare, might as well ride out the rest of it until she puked up depression and cheap ramen noodles (ah yes... her favorite meal--good luck figuring out which one she meant). "...You believe that stuff about North Star? The mafia shit?"
 
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As the young man reached to press for the elevator button, he felt a tiny bit of a shock surge through his finger. Fuck. Friction happens every now and then, there's no way to deny that. Kyle just wasn't exactly a big fan of when it did happen to him. Not a big fan at all. He waited, and then heard the loud ding as the elevator doors open. He saw that Nellie was heading in his direction, and decided to use his foot to hold the door open. He listened to her words, his eyebrow raising as she asked his opinion on the matter. Yes, very curious indeed. It wasn't every day that someone who wasn't either a millionaire stock holder, or an elderly citizen who was concerned about their prescription asked around about this. At least, not that he had any experience with.

"The Mafia? I highly doubt that. Look where we are, the nations capital. I think that everything that has to do with anything around here, whether it's that attack on that congressman's life the other day, or the constant attacks on North Star, it's all political in one way or another. I don't think that this has anything to do with money or police corruption. There's gotta be something big going on,"

"What floor?" Kyle asked as he pressed the button for level 7, where his new base of operations would be. "I try not to worry too much about that sort of stuff, though. I sell books and vintage magazines. I make less than minimum wage, and the only foot I have in politics is that I'm a registered voter. I'm too broke and low on the food chain to worry about that stuff. If you ask me, I'd just say fuck 'em. The less the big companies have, the better."

It appears that The Night Watcher has been struck down, and he isn't getting up. I'm told that he is breathing, but barely. It seems as though the robbers have been met with backup of their own, a small handful of costumed metahumans. I can see about four of them, which in the state that The Night Watcher showed up in, he would never prove to be a match against that many.

"Anyway, I know that was much more of a yes or no, but I don't get to give my opinion too often." Kyle smiled warmly to her as the doors opened, signifying the seventh floor. He stepped out, heading toward apartment 706, which was currently being held open to help with his up and down, in and out routine.
 
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Nellie entered the elevator behind Kyle, nodding faintly in thanks as he held the doors open for her. Granted, it seemed like he needed the help way more than she did, but she wasn't gonna waste her breath on that little observation. She listened to the teen's response, uncertain if she was relieved or disappointed by his answer. On the down side, he didn't seem to hold any animosity towards Star Labs (and why in the hell would he? That was just hopeful thinking on Nellie's part), but at least he had enough intuition to assume that North Star Labs were involved in things that the news conveniently failed to unveil. Well, Nellie figured all of their experimentation and evil doings avoided paparazzi too, but still...

Whatever, her own thoughts were starting to annoy her. Jesus--that was a sure fire sign that a minimum of eight hours of constant game play was in order.

"Same," she muttered, "North Star is a damn powerful organization. Their brand's everywhere; wouldn't be surprised if they own part of the air we're breathing. Anything to do with them is way beyond the mafia." Way, way beyond... Like turning innocent people into their guinea pigs. Sons of bitches. At Kyle's question, she blinked, letting his words register. Floor... Then she saw him press 7 and it took the will of Hercules on steroids for her to bite back a sigh of pure despair.

The same floor as her. Delightful.

"No need. I'm the same floor." As the conversation fell into a lull, she couldn't bring herself to do anything else but stare ahead, piercing through the metal doors like twin laser beams. This apartment complex had a fair rating, but there were a few appliances around the place that was in dire need of attention from the maintenance faculty. She doubt it would pose as a safety hazard in the near future, but the elevator emitted these faint clicks whenever it ascended, at random intervals too. Unpredictable.

It never failed to gnaw on her nerves.

Five seconds.

Click... Click. Cl-click. Clickity, click. Cl... Click!

Twelve seconds.

Cli-click! Click.

Seventeen...

Nellie did her best to tune it out and focus on the spot she was staring at. Rusting crept along the edges, just barely peeking through the dark cracks and crevices of what was supposed to be a fully secured box. So much rust. So fucking much of it. Wasn't someone supposed to take care of that? Was it new? Had it always been there? God, what she wouldn't give to reach out and scrape it off with her fingernails...

Just as Nellie glanced down from her peripherals, oxygen caught in her lungs and she did a double take. Blood pooled from a wide and gaping gash bisecting her palm in two, forming a large puddle around her feet. Nerves and muscle and tendons, exposed to the debris of the air and vulnerable. As calmly as she dared, Nellie pressed her hand to her stomach, forcing it from her vision.

Only to feel a dull ache travel through her gut. Another slice ran from diaphragm to navel, her skin splayed apart like wings of a sparrow. So wide open. Stuck. Stuck. Why couldn't she move? Where did that gloved hand come from? No... No. No, no, no, nonononostayaway--

The elevator doors opened with a ding.

All blood and wounds disappeared.

...Fucking hell. She hated it when her mind did that, the little shit.

Expression unreadable, Nellie steadied herself with heavy breaths through the nostrils, and followed Kyle out. Luckily for her, the dual functioning of her brain had subconsciously took in Kyle's comment about his financial and political situation, and yet, all she could draw from the spiel was another question. "So, what? You live on your own, then? Aren't you a teenager?" Perhaps she was wrong to assume his age beforehand, but that was what her gut told her.

As he came to a stop at room 706, the last of her woes were confirmed. "Well shit," she leaned against the door leading into her own apartment, room 705, "Guess we're neighbors."
 
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