Parahumans: The PRB IC

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He threw the ball with decent strength, however, before it could reach Christopher, a small purple portal-like hole opened instantaneously in front of the trainer's head, absorbing the ball completely-- disappeared right afterwards.

-"A small tip: direct attacks aren't necessary-- your ammunition bounces, use that in your advantage." -He moved away from the wall, closer to one of the barricades.​

The same portal-like hole appeared again next to Christopher's chest, launching the same ball it absorbed, at slower speeds, towards the recruit, which bounced it's way to inside his reach again, where it stopped precisely.

-"The cannon is automatic, by the way-- it'll shoot as fast as you're able to reload it, so, feel free to do so, if you will".​
 
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Scott had been expecting some sort of swerve or change in motion of the ball, and so was gobsmacked when it completely disappeared, only to reappear at a different point coming in the other direction. So this was a Parahuman's ability. It went beyond any of Scott's expectations.

"So, absorption of an object followed by its emission, with the potential to change its speed. Deceleration confirmed, acceleration assumed to be possible." Scott mused to himself. It was clear that a single projectile was not going to be enough to break through his opponent's power. Multiple shots would likely be needed, and quite probably from different angles, in order to get a solid shot in. Scott picked up the cannon again, having decided that the benefits of the firing rate outweighed some of the risks, but moved to place a barricade between himself and the trainer nevertheless. Gathering up several tennis balls, Scott rested the cannon on the top of the barricade, steadying it and aiming with his right whilst preparing to feed in the tennis balls with his left. Mentally grumbling that this was a two-man job, Scott started feeding the tennis balls in as rapidly as possible whilst tracking the aim of the cannon up from the floor in front of the trainer. As the balls began to fly at the trainer's torso, Scott tracked the aim across to catch the barricade near the trainer with the intention of sending some shots towards the trainer's back.
 
Christopher watched as the recruit aimed the cannon towards him, mumbling some notes to himself-- "a strategist", he raised an eyebrow to the thought, most of the new recruits who get this far just get excited to shoot, they don't make notes, some barely think, at all-- "glad to see he's different", the trainer sighed.

-"Only one portal at the time"-Christopher raised his voice-"That'll be my limitation-- that's how I'll determine how you passed. If I find the need to put up a second portal, you win, meaning that theoretically, you hit me".​
Realistically, even if he turned out to be one of the best agents in the entire Bureau, he wouldn't be dealing with such a powerful Parahuman all by himself-- limitations like these are required if he wanted to simulate a somewhat realistic scenario. The trainer entered his usual combat position, and as the tennis balls started to get launched, Christopher raises his hands, creating the portal once again, this time, it seemed more imponent, somehow-- pulsing slightly faster, it seemed to emanate a bit more energy. Almost if flashing, the portal was appearing and disappearing repeatedly, catching all the projectiles at incredible speeds-- moving his right hand in an arch-like movement was enough to make the portal absorb nearly all the projectiles. The one aimed to the trainer's back, however, nearly got him-- to avoid the hit, Christopher dashed towards the barricade, leaving more space for the portal to appear behind him, catching the ball fairly easily. "It's a start".
 
[Sam "King" Reaver]
[Streets of London]

Again. Again. These turns into narrow alleyways and abandoned car parks were all dead ends. Where was this damn building?! Sam's already late. The orientation's probably started without him. This wasn't the right city. He knew his city better than this London sprawl. He'd had to buy an honest-to-god paper map find his way there, and for what? It had started raining. Ink smeared and flowed off the cheap direction guide as he tried to make sense of it. He could have brought an umbrella, of course, but he was banking on a sunny day today. Hell, he could've taken a cab! Now Sam's racing around the streets of London because he risked having a better sense of direction than the cab driver. Grr. What a run of bad luck.

Well... not entirely. He'd gotten that shrink to believe he was taking on a boring government job, after all. Simple plan: All Sam had had to do was tell her other, less... stable clients that PRB was an accounting job. Easy! Within the week he had every patient running their mouth about how great the PRB was and how dull of an environment and blah blah blah in between the fits and screaming. It'd had an 80% chance to work, with most of the uncertainty lying in how much stock Hembler put in her subject's conversations. Looks like it paid off. Here he was gloating over Hembler, though, when he himself knew little of what to expect. He knew of the legendary Parahumans, of course: Who hadn't? The whole world was abuzz with their appearance. But this mysterious new agency, the PRB... what could it be? It was blatant that they somehow "regulated" Parahumans (which sounds far more sinister than he expected), but there were good odds that they employed trustworthy Para's as well. It'd definitely be a new experience if he could ever find the damn building.

Oh! OH! There it is! The RPB, the organization he'd spent so long in the rain trying to find, the gateway to his new life, was finally... Wait, no, that was the Reform Pension Board.

Ah! Alright, here we go, right next door: The Parahumans Regulation Bureau. Probably. There was, like, a 20% that this was the Population Reference Bureau. Oh, there were training mats inside. 10%. Good, good. But... could this really be it? Sam could only see three people from the entrance. You had the old scrub up on the stage, but aside from that all he could see were two mid-twenties playing on handhelds in the corner. The younger one had some sort of red mark on his forehead. Strange. As far as he could see, though, no trainers were readily available.

It... had it already ended? No, no, not possible. Less than 7%. That old fart wouldn't stand around behind a podium after the event ended, and there was a faint hum of machinery coming from behind a closed door. Again, odd. This whole place was odd. Nothing like anything Sam was used to.

He fidgeted with the King on his neck. That was his identity before the ambush: King. The suave, clever poker player that won thousands wherever he went. Yes, that was him. His nervous rocking slowed down a bit. He was King. Taking the biggest gamble of his life in a field he had no experience, sure, but he was still the same man. And he was ready.

If only the trainers could say the same.
 
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[Wallis Isaacs]
[Entrance to the PRB]

A normal build dirty blonde stood to the side of the main gate to the PRB Headquarters smoking a cigarette, the average black umbrella above him. He took a look at his watch, 'Fifteen minutes late should be enough to have missed the introductory speech in the day plan... I guess now's a better time than any to get this started.' the man thought to himself as he made his way to the small guard post at the entrance.

"And who are you?" the guard asked through the window of his small workplace.
"Isaacs, Wallis. I'm here for recruit orientation." he said, as he eyed up the guard. A magazine to his left about cricket, a half eaten sandwich, and a small note from someone on his lunch bag 'I shouldn't case everyone at my new job... At least not on the first day' Wallis thought reluctantly.
"Ah, Isaacs, you're mighty late lad. Here's your ID, get a move on then!" the guard said as the gate swung open.

Isaacs made his way up the main drive and into the building. Shaking his umbrella off and walking farther in he spotted a few direction signs on the wall, "Medical, Logistics, Main Hall, Lockers -- Main Hall that's the one." he said aloud. Following the signs down the hall he neared a pair of double doors. He walked up and opened them, finding himself in; none other than; the Main Hall. But what he found inside of the Hall was not to his expectations, no, instead there were two people sitting in the corner playing a-- 'Are those 3DS'? Or-- I don't even know, this is just a weird sight....' to the middle of the gym was a man in a trench coat that was in some sort of a sparring match with another guy. 'If I have to guess, trench coat is a trainer or something, maybe an officer?... But that other guy, he's definitely the new guy' he mused in his mind as tennis balls flew from purple portals and hit the other man.

'Alright trench coat's a parahuman, otherwise the balls would be hitting him.' he thought, a flash of a smile across his face. He walked a bit farther into the hall, to his right he noticed a twenty-something male with white hair, watching the hall just as he had been a few moments before. 'Might as well see what's going on' Wallis thought as he got closer to the man.

'Rocking, hand clenched on something around his neck. He's fidgeting with it. Nervous? Yes, but he seems to be getting over that... Anxious? I guess that fits better... ' Wallis was now close enough to pick-pocket the man, but he resisted the urge 'Not on the first day'.

He reached forward and tapped the mans shoulder. "I'm Isaacs, you can call me Wallis. Any idea what we're supposed to be doing...? I'm a bit new." he said with a weak laugh and an inviting smile, no hint of his thoughts visible in his face or demeanor. To the man in front of him, Isaacs would seem nervous and a bit lost, but friendly none the less.

'I really need to try not to trick everyone I meet.'
 
Lincoln had looked at the man. He hinself was in a suit of his own tailor, a gentle silver with a white long sleeved button up shirt, his weapon hidden under the coat, his badge shining in the gyms lights through the front of his belt. He had taken pride, and prepared to take his new orders at the PRB, albeit this, he did feel nervous. It would possibly show, his palms gently getting sweaty as he looked around, curious to look at all the others and begin training. He kept quiet and to himself, looking at the man as he spoke. Lincoln thought to himself the entire time, how he arrived, and thinking how he would do...

1320 he arrived in England on Thursday. Fresh from the US, but not parahuman enforcement, Lincoln did his own little reports, simply looking around the places he walked, but always stayed quiet. He looked at the man again, speaking up in a gentle tone. "Uhm... Excuse me. Who'd be my trainer?"
 
Six mats, two handhelds, one old fart. What could it mean? The two gamers could be officers waiting for newcomers to arrive, with the elder just there to oversee. Was this the case? Was this a test? About 24% likely. No, the younger gamer was clearly backed off from the the elder in an admission of at least some respect. 12. Maybe it's a ruse? 18. These government agents were unpredictable, like the ones he'd met in the hospital from time to time. Ah, the hospital. The food was good there. Sometimes. Three of seven days it was decent. Mmm, beef. Warm food just lends itself to this kind of weather. You'd think that aft-

Muscles tense. Soft footsteps from behind. Reaver is broken from his (admittedly derailed) train of thought. Who could it be, another trainer? No, low chance. Trainers would be here already. A new recruit, then. Should Sam turn around and face the newcomer? This would make him seem jumpier than usual, though it could save his life. Maybe the man was a killer? Would he... Not here, in a government facility, surely? Right? Of course. The worst that could happen was a gun to the back of the head, accompanied by a swift order to step outside. There were ways to deal with that. Probably. A good chance. He'd stay put.

The man taps Sam's shoulder. Swift pivot to face him. Friendly enough, right? Sure, the man wasn't confronted until he made physical contact. To Reaver's surprise, the man looked... Friendly. Warm and inviting, even. 85% chance of being likable. Very high for a first impression, and certainly a record for someone approaching from behind. He introduces himself as Isaac. No, Wallis. Wallis Isaacs. He calls himself new and asks for directions. Ha! Like Sam knows any more than he did. Not that the man knew this, of course. Sam could've been standing here for a week and Isaacs wouldn't know the difference. With his slightly nervous disposition and tepid laugh, Wallis seems the type to be easily deceived, too. Ten bucks he'd believed a lie in the past 24 hours. If Reaver was one for senseless manipulation, he may have taken advantage of the situation and sent Wallis to a different building entirely. In the rain. Oh, that'd be good! Low odds of success, though, and it certainly wouldn't hold up for longer than an hour. Not rewarding enough for the loss of a potential acquaintance.

The man's still waiting for an answer, looking just as lost and increasingly confused. Raise that last bet to twenty.

"Sam Reaver. My friends call me K.. Uh, never mind. I'm just as lost as you are, Wall. Very. Possibly more. A greater number of trainers should be here. Shame. Need to wait here for a bit. Yep." The sentence quickens near the end, as do the fidgets. He'd get accustomed to normal, non-psychiatric social interaction again soon, Sam was sure. Until then he'd have to live with the consequences of two years in tiled hallways.

Suddenly a thought strikes him. Isaacs could be useful after all, right? No malicious risks required. They shared two things as of this moment: Boredom and time. There's a way to shed both, and maybe earn some cash on the side as well. Calm his nerves. With some luck he'd learn Isaacs's tells on the first day.

Sam stops fidgeting, eyes brightening at the prospect of a game. He pulls out a deck of cards. "While we're waiting... Up for a friendly hand of Texas Hold 'Em? Blackjack, maybe? Looks like we aren't being assessed anytime soon." The corner of Sam's mouth twitched up. Friendly? Risky term. Not that Wallis knew that. Victory 70% assured in Hold 'Em if the standard mind games work. 50 or 45 if not, though he looked gullible enough. Blackjack would be difficult if Sam ended up dealing; Wonder if Isaacs could be talked into that position. Hm. He'd learn more about this man through playing than through any normal conversation.

Game time.
 
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The man quickly pivoted to answer Wallis' tap.

'Damn, he's just as apprehensive as before... Come on buddy answer the question...' Wallis thought waiting to learn a few things about the man he had approached, and maybe even what was going on at the orientation.
He introduced himself as Sam Reaver, simple enough. 'Easy to remember, especially for an account na-- "K" huh? I wonder what he could be called that starts with a "K".' His mind quickly shot through some common words with 'K' as a first letter 'Kelp, Kalifate, Knuckles--' he noticed the card around Sam's neck '...King'. Interesting.

He was a trainee too, stuck in the same situation as Wallis. He looked past Sam for a few moments, still sitting in the chairs in front of the stage was a man in a black suit, and a shiny badge on his waist. 'Maybe a PRB agent?.. Doesn't matter. The King here wants to play some cards.'

He moved his attention back to Sam, "I'm up for it, I'm a lousy card player though, never was my cup of tea." he said with a modest smile. A lie. He had conned his way through more games than a band of baboons could count on all their digits. 'Should be easy enough, but then again this guy might seriously like cards... King huh...' Although a masterful con, even Wallis knew he could only get away with so much. He noticed Sam slowing down a bit, no longer fidgeting, less anxious. 'This could end badly for me.' the tone of the voice in his head sounded slightly worried.

"It's not everyday you play cards at a government agency huh?" he mused. 'But which should I go with? Blackjack and he deals, I could very well lose. But that's a good thing. Texas Hold 'Em and it's any ones game, I can't win this, I can't let him know I've already fooled him.'

"I'm okay with Texas Hold 'Em, I honestly don't know very much about Blackjack to play it..." he said to Sam, looking slightly perplexed at the offer.
 
Wall's eyes shot to Sam's neck as they talked. He liked the look of the king, maybe? Was it possible he recognized Sam from some night at an old casino? 40%. Wait, make that 20. Anyone that knew the King in his heyday would never agree so readily to Hold 'Em, no matter how "friendly" the game was advertised to be.

(Drawing from Sam's vast experience in this type of game here, Hold 'Em is a forced-bet game. Any bet by one player must be matched by the other. If Sam's memory failed him just then, then shut up we're playing a special version.)

Sam eyes his opponent up and down, removing any straggling emotions from his own face as he goes. Sam was a wall now; Many had tried to read him like this in the past, and nearly all had failed. Wallis remained perplexed. Had this guy played a hand in his life? Holy cow. What little knowledge he had probably came from a Wikipedia entry or something. What a scrub! Odds to 80 in Sam's favor.

"Great, Wall!", King cried as cards flew between his hands in a mad shuffle. The rustle of queens, the songs of jacks, they all flooded back to him in a glorious surge of nostalgia. "Playing till we run out of time or cash?"
 
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|Serena|
|PRB Main Hall|
|Training time, scrubs|
Going up to the white-haired boy named Samantha, Serena placed her hand upon his shoulder, turning him around. When he looked at her, he would have seen a twenty-something girl, with purple eyes and hair, marking her out as a parahuman. She stood at about 5 feet and ten inches, and had a serious but calm look on her face. Her build was slender, lean, and her muscles were well-toned. Her clothes were simple - a tight-fitting black t-shirt, khakis, and combat boots.
"Sam, is it? You're with me. Follow."
Her accent was English, and she spoke in a level and serious manner, but not monotone. She led him to a mat, where she fell into a fighting stance, feet shoulder-width apart, arms raised, fists balled loosely.
"Alright, now come at me with everything you have."
 
Just as Sam dealt the first hand, a woman approached him from behind. Why did people keep doing this? Was it a government thing to approach someone from their blind spot and put a hand on their shoulder? The woman, around his age, introduced herself as Serena. Yes, great, run along and find a trainer. I'm busy fueling heart drugs here, thanks. Back to... Wait, what was that she'd said? 'You're with me'? She was going towards a training mat. Shit. 90% chance she was a trainer. 95% chance she had the authority to save Isaacs's wallet from the pot. Gr.

Sam heaved a sigh and turned to Wallis. "Time, then. Wish me luck." He gathered the cards and tucked them back into his tattered suit. Damn. He'd have to make due with the DiamOn dosages he had now, as he couldn't really afford more without a steady paycheck.

He followed Serena to one of the mats. What was she planning? Physical assessment of some sort, probably, at an 80%. Could be fully psychological at 10, or partially at 60. Hm.

The girl falls into an offensive stance and orders him to fight her 'with everything he had'. A fight? Already? Alright, he knew this was a possibility. He placed his odds at 40%, given that he didn't know what his opponent could do in the slightest. Wait, no; She stood too easily to be an amateur trainer. She'd done this before. Often. Odds to 25. Not favorable.

Reaver's mind fell back to the days of street life and homelessness. He'd had to fight near every day- or, at least, people had tried to fight him near every day. He'd learned the value of running away when you were outmatched. Was he outmatched? Physically, maybe. Likely. This girl, despite her age, looked like she'd been training every day for the past ten years. He'd just gotten out of a hospital! A head-on attack was out. Running away was out of the question, too. What advantages did he have? Any? Yes, she knew nothing about him either. So could she tell she was physically stronger? Gr, that would depend on her perception and level of confidence. No accurate odds there. She'd authorized the use of 'any means necessary', as well. That's good. He probably couldn't have done much without that.

He had the task of evening the odds. Tilting them in his favor, if possible.

What did he have on him? The King, the pack of cards he'd just used, some cash, a handful of coins, dice, and a spare bottle of DiamOn. Nothing but the cards, coins, and dice had any practical application here, and even then their use was slim. Sleight of hand was their main purpose. Distracting her attention while he did something else. But what?

He glanced down at the mat they both stood on, and a plan forming in his mind. Low chance of success. Maybe 30%. Realistically 20. First, though, he had to make sure her attention was above his feet.

"Glad to see you so soon!" He emptied his pack of cards again, tensing his legs to dodge if she rushed to attack. Watch her carefully, Sam. Any and all movements. He began to shuffle, with both hands very close together at first, but gradually widening out his arms until cards flew from one side of his body to the other in a wild dance of kings and queens. A card spring flourish, like he had done so many times before. Flashy. Hopefully flashy enough.

King grinned, still pumping adrenaline from his almost-game with Wallis.

"My deal?"
 
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Only one portal at a time huh? It seemed that passing this test would require him to hit the trainer from different directions simultaneously. Near enough didn't count, as the trainer had shown his willingness to move in order to make time for the portal.

So, creating synchronous shots. The automatic cannon was restricted to only firing one shot at a time, so the first shot needed to take longer to reach the target than the second. Time = distance/speed. There was no velocity control that Scott could see on the cannon, therefore the time would be directly proportional to the travelled distance. Combine that with a ricochet shot to get the different angle, and he had his technique sorted. The ricochet shot, travelling past the trainer and bouncing back, would be the first to be fired due to its longer travel distance. That would be followed as swiftly as possible by a shot directly towards the trainer. The timing needed? Pinpoint, and highly difficult to create right off the bat.

Scott gathered up another cluster of tennis balls and braced the cannon on the barricade once more. Feeding the balls in with his left hand, he let loose another salvo of alternating shots; first to the barricade, then to the trainer, and then back to the barricade and so on. Straining his eyes, Scott tracked each cycle of shots, judging their synchronicity and trying to bring their arrivals closer and closer together.
 
The tennis balls bounced through the walls at ungodly fast speeds-- Christopher alternated between dodging, and absorbing them. However, the one portal limitation was a bit too much. After a good thirty seconds of constant shoots, the purple portal encased the trainer almost completely, forming an aura-like wind of the same color that surrounded him almost entirely, absorbing all the balls the flew in his direction completely, and instantaneously. Christopher sighed, as the sound of the tennis balls hitting the metal walls started to cease. The trainer opened his arms abruptly making the aura around him dissipate promptly at his command. Inhaling deeply, he said:

-"Congratulations, Scott" -He said, with the usual monotone voice- "You've passed".

He started walking towards the door, expecting the recruit, or shall he say, expecting his future trainee to follow him.



OOC: Huge, huge writter's block today-- sorry for the small post, RJS.
 
|Serena|
|PRB Main Hall|
|Nice try|
Serena frowned as the boy tried to trick her into being lulled into a false sense of security with his cards. Unless, of course, he really was that stupid and was trying to play a card game with her.
"Nice try, but distraction tactics should never be something to rely on. How's your defence?"
Spinning around to do a simple front-kick, Serena stayed well out of range, and her foot would barely have come within a metre of Sam.
Serena was, like the other two main trainers, a parahuman, though her power was not a usual one it was difficult to explain, but had been classed as a striker. It was essentially short-range telekinesis, controlled by her movements, and it was like having invisible extensions to every limb. Not that it was her only power, but right now this was the one she was using. Sam would soon learn about this power, and if he kept up long enough, some of the others, too.
With all the power of the kick that she just delivered, it would be as if her leg had been an extra metre long, heading straight for the midriff of the boy.
 
When the portal suddenly flared up to a massive size, Scott jumped backwards in awe of the incredible display of power. The multiple balls all disappeared without a trace and the room, which had been filled with a resonant and rhythmic pounding, became eerily quiet. As the trainer's voice cut through the silence, Scott's grin, having been banished by the concentration required in the second test, returned to his face. He'd passed! He was in! Even though the trainer had been deliberately restricting his power, he'd found a way to surpass it! Scott knew all too well how different training was from a live operation however, and repressed any feelings of superiority. In an open fight, he would have been lying on the floor, badly wounded or even killed. Nevertheless, he had taken his first steps towards becoming capable of dealing with parahumans. And with that done, he took his first steps as someone who had passed the entrance test, following after the grim trainer.
 
"Sam, is it? You're with me. Follow." said the purple eyed woman from behind Sam. Wallis had been so focused on his conversation with Sam that he almost didn't notice her walking up.

'Saved by a trainer I guess, my wallet lives to see another day...' He thought half relieved and curious as to what this trainer was going to do with Sam. 'Purple hair and eyes. No doubt a parahuman, a lot of them have other than average color schemes to em.' as the pair walked away to a training mat Wallis was struck by another spectacle across the room. The trainer that had been creating small portals to deflect tennis balls was suddenly engulfed in a portal, surrounding his entire body. 'It's absorbing all the shots, amazing...' he thought as he watched in awe.

Just as quickly as the portal had appeared it dissipated and trench coat walked forward, it seemed like he exchanged a few words with the trainee and from there the sparring match came to a close. Wallis watched as Trench Coat made his way to the exit.

Wallis turned back to Sam and the purple haired trainer just in time to see a kick that wouldn't connect, 'And here I thought they were all good at close combat.' he thought, a wee bit confused that the trainer was setting up a kick that would so blatantly miss its mark.
 
King wondered if he could actually start a card game with this woman. Would it be worth it? She probably made a decent sum of cash as a trainer here. If he- No. Battle. Possible future boss. His flourish was absentminded now, analyzing her while going over the plan in his head. Steps one, three, and four seemed difficult. Five would be the nightmare. Low odds of working under the best conditions, but that was the risk he'd have to take. His eyes snapped to her leg. A quick flash of tension before a rise. A front kick? She was agile. Dodging would be difficult... if she was within a country mile of hitting him. A warmup, maybe? Now? 30% likely. Her leg snapped out. Yes, it was a standard front kick from a meter away. Did her depth perception just suck? You'd think someone as advanced as a tra-

THWUMP

Reaver reeled back from the impact. He'd felt the leg make contact, though his eyes didn't concur. 'What the hell?'; his first thought. The second soon replaced it. 'OUCH!' That sucker hurt. Right in the midriff, too. He'd figured a total dodge would be better than a physical block when dealing with an opponent of unknown strength, but when the attack defied all reason... Christ.

He groaned. "My defense's fine when physics are on, thanks."

What had happened? Had she tricked him somehow? Observations told him otherwise. Based on her simple kick and the earlier scolding for his distractions, she was more of a straightforward fighter. Yes, with an 85% certainty: She was direct in her attacks. So how could... Was she... Ah. He cursed himself for not considering his opponent a Parahuman before. She was a trainer at the PRB! Holy hell. Her power likely matched her fighting style; Direct. Straightforward. How, though? Had her leg extended at the last moment? 60%... No, 50% likely. The trainer was agile, sure, but he would at least see her attacks before they happened. Or, uh, while they happened. Hm.

Maybe she shot her entire body forward for a split second? Teleported her foot onto his stomach? Shot some kind of projectile from her body? One by one, he crossed these off the list. Those were overcomplicated solutions to the basic problem of "Hit target". Besides that, he'd definitely felt a leg crash into him. If only he saw it as well! Damn it. Perhaps... Could she make parts of her body invisible?! 80, no, 90% chance. He was on to something, but that still didn't explain the added reach. She stood on her own two visible feet as he looked at her now. Her appendages must extend. And the extensions were invisible. Somehow.

This job was weird.

His mind drifted to the past. A young Sam had once fought a drunk after a particularly one-sided hand of poker. The man had approached him outside the casino with a long chair leg, splintered and jagged on one side. Agressively he'd come at Reaver. He'd all the coordination of a tap-dancing snake, sure, but his reach was twice as long and he was really angry. It was hard-won, but the solution was relatively simple in concept. All he had to do... Wait, why had that popped into his head? Now? Of all times, in the middle of a battle? Ah, no, that's it: It was the same problem! He faced an opponent with a much longer reach than his own in a no-holds-barred battle (though admittedly she was a bit more agile than the bum). Could the same solution work here? His mind began racing. 30% likely he could land a solid hit. 60% he could make contact. 100% chance it was better than what he was doing now.

Her reach wouldn't mean shit if he was already inside it.

The difficult part was, of course, getting there. He was a quick guy; She was quicker. Even if he put all his speed into a forward burst, she could still score a hit with an extended arm or leg. And one hit was all she needed to knock him away. What could he do? He was safe now at the edge of the mat, after being knocked back by her last blow. If her next shot... Wait. The edge. He was at the edge of the mat. The card flourish had worked after all! Fantastic. Now it was all down to his speed. His speed and his wits.

He took a step backwards, off the mat and onto the hard wooden floor, taking the two dice out of his pocket as he went. He called to Serena.

"Not a fan of my style, huh? Catch!"

With that he tossed both dice straight to her, aiming for the face. Not incredibly useful, sure, but it may divert her attention slightly. If nothing else, she'd have to block it or lean to the side. That's what he was counting on.

Christ, this scheme was risky. He felt alive.

He quickly reached down, grabbing the padded mat in his hands. Deep breath. It'll all be a blur from here. Even if this throws her off balance for a split second, that's all the opening he would need.

King pulled out the mat from under her feet.

Immediately he leapt at his trainer, aiming a punch straight for her midriff. 'Good odds she'll be pissed if this lands'. Better odds he didn't care.
 
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The ball hit Luciel square in the forehead. Normally, he'd have been humiliated, but this was such a useful learning point that he didn't care. As it hit, a large amount of information was processed in his mind, the timing so similar that one could consider it being caused by being smacked in the face. In reality, of course, this was simply his reaction time, slowed by sudden astonishment, ending up at about the speed that was required for him to commit tennis-based quasi-suicide. This processing gave him a chance to demonstrate his own talents (no matter how insignificantly unimpressive they might have been compared to an actual power).

Blaster-Class ability: alteration of velocity from a distance in moving objects, otherwise...

Momentokinesis.

Luciel's expression carried the faintest hint of anxiety all of a sudden.
If it was exclusively in moving objects, and could only preserve necessary speed, that was 2. If he could control it freely, then where did the extra energy come from? His target? Class 3. Himself? Class 4. Sub-space. Class 6. Could he influence individual sections of the ball if he'd wanted? Maybe it wasn't restricted to moving objects, and the trainer was just screwing around? Class 10, if not his homebrew EX Class, which he had dubbed the "banlist" for Class 10 abilities. Not that he'd actually seen any, but he'd thought of a few theoretical ones.
Luciel had spent a long time considering the potential applications of various applications of the kinesises, and all of a sudden this trainer had gone from being an egotistic twig to what was potentially a physical god.

Having said that, grovelling at his feet was hardly a way to for Luciel make his first impression, even if it was best to tone the usual sarcasm down until he was certain that it wouldn't irritate his trainer to the point of snapping his neck.

He was returned to the rest of the world when the man began to speak to him.

"Bergljot, Luciel," he replied after a moment, which could be mistaken for him trying to remember it. "If this is another test, I'm perfectly happy to go with it," he continued, glancing it the handheld console. "Do you have one, by the way?"
"Here, have some fun with it. Now it's time I ask you a few questions to see if what I think of you is true, and I want you to correct me. Don't worry, I'm not gonna hurt you. I know plenty of other people who could be more devastating - I can only alter directions and even then it's just slightly. It's like throwing a baseball with your mind.", shrugged Simon. Luciel had certainly changed his physiognomy after seeing something he had trained day after day after day to pull off.

Simon scribbled something else in the notebook. He cleared his throath - this was going to be an interesting guy to deal with. He didn't seem to be bad at all, he could be described as a fast thinker, but he was likely to be an asshole - and perhaps that was not deliberate for him to think he's superior than anyone else.

"You're a fast thinker. You consider possibilities incredibly fast and know how to react to them. You're self-confident. You know what you know, and you know you can trust that more than anything else. You are a bit of a guy closed to yourself. You have little to no regards to autority - ranks mean nothing to you. You respect people for who they are and what they do. Is any of that wrong?"

Simon was far from being a genius when it came down to dealing with people - but he knew how to get the best from the worst in them.
 
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Christopher looked back at Scott, seeing the same smile on his face as the one he'd entered this facility with. "They are so naive... It's almost sad.", he thought to himself, walking towards the door, sighing. Walk pass it, he stopped, signalizing the trainee to go ahead-- after he had walked a few feet, Christopher put his right hand inside of the room, while his left held the door, and in a small explosion of energy, all the balls he had absorbed were launched, at once, towards the metal walls of the room, scattering them on the floor, eerily close to how they were when they came in-- standard procedure.
After closing the door, the trainer stretched both his back and his neck, making that familiar faint snap sound-- looking around the room, Christopher spotted Serena, walking down the training grounds with a white-haired boy which he assumed to be another recruit-- he didn't pay too much attention to it, though. Turning his gaze back to Scott, he sighed.

-"On to paperwork."

Thankfully, paperwork is not on his list of duties-- he directed the trainee to his office, where a blonde lady in her mid 40s' was sitting down, shuffling a few documents around her desk. She spotted the trainer, and almost instantly, a frowned expression appeared on her face-- she didn't like him very much, to say the very least. Christopher ignored her, shaking Scott's hand firmly.

-"Welcome to the PRB, Scott. Just talk to that lady over there" -He pointed at the secretary- "The paperwork shouldn't be too much of a hassle".
 
Throwing a baseball with mental will was one thing, but something like a heart was constantly in motion. He kept that in mind, but he also noted that despite his difficulty in demonstrating emotion, the man had understood perfectly that he'd become anxious about the ability. At least mentally, the trainers seemed to be no pushovers, but of course, their job description would have required that. Luciel had a feeling that he'd certainly enjoy his time in the PRB, provided he passed. Not that he was too concerned about that; he had practically already scored a place when he'd first walked into the building six years ago.

Nonetheless, he set the handheld aside, the trainer Luciel was talking to being far more interesting at the moment, and listened as his observed traits were listed thoughtfully.
"If by 'closed to myself', you mean 'won't trust anyone to do what I can just as easily', then I could easily have mistaken you for a Thinker. I'm impressed," he nodded. "But you haven't answered my question. Is a name in your vast array of highly trained and shockingly versatile assets or are they too expensive in this day and age?"
 
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