Parahumans: The PRB IC

Status
Not open for further replies.
As Scott walked down the corridor, he heard a cacophony of booms emanating from the room from which he had just left. Scott turned, but all he could see was the grim trainer walking away from the room, the door closing behind him. The trainer walked towards him, cracking a couple of joints in a lazy, stereotyped manner. As he was lead off to complete the relevant paperwork, Scott couldn't help but wonder about the sounds he'd heard after leaving the room. It had sounded incredibly like the tennis balls had sounded when hitting the room. Had he left the cannon loaded? No, the shots had fired as fast as he loaded, and he'd stopped loading as soon as the portal flared up. Wait! The first ball he'd thrown at the trainer had been fired back to him, but no others had. Scott had assumed that this meant the trainer could store objects at will. However, if the trainer had vented all those balls into the room then, it meant he had a limit, probably on time. It could just have been neatness, or leaving the room ready for the next session though. Scott didn't have enough information to decide. His musings were interrupted by the arrival at the trainer's office.

The secretary's response to their arrival was somewhat disconcerting; Scott sensed her dislike of the trainer from her demeanor. If he inspired that sort of antipathy from his colleagues, what would he be like as a trainer. Scott had judged him as harsh but fair, but it was possible that he was merely harsh. Nevertheless, Scott got settled and prepared to face the nemesis of every governmental organisation - the ever growing monster of bureaucracy. With the advent of recycling, the bastard had even become immortal, regenerating fresh paperwork from the old and worn-out. As he worked through the paperwork, Scott kept one eye on the trainer. When he was out of earshot, Scott looked the secretary dead in the eye and whispered "So, what's he like as a person?"
 
|Serena|
|PRB Main Hall|
The attempt at taking the mat from beneath her feet was a fairly pathetic one, as it was completely obvious what would happen before he'd even pulled it from beneath her.
Lightly stepping off from the matt before he pulled it, Serena stayed in her fighting position, for whatever would be thrown at her. That which would be thrown at her would be a punch, directed at her midriff. It had in fact been surprisingly fast, and he'd worked out that he'd need to get close into her in order to make her lose her benefit of range. His fighting could do well with some improvement, but he was certainly smart, that was for sure. he was good at looking at a situation and evaluating the best course of action, which was exactly what they needed besides fighting ability and tactical skill. This guy would do well, and she decided that her assessment was now over.
Now, for the punch. A simple side-step, followed by her grabbing him by the shirt and the leg, and tossing him bodily back onto the mat.
"Very good. You seem to work out the best thing to do in a given situation, and that's precisely what we need from you recruits. Once we give you some other training, I'm sure you'll excel. Now, just go to that secretary to get your final paperwork done, please."
 
Lincoln looked at the others, curious at the rapidness of the training they received. He laid his back upon a wall, watching them closely as he waited for his turn. Lincoln was rathermore a bit nervous, keeping to himself as he watched and began to think selfishly "Am I to receive the same training? Will I make a mistake? Maybe I won't be a great liaison between the FBI and PRB..." Lincoln crossed his arms, a small trickle of sweat coming down from his head. He quickly wiped it clean and tried to calm down, breathing in deeply as he continued his viewings. Albeit it all, he still looked calm from afar.
 
King was fully committed to that leap. He was, like, 80% sure he could cause some kind of damage to his target. A solid punch? A scratch? At the very least, some of his blood may get on her clothes? But instead, he was tossed back onto the mat like a child. He'd gotten inside her range, at least! The plan had worked well enough, though the mat tactic didn't contribute a whole lot. He ran through a few more scenarios in his head. If he was fast enough to get inside of her range, then was he fast enough to hit her? Maybe if he dodged to one side before she had time to react...

Her next words caught him off guard. "Very good." She went on to give him some mild praise and directions to the nearest secretary. Whoa. He'd done it! He'd passed his first test! It had all happened so fast, too. Most of the fight's adrenaline soon left him. Hand to king. King to Sam.

Reaver quickly thanked the trainer before stooping down to collect his fallen cards. She was much stronger than he was now; that much was obvious. She hadn't broken a sweat in the sparring. The odds of winning a rematch (if there ever was one) were much higher than the ones he'd walked in with today, though, now that she'd tipped her hand. Although, maybe there was more to her power than she'd let on? Hm. He wouldn't bet against that for money.

Now, where did she say that secretary was? Sam glanced around. Lockers, Cafeteria, Infirmary... Aha! Just there, inside a small office off the main drag. This was, uh, probably the right one. His mind had wandered a bit when Serena was giving him directions. Ah! There was already another person inside whispering to the aide from his chair. Employee? No, more likely another successful trainee, considering the substantial pile of paperwork he now held. Yeesh. Sam reluctantly took his own mountain from the secretary and claimed a spot in the corner. He could watch the other guy from here if he tried to pull anything. That injured leg? Probably a total ruse. Maybe.

Sam clutched the king once more before giving his hand up to a pen. The stack towered by his side. Regulations, background checks, security forms... Sigh. If only red tape came in hearts and diamonds.
 
Last edited by a moderator:
Random said:
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?"
Click to expand...
Simon gave a slight smirk. To guarantee that Luciel would listen to him during training, Simon had to say just a few things to finish it off. After all, Simon used to study psychology in college before joining the PRB. People were rather complex in how they thought, but you could distinguish some signs that were relatively common by how the person spoke and acted towards their superiors. It was just a matter of figuring out how.

"Name's Simon Hideyoshi. Just call me Simon, alright. Used to be a psychology student before I joined the PRB. We're all equals here, no matter our age, origin, skin color. Unless you're an asshole, then people'll probably hate you. Now hand me that 3DS, it's expensive and I want to keep it, it's one of the few things I can do on my free time here. Also, you're in, mate. Welcome to the PRB, Luciel."

Simon extended a hand with a friendly gesture. Luciel was an interesting person. He had to check the rest of the recruits as well to develop how exactly would he present the strategy class. To him, it was more of a matter of wheter or not he could still keep the class engaged and make them learn better, since everyone was different. Simon looked back at the recruit line. A slightly nervous guy that looked like he was from the FBI or something. Fringe division, wasn't it?

"Hey, Fringe, get over here, mate, I want to have a talk with you!" Gestured Simon, who was probably younger than that guy. It was going to be interesting.
 
Luciel nodded. "Good to be working with you. If we're lucky," he added. Despite the snide remark shoehorned onto the end of the sentence, he was genuinely pleased that the PRB had people like this Simon working for them. Maybe it would be easier to work in an actual team than he'd first suspected. Psych student, though? Of course he was. He was worth respect so far, at least, but his power was something to watch still, as well as his morals.

He picked up the 3DS and tossed it lightly in Simon's general direction, figuring that the trainer would catch it with momentokinesis. If not... well, it was hardly going to break from a small impact like that. He'd seen that other recruit walk into that room with another trainer earlier, and he hadn't come back out. Presumably the next part took place in there.

Only, once he entered, there was no indication of that at all, just a trainer with an eyepatch. A slightly embarrassing blunder, to say the least.

"Hey. No-Beard?" he raised an eyebrow as he addressed the room's other denizen. "Just thwarted stage one. Where do I go now?"
 
The secretary either hadn't heard the question, or had decided to ignore it. Scott sighed, and looked down at his last few forms. A shadow crossed over the page, and he looked up to see a nervy looking individual pick up a thick stack of paperwork and slink off to a corner. He seemed similar to Scott in age, but the demeanor was totally different. He seemed...erratic was probably the best way to describe it. Even when sat still, he gave an impression of perpetual motion, constantly fidgeting and tugging at something around his neck. His clothes, while fancy, seemed scruffy and worn, as if they'd had decades of use. Nevertheless, there was a sharpness to his eyes that seemed to betray a hint of the individual lurking beneath the nervous exterior.

Scott felt his heart soften a little. He'd seen friends come back from the frontlines looking like that, and he knew that the people who did had usually been in some of the worst areas and had had to consider anyone as a potential threat. "Whatever his story is," Scott mused to himself, "I bet he's got some serious scars from it." Polishing off the last form, Scott signed at the bottom with a triumphant flourish, like a hero celebrating the slaying of an almighty monster. Deciding to introduce himself, Scott hauled himself out of the chair, rubbing his bad leg to ease the muscles that had locked up during his long time in the chair. Walking over to the new arrival, Scott stuck out his hand.

"Hi. Guessing you're a new recruit too, huh? Name's Scott. Scott Samuels. Pleasure to meet you."
 
Page 36 of the all-encompassing White Death. Former employment? He'd dealt a few hands in the casino sometimes. Did that count? Sure! Maybe! Gah. He put down "Dealer". Dealer? That might, uh, hm. Sam quickly scrawled "Card" in the space before it. That... may need more clarification.

Former Employment
  • Card Dealer in a casino for blackjack and poker with chips where I dealt hands to people that bet money to gamble.








not drugs you sick fucks
Click to expand...
Signed Sam Reaver. There! Sparse, maybe, but he'd wasted enough ink filling out the damn psychological section earlier. Formal employment just wasn't a thing in his past. Wouldn't be a thing in his future at this rate, either.

The man on the other side of the room did some kind of triumphant flourish with his pen before setting his stack down. Wow! These forms could be completed? That was encouraging. Slightly less encouraging was his advance this way. Uh oh. Maybe he was heading for the door? He passed the door. Maybe he... forgot where the door was? Wishful thinking. The man was clearly heading towards Sam, unless by some 5% chance he had a wide turning circle or something. Um. Hnngh. Sam's fidgets with the king increased. Stay calm. Easy. Good news! Was there good news? Yes! If the other guy was faking his leg injury, he was really committed to it. Unlikely, but possible. His limp was very pronounced as he staggered across the room. Alright, that was good. His center of balance would be perpetually off, so sweeping his legs wouldn't be incredibly difficult if it came to that. 70% chance with current information. The injury would slow down his running speed, too, so he couldn't chase Sam far or fast. Good, good. Alright.

Reaver let the man approach. Muscles tensed. Ready to flee if it came to that. Throw the papers in his face, dodge past him, out the door. One two three. Boom. 75% success. He drew closer. Now that he was in focus, Sam could make out a long scar across his left cheek. Surgical incision? No, it wasn't that clean. Probably some sort of high-speed sharp... thing. It hurt to think about. Ech. Sympathy earned.

He introduces himself as Samuel. Wait! Scott. Scott Samuels. Gah, twice that'd happened now. Screw these first-namey last names. The Samuelses should meet up with the Isaacs family and collectively revel in their weird-ass surnames. What? Oh, Scott was standing there waiting for an answer with his hand stuck out. Trap? No, uh, probably not. 30... 20% chance. He seemed genuine enough.

Reaver tentatively shook Scott's hand. "Pleasure to meet you too. I am, in fact, a recruit. Yep. Well... kind of. I just passed. That counts. Right? Yeah." Short cough. His words quickened again, tumbling from his mouth. "I tried to pull the mat from my purplehairtrainer and shedidn't fall for it butIstillpassedsohereIamlotsofpaperworkhuhIthinkit's-" STOP! Deep breath. This kind of floundering had never happened before his stint in the damn hospital. Bleh! Sam took out his deck of cards and began an absentminded shuffle. Calm. Easy. Talk.

"Achem. Excuse me, I'm a bit... nervous. My exam shook me up a bit." Mild understatement. Would this guy consent to a hand of poker? Grah! No chips. They'd have to settle for Hold 'Em or Blackjack, if Scott would even play. Looked unlikely, from his serious demeanor, and he'd already offered both of those games to Wallis earlier today. Some of his cards were bent, too. Stupid trainer with her invisible kicks from nowhere. There had to be another way to gamble. Maybe... Aha! That might work.

"Scott!" Sam perked up. "Judging by that heap of sheets and ink over there, you were sent here for the same reason I was. You've passed your exam, right?" Solid odds there. He leaned in. "I normally greet someone with spades and clubs, but I've got my hands full with the rest of these forms. Plus I want to learn as much about this place- and these people- as I can. Care for a different kind of wager?"

"Tell me about your test. Afterwards, I'll tell you of mine. But! You've got to leave out any direct actions taken by your trainer. Only describe your trainer's effect on you and the environment. If she punched you so hard that you flew into a wall, tell me only that you felt an impact and hit the wall behind you. Easy! Got it? Good." He'd learn about Scott's fighting style and discern the abilities of the second trainer. Two birds. "Twenty pounds says I can guess your trainer's Parahuman abilities before you can guess the abilities of mine." Hopefully the second trainer had a power. Meh. It was likely enough.

Sam traded his cards for a twenty from his pocket, then tossed his note on the table. He gestured for Scott to do the same. King began chewing on his pen as he looked down at White Death, page 37.

"Are you in?"
 
Last edited by a moderator:
Scott chuckled softly. He'd seen that glint in his fellow recruit's eye before. Some people took solace in a world of probabilities, living for a thrill as the cards flipped. He'd met people like that in the military, where there was always at least one illicit after-hours card game going on, and that was just the officers. Though Scott was a terrible card player, he'd joined the games from time to time as a diversion, even though his wallet came back lighter. This however was different. This game was strategical, a competition to squeeze the most information out of your opponent whilst giving as little away as possible. Scott reached into his wallet and pulled out a crisp twenty, dangling it in front of his fellow recruit's eyes.

"I accept, on 3 conditions. Firstly, I will not tell you everything in one go. I tell you something, you tell me something. You can guess the ability at any time, and you are only allowed one incorrect guess. Secondly, you will start first. And finally, before we start, I'd like to know your name. Are you in?"

A little fun couldn't hurt too much after all those forms; whatever else Scott could say about his old job, at least it had paid well.
 
This guy... He was playing with a full deck, so to speak. The conditions he'd laid out had harshly evened Sam's wonderfully lopsided game. The first condition limited the amount of information transferred in one turn, thereby giving each player less time to think about the solution. The second was to be expected. The player going first, especially in the original version of the wager, was at a slight disadvantage in that his opponent had all the time in the world to ponder while you rambled on. The third was the simplest; It should have happened already, in fact. Had he been so caught up in his nerves that he hadn't even given a name? Huh.

"I, Sam Reaver, accept all three of your conditions. Reluctantly." Could he push the second one? He'd better odds if he went last. Probably. But... No, Scott didn't seem overly open to bargaining. Gr.

Why not spill all of it? Sam could ramble on for hours about this extended-melee girl Scott still wouldn't be able to figure it out. It was his ace in the hole: The trainer's ability was so straightforward, so mundane, that it'd be near impossible to guess within the structure defined. But Samuels didn't know that. Hm. Sam would have to be sporting about it. Play like he was truly afraid of letting some vital piece of information slip.

Shadows of doubt crossed his mind. Maybe it wasn't such a hard guess after all? His opponent seemed sharp. It was a simple power. Maybe Scott had met the trainer before? Well... Too late now. The time for sanding dice was long past.

"Let's see... Aha! Here we go. I began my exam by walking over to a training mat. After thinking to myself for a few seconds, I pulled out this deck of cards-" Sam waved the deck in the air. "-and began shuffling them. It became a spring flourish pretty quickly." There! That should satisfy Samuels for now. Right? Yeah. Good odds he'd be equally stingy.

"I think I'll pass on a guess this turn. You?"
 
Massaging his temples, the trainer just barely heard a recruit talk to him. He seemed confused, "one of Simon's, isn't?", the trainer thought, inhaling deeply-- can this system get any more messy? The trainer moved away from the wall he was leaned against, straightening his coat. He glanced over the recruit, raising an eyebrow. "Christ, he almost emanates ignorance." Christopher sighed, starting to analyze the recruit in small glances, "White hair; venetian red eyes, bordering carmine; posture and tone indicate some kind of hidden maturity of sorts. probably left his parents' house prematurely, which would explain his attitude. Hm, maybe a little too early too judge, but he isn't here for passion, he needs money-- decently worn out clothes and the lack of dark circles under his eyes suggest unemployment, desperation put some senses into his head, I'll assume".
Though the thought process may have seem a bit long, it all was processed in less than a few seconds. Christopher sighed, crossing his arms, pointing at his office with his left index finger.

-"If Simon approved you already, go there. Ask the secretary for paperwork, she'll know what to do."​
​
He wasn't going to introduce himself as of right now, the trainer knew ignorance pretty well-- well enough to know that he'd probably be ignored, or ridiculed in some way if he did. Instead, he leaned back against the wall, leaving the other recruits to Serena and Simon. "Once they are done, I'll get back to the training grounds, I'm wasting too much time already".​
 
Luciel got walking again, giving the trainer a thumbs-up, but not a second look as he passed. Of course not, he'd gotten what he wanted. What else did he need? Having said that, it might have also been a subconscious unease, he noted. Something about that eyepatch put him on edge. Maybe it was just having not seen one often around the city.

It was also probably down to the glare he'd felt before the man had replied. He had simply stood staring at Luciel for those few seconds, clearly assessing, and probably not in a favourable manner. Not that it mattered much. His secrets would remain secret, that he knew. They weren't devastating, but well-hidden enough all the same. Instead of wasting his energy thinking about it, Luciel made his way over the secretary and hovered around the general area, expecting her to either know what he needed or was at least listening to the conversation.
 
So the other guy was playing the game properly too huh? To be honest, Scott had been interested to see how his proposed changes were received. He'd swung the field from solely in Sam's favour to slightly in his favour, and any bit part hustler, like some of the Army card sharps, would have flipped out. But Sam had sat, considered the conditions, and agreed to them. In addition, he'd given Scott the tiniest of morsels to chew on. If he was all tricks and no ability, he hid it very well. Scott almost burst out laughing when Sam said he wouldn't take a guess that turn. A dry sense of humour too! Oh man, this was going to be fun all right. Alea iacta est indeed, Mr. Reaver. Well, no-one said he had to start from when his trainer had started using his powers, after all.

"I walked onto the mat and took a defensive stance. I didn't go on the attack because my leg slows me down. Within a second, I was forced onto my knees."

It would be interesting to see if Sam would attribute that to pure martial skill, or to a power. A little feint never hurt anyone, right?
 
Watching as the recruit walked away, Christopher sighed, proceeding to walk towards the training grounds. "I've wasted enough time already", he thought. Dealing with people in general wasn't one of Christopher's favorite activities, as many tend to notice. That being one of the reasons why he doesn't particularly like recruitment week, I mean, a big share of the recruits tend to drop out after a few weeks anyways, so it didn't matter much to him. "New faces", "old faces", for him, just a big mesh of skin-colored annoying mess, striving for the unachievable. Rare are the ones who beg to differ, rarer are the ones who actually do -- he could count them on his fingers, if he so wanted.

Before flashbacks and even more depressing thoughts started to kick in, Christopher reached the main hall, spotting Serena standing there, near the center of the room. He walked across the room, not acknowledging until he found himself parallel to her, glancing in her direction with his usual half-shut eyes, or eye, for that matter, he said, with a somewhat disinterested, usual low-toned voice:

-"Serena" -He said, shifting his head quickly in the last recruit's direction- "Mind taking care of the last one?"​
​
It was pretty well-known by now the fact, specially around the trainers, that Christopher didn't like evaluating new recruits, he'd stick to one, two, never more. He glanced over the blond recruit, analyzing what he could in such little time and decent distance-- it isn't mentioned much, but the eye-patch does obstruct his view, making it hard to focus on objects a few dozen feet away. "Well-taken skin, wealthy, decent clothes, fairly good posture, almost no evidence of dark circles on his eyes" Christopher sighed "a business-man". He looked back at Serena, waiting for a response before he satisfy his strive to head on to the training grounds.
 
Within a second, forced onto his knees... Hmph. Scott wasn't giving much away. Or was he? His trainer had somehow gotten an opponent, one fully expecting an attack and in a defensive stance, onto his knees. In a single second. Was Samuels just a terrible fighter? Possibly? Low 40's. The man wouldn't be here if he didn't have some semblance of combat skill. Unless he was strictly an intelligence officer. That would be the ideal role for someone with a physical disability... Well... Gr. Based on the available facts, there was a solid 60 or even 70% chance that Scott was specifically intelligence and therefore had limited combat experience. But, then, where had he acquired the limp in the first place? Or the scar? Bleh. Call it a hunch, but it seemed like this guy would rather confine himself to a jail cell than a desk. The glint in his eyes, maybe? Who knows. Bottom line, though, Scott probably had at least a decent proficiency in hand-to-hand.

So how was he forced to kneel so quickly, then? Could it be the result of his opponent's ability? Sam's own trainer had opened with a display of abnormality, so it wasn't too far-fetched. Was it some sort of gravity manipulation? One that affected Scott's muscles directly, or one that reached up from the ground to drag him down? So, so, so many eventualities. What if Scott had simply fallen on his own? What if it was the result of superhuman speed by the trainer? What if it was the result of human speed by the trainer? If! If! The word spun circles around Sam's head like a cartoon bird. There were too many possibilities right now to make any kind of accurate assumption. He'd have to wait for more pieces of the puzzle.

What next? Looking back, Reaver's own fight was rather short. What would happen when he ran out of story to tell? Would Samuels just refuse to reveal any more of his own battle? That was... Plausible, but unlikely. By agreeing so readily so Scott's terms, Sam hoped he'd built up at least a morsel of goodwill. He could turn that to his advantage should Scott deny the full ordeal.

Now! Offense, so to speak. That situation was unfavorable. He'd have to cut his parts down more and more as the game progressed. But a big event had to be unveiled. Like, now. First contact between trainer and trainee.

"I dropped my cards and ended up at the edge of the mat. There was... an impact." Reaver's eyes drifted to his midriff. Definitely an impact. Ten pounds said a bruise had already formed.
 
An impact, huh? Seems Reaver had been hit with a reasonable amount of force. How much to read into this though? Could Reaver also be bluffing using standard hand to hand combat to throw him off? It seemed unlikely. The way he had said impact suggested he was still wrapping his head around what had happened. But maybe he wanted Scott to think that. Genuine confusion, or sheer gambit? Had he not noticed the queen, or was his piece bait for a trap?

Assuming no powers used: he took a blow from his trainer. Judging by the force, either a very strong trainer with a punch or a kick. Scott hadn't noticed any hypermuscled trainers earlier, so likely a kick. Unless...

Power Usage hypothesis one: Super strength. What looked like a light blow that he could take turned into a heavy one that blew him away. Seemed unlikely. Reaver came across as too twitchy to be the tanking type.

Power Usage hypothesis two: Telekinesis of some sort. An object was sent crashing into him with a reasonable amount of force. Possible, but noticeable. An object coming from the rear may have worked, but Reaver's eyes had suggested a blow front and centre. Potential feint though.

Power Usage hypothesis 3: Some more sophisticated trick to do with hand to hand. Not enough information to define.

Alright. Enough analysis. Time to get the game rolling again.

"I got up, and attacked the trainer. I used surprise, but was put in an arm bar without landing a solid hit."
 
Form B-27... What? Why was this on page 40? It should've been filed in, like, the 20's. Grah! Screw all of this red tape.

Speaking of annoying things loaded with words, Scott had taken another turn without revealing much of anything. Unless he'd given it away already? Hm. Well, a surprise attack from him certainly should have landed. How did he get the drop on his trainer? Was one of them in the process of walking away? Was the trainer narcoleptic? Unlikely, especially for a government agent specialized in combat. The walk-away thing seemed more plausible. 80% chance. Does that mean the trainer gave up? Not unless he was significantly weaker than Scott. Ha! Did Scott give up? He'd have to be terrified of his opponent to turn his back on a job like this, though. Hm. Maybe... Aha! Could the battle have formally ended when Scott was put on his knees? 75%-ish. Good enough. That would explain why the trainer was off guard. But...

Most people can't dodge an unexpected attack. To be able to completely counter it and immobilize your opponent in the process... That was insane. No way. There had to be some powers going on there. Right? Yeah, with 60% certainty. Or, uh, 50%. Maybe the trainer was in Olympian physical condition. With had lightning reflexes. And, uh, hm. No! There was something going on. Speed on that level wasn't normal.

Could Scott's opponent be a speedyguy, then? Wait, not speedyguy. What were they called in the papers? An... um... Runner? Flasher? Mov- Yes! Mover, that was the proper name. Probably. A man sporting unnatural speed would definitely be confident enough to turn his back on an opponent. It would also explain how Scott was forced to his knees so quickly earlier. Yes! No. Maybe?

It'd be reckless to burn a guess so early, but... Gr. "Speed" was such an adaptable power! There'd be next to no way to distinguish it otherwise. Yes, Reaver'd have to do it this way. Damn.

"For what it's worth, I'd like to take my first shot. Having a safety net in the form of a second guess really throws me off my game." 'There's a bigger reason! But why would I tell you that?' Could... Oh, this was plan was risky. There'd only be one chance at a correct guess if this failed. Which was likely. Very likely. But... Gr. No turning back now. Alea iacta est. "Does your trainer possess superhuman speed?"

...Was he forgetting something? Speed, papers, milk... Ah! Right, his own turn.

"On the off-chance that was wrong," Off-chance? Putting it mildly. "I threw a pair of dice to my trainer before stooping down at the edge of the mat. But you didn't need to know that. Because I've already won. Right?."
 
Luciel was resisting the urge to scream.

He was currently on page 67 of the paperwork, and the end wasn't in sight. Not to mention that he was just skimming through and hadn't actually filled in any of it yet. To be perfectly honest, he really couldn't be arsed. This was a complete and total waste of his time. Surely it would be quicker to just get a scribe or something? Why the hell was he being made to fill all of this in, anyway? Why the hell did they care about his date of birth or his exam results? Or his GP, for that matter?

He sighed, giving up on reading through and just turned back to the first page. If this was what it was going to be like all day, or, god forbid, for the entirety of his new job, then he wasn't going to enjoy it. Nonetheless, he began to fill out box by box his details, and constantly reminding himself that it was an official stack of paperwork, and not something to be doodled on.
 
"Mind taking care of the last one?"
"Sure, I'm on it." Serena replied, looking to find a young, blonde-haired boy, who still needed to be evaluated for his hand-to-hand combat skill. He was wearing glasses, which wouldn't hinder him too much, but she'd have to be careful to not break them. Didn't want glass shards in his eyes, that could make him blind. If he ever went out on operation, he'd need contact lenses, or lenses worked into a helmet. That would be if he was the type to get into combat. For all she knew, he could be someone more suited to equipment development, parahuman studies, or off-field tactics. She's certainly know if he could succeed at all at combat from this.
"Alright, you, come with me."
She took the young man to the same mat, and fell into the exact same stance. He had probably seen her using her power on the last boy, the one with the cards, so she'd have to change it up a bit.
Despite the fact that she was a metre away, she started a movement that would do a judo throw on him, but a metre or so away from her. It'd be as if there was another, invisible person, trying to perform the throw.
 
Stopwatched said:
Form B-27... What? Why was this on page 40? It should've been filed in, like, the 20's. Grah! Screw all of this red tape.

Speaking of annoying things loaded with words, Scott had taken another turn without revealing much of anything. Unless he'd given it away already? Hm. Well, a surprise attack from him certainly should have landed. How did he get the drop on his trainer? Was one of them in the process of walking away? Was the trainer narcoleptic? Unlikely, especially for a government agent specialized in combat. The walk-away thing seemed more plausible. 80% chance. Does that mean the trainer gave up? Not unless he was significantly weaker than Scott. Ha! Did Scott give up? He'd have to be terrified of his opponent to turn his back on a job like this, though. Hm. Maybe... Aha! Could the battle have formally ended when Scott was put on his knees? 75%-ish. Good enough. That would explain why the trainer was off guard. But...

Most people can't dodge an unexpected attack. To be able to completely counter it and immobilize your opponent in the process... That was insane. No way. There had to be some powers going on there. Right? Yeah, with 60% certainty. Or, uh, 50%. Maybe the trainer was in Olympian physical condition. With had lightning reflexes. And, uh, hm. No! There was something going on. Speed on that level wasn't normal.

Could Scott's opponent be a speedyguy, then? Wait, not speedyguy. What were they called in the papers? An... um... Runner? Flasher? Mov- Yes! Mover, that was the proper name. Probably. A man sporting unnatural speed would definitely be confident enough to turn his back on an opponent. It would also explain how Scott was forced to his knees so quickly earlier. Yes! No. Maybe?

It'd be reckless to burn a guess so early, but... Gr. "Speed" was such an adaptable power! There'd be next to no way to distinguish it otherwise. Yes, Reaver'd have to do it this way. Damn.

"For what it's worth, I'd like to take my first shot. Having a safety net in the form of a second guess really throws me off my game." 'There's a bigger reason! But why would I tell you that?' Could... Oh, this was plan was risky. There'd only be one chance at a correct guess if this failed. Which was likely. Very likely. But... Gr. No turning back now. Alea iacta est. "Does your trainer possess superhuman speed?"

...Was he forgetting something? Speed, papers, milk... Ah! Right, his own turn.

"On the off-chance that was wrong," Off-chance? Putting it mildly. "I threw a pair of dice to my trainer before stooping down at the edge of the mat. But you didn't need to know that. Because I've already won. Right?."
Click to expand...
Scott was slightly stunned for a moment. He'd forgotten his opponent was a thrill-seeking risk-taker; his analyses to this point had lulled him into an entirely different view. Wiping the surprise off his face, Scott replaced it with a smug grin.

"Unfortunately, it's just as well you continued with your description, because your guess was wrong. My trainer's power was not superhuman speed."

A cursory analysis of Reaver's statement revealed no useful information about his trainer's power. Well then. Time to get serious.

"I stood up, brushed myself down, then followed my trainer off the mat."

By dragging out the transfer phase for as long as possible, Scott hoped to squeeze more information out of Reaver, and possibly provoke him into thinking Scott's test had been short.
 
Status
Not open for further replies.
Top Bottom
Back