The Team: Phase II

[Thuro 116 Pendragon]

Prologue: Short Change Hero

John Crichton looked at the assembled war table around him. This was Lost Souls, his semi-elite task force based around the criminals remains of the Ninth Team, which him, Kirito, and Accelerator were the only survivors. They'd all been felons imprisoned by the multiverse spanning Organization, with the exception of Rachel Allison, their former handler, but Crichton had bargained for their loyalty on a combination of bluff and the use of his regained position with the Organization. While the first week he'd expected their little safe house to glassed from orbit, as another week had passed, then another, he'd gained confidence. Hera and Skull Face hadn't betrayed him, at least not yet.

The people in this room were notoriously unstable and dangerous, but then so was John. It was taboo for a Wildcard to hold the position of Squad Leader, but it'd be nigh impossible for any other person to ride herd over this group with any level of control. But then, maybe that was why Crichton had survived this long. He had no control, and was pure chaos within order. And that was what Lost Souls was, a small band of chaos in the much larger order of the Organization.

The people seated around the wide table of the war room of their safehouse, really just the dining table of a suburban home owned through a series of shell companies leading back to the Organization, included:

John Crichton - The Wildcard
Rachel Allison - The Manipulator
Darth Vader - The Mastermind
Setsuna of the Moment of Dreams - The Heart
Kirito Kirigaya - The Warrior
Accelerator - The Weapon
Hei - The Fear
Izana - The Zero
Meta Knight - The Code

And their newest recruit, the man that Skull Face had ordered them to wait for, one:

Scott Lang - The Line

Leaning forward and taking a deep breath, Crichton began his briefing. "Alright. The attack at Peacetown was three weeks ago, and believe it or not I haven't just been sitting on my ass playing house with Rachel." He said this with such a straight face that it had to be a lie, though who knows about which part.

"I've been putting the description of the robot through every database and informant that the Organization has, and first, let me say there are a drenload of mechs out there. The running tally for different models from different universes runs in the tens of thousands."

"But anyways, I wasn't able to get a good lead on the robot until I started using Rachel's credentials." He looked across at the red eyed woman. Technically they were the same rank within the Organization, and it was fairly irregular for a captain to be in another captain's squad, but she'd requested to stay. Crichton still wasn't sure why.

"Thanks for letting me borrow those by the way." He added, when in reality she hadn't even been aware that he'd had that information.

"So, this is what I got. The mech is from a world marked TL4-64891325. Its a somewhat common machine, but the modifications that were on it, the plasma cannon, those were non standard. The world is off limits to officers without special clearance for reasons that are 'classified', but I was able to trade a favor or two for the coordinates."

Crichton reached down beside him and picked up a small metal cube. The insides were shielded from prying eyes, but they all would recognize it. It was the portable TDE device that allowed for travel from world to world.

"We're breaking the rules..." Who's not surprised amiright? "...and going in quiet. We do not want to be caught, or we could be sent back to the Box and this'll all end badly. I wish I could say that my position would be able to shield you, but I can't promise that."

"However, working in our favor is the fact that from the rumors that are floating around, only a handful of agents have feet on the ground. If we're careful, we can get in, put down whoever attacked Peacetown, and get out without anyone knowing." As if John's plans ever worked.

"Also, here and there I've been working on Setsuna's kissing problem, but no luck so far. Whoever worked out the energy exchange differential was a genius in they're field, and I'm not."

He looked at the group in front of them and asked simply, "Any questions?"​

 

[CrunchyCHEEZIT]

--|| Meta Knight Prologue ||--
"Truth Among Lies"

A true team or alliance has certain aspects that keep it all together. Certain characters and personalities that each fall into place and intertwine in a network of relationships and skills, a complex network that finds itself wrapped around such a small group of people. Every team as the manipulative influences, who can get people on their side. The heart and morals of angels who seek to help the weak. The mind of an emperor, who can do the things no one else is willing to do. The unbreakable will of a warrior, who will fight to the bitter end. The weapons and abilities of gods, to outmatch all who would oppose them. The might and power to strike fear into the hearts of their enemies. The ability to rise above the line and stay afloat where others would fall; all of this supported by the ambition of a wildcard, the desire to do the impossible.

All of this, and the true intentions of this group would remain like a code, that has yet to be decrypted. Such power and hope shrouded in darkness and subterfuge, for better or for worse. Deception and lies are the first step to destruction for a team, but even then, the code will bring truth among these lies.

What does this all mean?

It will all make sense, in due time.

"When will we begin the operation?" Meta Knight finally muttered, after what seemed like ages for the rest of the squad. The knight was standing upon his chair, quietly staring ahead whilst wrapped within his own cape. You'd think his sheathed sword would be easily seen through the cape, yet it somehow remains hidden as if nothing was there. When the Lost Souls left the area, Meta Knight would follow regardless of Chrichtons approval. He didn't explain why he chose to side with the Lost Souls, all he did was simply nod to John and follow. Like many other aspects of him, his motives would remain hidden to the rest of the team. Why was he even here in the first place?

@Thuro 116 Pendragon @BarrenThin @Hospes @T.O.M. @Kaykay @FireDrake150 @The Silver Paladin @WHOEVER PLAYS AS SCOTT LANG AND RACHEL ALLISON IM SORRY I DIDNT CATCH YOUR NAMES​

 

[FireDrake150]

Izana Listens to Chrighton Speak, looking from him, to rachael, and the other members of the team. Izana then listens to what they're planning to do.

"What's Plan B? No Offense, Sir, But your plans don't have the greatest success track record." The Small Reptile was right, of course, but whether or not it was the right time to speak up, or the right time to say what he did, No one likely knows for sure.

@Thuro 116 Pendragon
@BarrenThin
@Hospes
@Kaykay
@T.O.M.
@The Silver Paladin
@Mighty Roman (Because Yu have Rachael, I think. *Dontshootmeifimwrongpleasei'mjustalildraggie.*)

 

[Cromartie Sarkissian]

John Crichton looked at the assembled war table around him. This was Lost Souls, his semi-elite task force based around the criminals remains of the Ninth Team, which him, Kirito, and Accelerator were the only survivors. They'd all been felons imprisoned by the multiverse spanning Organization, with the exception of Rachel Allison, their former handler, but Crichton had bargained for their loyalty on a combination of bluff and the use of his regained position with the Organization. While the first week he'd expected their little safe house to glassed from orbit, as another week had passed, then another, he'd gained confidence. Hera and Skull Face hadn't betrayed him, at least not yet.

The people in this room were notoriously unstable and dangerous, but then so was John. It was taboo for a Wildcard to hold the position of Squad Leader, but it'd be nigh impossible for any other person to ride herd over this group with any level of control. But then, maybe that was why Crichton had survived this long. He had no control, and was pure chaos within order. And that was what Lost Souls was, a small band of chaos in the much larger order of the Organization.

The people seated around the wide table of the war room of their safehouse, really just the dining table of a suburban home owned through a series of shell companies leading back to the Organization, included:

John Crichton - The Wildcard
Rachel Allison - The Manipulator
Darth Vader - The Mastermind
Setsuna of the Moment of Dreams - The Heart
Kirito Kirigaya - The Warrior
Accelerator - The Weapon
Hei - The Fear
Izana - The Zero
Meta Knight - The Code

And their newest recruit, the man that Skull Face had ordered them to wait for, one:

Scott Lang - The Line

Leaning forward and taking a deep breath, Crichton began his briefing. "Alright. The attack at Peacetown was three weeks ago, and believe it or not I haven't just been sitting on my ass playing house with Rachel." He said this with such a straight face that it had to be a lie, though who knows about which part.

"I've been putting the description of the robot through every database and informant that the Organization has, and first, let me say there are a drenload of mechs out there. The running tally for different models from different universes runs in the tens of thousands."

"But anyways, I wasn't able to get a good lead on the robot until I started using Rachel's credentials." He looked across at the red eyed woman. Technically they were the same rank within the Organization, and it was fairly irregular for a captain to be in another captain's squad, but she'd requested to stay. Crichton still wasn't sure why.

"Thanks for letting me borrow those by the way." He added, when in reality she hadn't even been aware that he'd had that information.

"So, this is what I got. The mech is from a world marked TL4-64891325. Its a somewhat common machine, but the modifications that were on it, the plasma cannon, those were non standard. The world is off limits to officers without special clearance for reasons that are 'classified', but I was able to trade a favor or two for the coordinates."

Crichton reached down beside him and picked up a small metal cube. The insides were shielded from prying eyes, but they all would recognize it. It was the portable TDE device that allowed for travel from world to world.

"We're breaking the rules..." Who's not surprised amiright? "...and going in quiet. We do not want to be caught, or we could be sent back to the Box and this'll all end badly. I wish I could say that my position would be able to shield you, but I can't promise that."

"However, working in our favor is the fact that from the rumors that are floating around, only a handful of agents have feet on the ground. If we're careful, we can get in, put down whoever attacked Peacetown, and get out without anyone knowing." As if John's plans ever worked.

"Also, here and there I've been working on Setsuna's kissing problem, but no luck so far. Whoever worked out the energy exchange differential was a genius in they're field, and I'm not."

He looked at the group in front of them and asked simply, "Any questions?"​

"Great! Breaking into places and messing with shit is my speciality" The new figure cried, finally making himself known in the room. The man appeared to be no more than 30 years old, and was clad almost completely on what looked like a glorified boiler suit. Lifting the face piece of his helmet, he continued "Hi!" He uttered nervously, raising a slow hand as he did so "The people call me 'the Antman'; friends call me Scott" His body language unleashed a short, sharp cringe "I know the name sucks, I didn't exactly get to choose it. Long story"

Now, time for business. All of these people, these lost soul; a dragon, a tiny knight, a ninja...and was that Darth Vader? Take that avengers; bet they didn't have a Sith Lord on their team. By the sounds of it, these guys and gals (did the dragon have a gender?) had just been thrown together a few weeks ago, and we're still adjusting to their alliances; he probably hadn't missed out on that much...right?

@Thuro 116 Pendragon @Hospes @Kaykay @The Silver Paladin @Mighty Roman @T.O.M. @BarrenThin
Mobile post

 

[Thuro 116 Pendragon]

"When will we begin the operation?"​

John replied quickly, he seemed to be in a hurry, just a little. It was because he was eager to get started, learning years ago that the easiest way to get rid of his petty human fears and fit in with the much more rough and tumble aliens of the wide universe was to just do it. Nothing was impossible, despite what the naysayers said. They said a Shadow Vault couldn't be broken into, and he did. Conventional wisdom said a small group of people couldn't destroy a command carrier. He did it. Conventional wisdom said that he couldn't this group from killing each other, but he was doing it.

"As soon as you're all brought one hundred and thirty four percent up to speed. Then we go. The sooner we go, the sooner Asuna stops giving me the evil eye for taking her husband away."

He turned and looked at where Kirito's wife was giving him the evil eye. It'd probably petrify most men, but he had lived with Aeryn for four years. This chick was nothing.

After they had graduated from the Team program one of the first thing that Crichton had done was retrieve the Warrior's wife from where she was being held hostage in a Organization holding cell, one of the hidden regional prisons where they held prisoners not bad or dangerous enough to be sent to the Box.

Even though she had started her life as a computer program in a video game, the Organization had given her a physical form, for better leverage over their assassin, the young Kirito now awoken from the nerve gear. Crichton didn't know how he'd gone from prima assassin to Box prisoners, and the information was restricted to Organization Majors and higher.
He'd have asked Kirito himself, but Crichton didn't care frankly. Probably had something to do with stealing a superior's ding dong.
​

"What's Plan B? No Offense, Sir, But your plans don't have the greatest success track record."

Crichton figured the truth, We all die and the bad guys win and no one lives happily ever after, Was a bad answer to give his greenest recruit. So instead he answered and said, "The first plan leaves enough wiggle room that if it goes wrong, then that's something we can't plan for. We have the Wildcard plan, which is to use whatever's on hand, blow dren up, and run like hell."

John held up his hands, knowing how that sounded. "That's why Vader's the Mastermind and not me."
​

"Hi!"​

"Hi." John said blandly.

Then, after an awkward pause, he added, "So your file says you can shrink to the size of an ant? That's... cool." Crichton tried to put as much enthusiasm in his voice for the idea of having tiny man on his team. It may or may not have worked.

Inwardly, he thought, Is it too late to get Ellison back?​

 

[Cromartie Sarkissian]

If Scott could read minds, he probably would have been wounded by Crichton's words...to be honest, if he could read minds, he would probably sound a lot more useful....

"Yup. It's pretty cool actually. Keep watching" Hovering his thumb over the bright red button on the glove of his suit, he cracked a small grin "Brase yourself, things can get a little bit crazy...."

Slamming down his faceplate, The Antman slammed the button down annnnddd.....

Nothing happened

Nothing at all

"Oh, wait...this doesn't usually happen" He pressed the button again and again, shaking and twisting his hand as he did so, hoping something and just come loose inside; he couldn't have broken it, right?

"Got it!" Turns out you have to press both buttons at the exact same time for anything to actually happen; what could he say? He was out of practice....

A small white flash would fill the eyes of the LostSouls and the sudden compressing of Scott's molecules occurred. Spiralling down towards the earth, a familiar sense of joy filled his system; how he missed this rush!

The suit finally came into contact with the grown, unleashing nothing more than a small chipping sound as it did so

@Thuro 116 Pendragon @Mighty Roman @FireDrake150 @CrunchyCHEEZIT
@anyoneelseimissed
Mobile post crap post

 

[Mighty Roman]

Prologue: Take Two

Just over a month had passed since the battle at Peacetown, USA. The Team, in their current incarnation, were currently staying at the Bannerman facility, in New Mexico. Bannerman was a state-of-the-art training facility, designed to test and train Terry Sloan's new recruits. Furthermore, it would serve as temporary accommodation while The Box was being retrieved from its extra-dimensional location.

There were two sections of the facility. The East Wing was designed was designed was designed for Education. The Team were taught how to perform missions cohesively. Sloan also taught them about the basics of Interdimensional affairs. They were only ever taught what they needed. Too much knowledge would cause dissension. Each Team member was part of a well-oiled machine each designed to work effectively both as a Team, and as a solo unit.

The West Wing was designed for combat. It was here that the Team had access to weaponry that some would think to be unimaginable. From stealth, to assault, the armoury was well-stocked, but each weapon was programmed to deactivate if a Team member attempted to turn on one of their superiors.
Cromartie was an exception to both of these. The machine's 'education' was uploaded into his Neural Net CPU. The Terminator didn't require weapons training, but still attended some of the training sessions. However, he would also take long unexplained absences, sometimes even for days, for reasons that Sloan refused to explain. He would merely turn away, smile, and promise that "All will be revealed."
He was keen to avoid the mistakes of the past. The last Team had ultimately rebelled from their original purpose, transformed into something else. Sloan decided that he could do a better job. He had to. If he failed, it would be his neck on the proverbial chopping block.
But after 3 months, his recruits were getting tetchy. So was the Organisation for that matter. The Sentry had informed Sloan numerous times, that the Organisation were not patient by any means. The Team served a purpose, and they needed to be able to serve it as soon as possible.
Luckily, an oppourtunity had just presented itself.
It had been an ordinary day at the Bannerman Facility, until a voice had come out over the Tannoy.
"All Team members will report to the Central Control Hub."
As they arrived, they found Terry Sloan leaning on the wall of the Corridor that separated the Eastern and Western wings.
"Good Morning Gentlemen. It's time for your first show."
He took off one of his gloves, and pressed a hand on the wall on the other side of the Corridor. The wall slid back, revealing a conference room. A silver table lay in the middle of the room, white lights beaming down from the roof. The room ended with a railing barring the room's right hand side, which led to some kind of drop. However, from here, The Team would be unable to see over the railing.

Spoiler

"So..." said Sloan. He was wearing a blue suit today, and grinning insanely again. The look in his eyes was like that of a Stage Magician, before revealing the resolution to his tricks. He was a showman through and through, each debriefing a performance.
"School's out for Summer! Normally I'd being you all a diploma and a Mortar Board, and give you a speech on the big wide world, but we don't have time for that. What we do have time for though, is a mission."
He jogged towards the barrier, and leaned over, excitedly.
"Take a look at him."
He was looking down at a glass panel, which showed a solemn looking figure resting on the ground. He was slumped against the wall, but was looking up at them. However, strangely enough, his face kept changing. It was as if another person was wearing the dark blue uniform every 10 seconds or so.

"We're calling him a Starhawk." He turned back towards them. "Long story. He's in the fishbowl because, as far as we can tell, he's essentially a living star. No organs at all. But, from the few words he's said, he claims to be from the future, and he claims to be looking for someone. Unfortunately, that someone is Gino Marsden. He's an American Crime Boss. Pretty much your average Weapons Dealer, 'till we did our research, and found out he had this."
Sloan took a remote control out of his pocket and pointed it at a wall. A projector came down from the roof and projected an image that The Team would be all-too familiar with.

Spoiler

"Metal Gear. Well, bits of Metal Gear anyway. Looks like..." he said, circling the table, before putting his hands on Cromartie's shoulders. "Looks like we didn't put our toys away. See you can't just leave things lying around. Which means that we're interrupting this transaction. Tonight. Tonight, we're heading to Manhattan, and we're making a recall, either the easy way, or the hard way."
"Any questions?"
@Dec @FireDrake150 @Thuro 116 Pendragon @Cromartie Sarkissian @Gen. Gwazi Senpai

 

[BarrenThin]

The Sith watched all the craziness in silence. He listened to John's speech, and was thoroughly unimpressed. Well, while John was annoying, he did have one thing keeping Vader from snapping his neck and taking this operation over: A spine. Crichton had shown discipline in the face of death, and Vader could respect that. His regular breathing was the only reminder of his presence, as he didn't say a word to contribute for several minutes of discussion. In truth, though it was impossible to tell from the outside with his masked appearance, he was thinking. What to do now? These people could prove useful to accomplishing what he wanted, but they lacked any sort of coordination. The boy, Accelerator, just tended to cause mass destruction wherever he went. The others simply lacked discipline. When the Sith did speak up, his voice had an almost weary tone to it. "The first order of business, before we talk about any missions, should be discussing actual coordination in battle. One day, your carelessness will get your friends killed- likely at your own hands." Vader didn't address one person in particular, rather looking about the group as a whole. "To truly function as a team, you must learn each others' strengths, and work with those. You must learn their weaknesses, and seek to guard them from them. The current state we're in is pathetic." A spike of annoyance rose in his voice.

@Everyone
@too lazy to tag​

 

[Thuro 116 Pendragon]

Crichton was a little surprised when his newest recruit vanished in the blink of an eye, but looking down he finally spotted him. Like his name implied, he was the size of an ant. Idly Crichton wondered how he would survive if someone tried to step on him, but plastering a grin on his face he managed to look excited. He gave him a big thumbs up and said, "Cool dude."

​

"The first order of business, before we talk about any missions, should be discussing actual coordination in battle. One day, your carelessness will get your friends killed- likely at your own hands."

"That's your department man. I'm not a big fan of delegating stuff, but my plans suck. People die. I mean, yeah, I did raid a Shadow Vault, and more or less blow up Katropzi, both of which were supposed to be impossible, but the original plan didn't work per se. More like we made a plan when that one fell apart." And then another, then another, and then another when each one of those fell apart.
​

"To truly function as a team, you must learn each others' strengths, and work with those. You must learn their weaknesses, and seek to guard them from them. The current state we're in is pathetic."

"He was a point John. Now would be a good time to give up the ghost about the abilities you learned from that wretched girl."

"Shut up." Crichton said silently.

"My weaknesses? I'm a squishy flesh and blood human. But, I picked up a few tricks that made me hard to kill on a prison planet a few years back. Wasn't fun, but it kept me alive." That was the understatement of the century. Lordan had been hell, and if it hadn't been for the three others that had been with him he probably would have lost his mind. Lost his soul.

Then, he put his hands in front of him, about a foot away from each other, and the furrowed his brow in concentration. The frowny concentration face wasn't to summon his abilities. The real effort was controlling them and not blowing the house up and melting everyone (with the exception of Accelerator of course). Suddenly, a brilliant flicker of whitiesh blue energy shot between Crichton's outstretched arms, raising the hairs on the back neck of the people on the table. Wormhole radiation wasn't magnetic based, but the human body didn't care for it. Hence the acting as if they'd been shocked.

When he was finished he closed his hands into fists. "And that's my show and tell teacher. Don't expect me to do it a lot though. This is a lot more reliable." He reached down and brushed his hand against the reassuring metal of his Pulse Pistol, Wynona.

"Also, something about Accelerator even he may not know. When I had to rewire the collar to receive the calculations from the supercomputer in his pocket as opposed to the Misaka Network, there was a catch. The programming structure that I put in can only handle two sets of massive calculations at a time. The first one is slaved to controlling the functions of his nervous system, making sure he doesn't black out again. The second is..." John shook his head disappointedly. "His abilities. His deflection turns off if he uses his abilities on anything other than deflecting dren."

Leaning forward, his mind now in scientist mode, his real power besides his ability to lie, he laced his fingers together. "Somebody needs to work with him in a buddy system to protect him when he's using his abilities. My first thoughts are either stabby stabby or biri-biri." He was of course referring to Kirito or Hei. Of course, there was also the Meta Knight, but he was an unknown entity and might turn on them.

@Kaykay @BarrenThin @The Silver Paladin @Cromartie Sarkissian @TheSpringWoodSlasher​

 

[FireDrake150]

Izana listens to the conversation so far, Having an aversion to the radiation to be sure, But Vader did have a point. as things stood now, their lack of coordination would likely proove to be their own undoing, unless they could all learn to work together. Speaking up, The resident Walking-contradiction throws in his two, Or more like two-and-a-half, Cents.

"Strengths and weaknesses? Well, This may come to bite me in the tail later on, but Get me near heat, or winds, and I'll be right at home. Get me wet, Or smack me with a boulder, however, And my effectiveness will be reduced. There is also my lack of knowledge of the world. But aside from that, Your living, Breathing, Candle is allergic to water." He glances to the others again, Quieting up.

@BarrenThin @Thuro 116 Pendragon @Mighty Roman @Kaykay @T.O.M. @anyoneelseidkmobileshitpost.

 

[Cromartie Sarkissian]

Prologue: Take Two

Just over a month had passed since the battle at Peacetown, USA. The Team, in their current incarnation, were currently staying at the Bannerman facility, in New Mexico. Bannerman was a state-of-the-art training facility, designed to test and train Terry Sloan's new recruits. Furthermore, it would serve as temporary accommodation while The Box was being retrieved from its extra-dimensional location.

There were two sections of the facility. The East Wing was designed was designed was designed for Education. The Team were taught how to perform missions cohesively. Sloan also taught them about the basics of Interdimensional affairs. They were only ever taught what they needed. Too much knowledge would cause dissension. Each Team member was part of a well-oiled machine each designed to work effectively both as a Team, and as a solo unit.

The West Wing was designed for combat. It was here that the Team had access to weaponry that some would think to be unimaginable. From stealth, to assault, the armoury was well-stocked, but each weapon was programmed to deactivate if a Team member attempted to turn on one of their superiors.
Cromartie was an exception to both of these. The machine's 'education' was uploaded into his Neural Net CPU. The Terminator didn't require weapons training, but still attended some of the training sessions. However, he would also take long unexplained absences, sometimes even for days, for reasons that Sloan refused to explain. He would merely turn away, smile, and promise that "All will be revealed."
He was keen to avoid the mistakes of the past. The last Team had ultimately rebelled from their original purpose, transformed into something else. Sloan decided that he could do a better job. He had to. If he failed, it would be his neck on the proverbial chopping block.
But after 3 months, his recruits were getting tetchy. So was the Organisation for that matter. The Sentry had informed Sloan numerous times, that the Organisation were not patient by any means. The Team served a purpose, and they needed to be able to serve it as soon as possible.
Luckily, an oppourtunity had just presented itself.
It had been an ordinary day at the Bannerman Facility, until a voice had come out over the Tannoy.
"All Team members will report to the Central Control Hub."
As they arrived, they found Terry Sloan leaning on the wall of the Corridor that separated the Eastern and Western wings.
"Good Morning Gentlemen. It's time for your first show."
He took off one of his gloves, and pressed a hand on the wall on the other side of the Corridor. The wall slid back, revealing a conference room. A silver table lay in the middle of the room, white lights beaming down from the roof. The room ended with a railing barring the room's right hand side, which led to some kind of drop. However, from here, The Team would be unable to see over the railing.

Spoiler

"So..." said Sloan. He was wearing a blue suit today, and grinning insanely again. The look in his eyes was like that of a Stage Magician, before revealing the resolution to his tricks. He was a showman through and through, each debriefing a performance.
"School's out for Summer! Normally I'd being you all a diploma and a Mortar Board, and give you a speech on the big wide world, but we don't have time for that. What we do have time for though, is a mission."
He jogged towards the barrier, and leaned over, excitedly.
"Take a look at him."
He was looking down at a glass panel, which showed a solemn looking figure resting on the ground. He was slumped against the wall, but was looking up at them. However, strangely enough, his face kept changing. It was as if another person was wearing the dark blue uniform every 10 seconds or so.

"We're calling him a Starhawk." He turned back towards them. "Long story. He's in the fishbowl because, as far as we can tell, he's essentially a living star. No organs at all. But, from the few words he's said, he claims to be from the future, and he claims to be looking for someone. Unfortunately, that someone is Gino Marsden. He's an American Crime Boss. Pretty much your average Weapons Dealer, 'till we did our research, and found out he had this."
Sloan took a remote control out of his pocket and pointed it at a wall. A projector came down from the roof and projected an image that The Team would be all-too familiar with.

Spoiler

"Metal Gear. Well, bits of Metal Gear anyway. Looks like..." he said, circling the table, before putting his hands on Cromartie's shoulders. "Looks like we didn't put our toys away. See you can't just leave things lying around. Which means that we're interrupting this transaction. Tonight. Tonight, we're heading to Manhattan, and we're making a recall, either the easy way, or the hard way."
"Any questions?"
@Dec @FireDrake150 @Thuro 116 Pendragon @Cromartie Sarkissian @Gen. Gwazi Senpai

The machine carried a vacant expression throughout the speech, perhaps one even more empty than usual.
"We do not have time for you jokes, Mr Sloan" he droned coldly, steeping away from the table. He leaned forward to such lengths that any rational human's personal space would have been violated. Yet, Terry was clearly not a rational man, and certainly no candidate for 'Word's Best Boss'. This was the scientist who tried to put an ordinary man with a rocket launcher up against a God three months before, and then decided to blame the consequent defeat on a lack of training. Perhaps his title of being 'the Smartest Man Alive' was affecting his efficiancy; poor efficacy was a trait common with humans, and was one of the key factors leading to their inevitable demise within his own timeline. Other factors included Ego and the tendency to self destruct, the formost of which Sloan must have been the poster boy for...
How...
Humiliating

"You logic is faulted; the presence of such technology on the balc market would thus accelerate mankind's scientific and robotic achievement, further prolonging the golden age of man and machine. Being's such as myself would grow more powerful due to the increased amounts of data available during our creation; do you fear change, Mr.Sloan?"
The mechanical creature titled it's head in a mock sign of confusion, both as a request for information a small to further intimidate his leader. No matter how hard the men and women running the show tried, hiding information form an asset such as Cromartie still a near impossible task; any attempts to lessen his logic would lower his tactical value, and any attempts of reprogramming would result in a complete reeducation. In short, reconditioning him would be more harm than good; heaven forbid he became philosophical.
Yet, the information being fed to him still contained serious gaps within in it. Whether it be in the form of 'Corrupted' data or slightly edited folders, the heads of the company were trying none the less to convince the T-888 to submit to their cause. Giving him special treatment and secret missions....

All obvious distractions. All trying to ensure his loyalty; what a waste of their resources
"Furthermore, even if you truely did require this man returned to you dead or alive, why not send me off on another mission alone? Why involve an entire Team of units to take down a single man? What are you not informing us about this Gino Marsden? And more importantly, why are you not 'cleaning up this mess' yourself?"

@Mighty Roman @Gwazi Magnum @Thuro 116 Pendragon @Dec
Mobile post - expext autocorrect fails and typos

 

[Thuro 116 Pendragon]

"You logic is faulted; the presence of such technology on the balc market would thus accelerate mankind's scientific and robotic achievement, further prolonging the golden age of man and machine. Being's such as myself would grow more powerful due to the increased amounts of data available during our creation; do you fear change, Mr.Sloan?"

Sylar watched the exchange between Cromartie and Sloan with something bordering on amusement. What he'd have given to be there in the fight with Crichton and his "Souls". There's so much he could have learned. So many important variables had slipped by outside his web of control all because Hera had insisted that that boy would be the perfect counter to Accelerator's abilities.

He could already see that Cromartie was going to be a rather large problem for Sloan in the future, he didn't even need his ability to see that. It was simple human vs machine nature. Sloan, for all his claims to be the smartest man in the world, was still ruled by his arrogance and pride. The machine cut through all that and got to the heart of the matter. It was going to be fun seeing this play out.
​

"Furthermore, even if you truely did require this man returned to you dead or alive, why not send me off on another mission alone? Why involve an entire Team of units to take down a single man? What are you not informing us about this Gino Marsden? And more importantly, why are you not 'cleaning up this mess' yourself?"

"Because he's smart," Sylar said, speaking up for the first time. "And maybe a little afraid. A little push in the right direction and he could lose control of you. If he even had any in the beginning."

@Mighty Roman @Cromartie Sarkissian​

 

[Gwazi Magnum]

Loki for the start mostly followed along with the group in silence. Not out of fear, or respect, but rather simply sizing up his new mark. He was assigned to this team out of some misguided belief that he could be tamed, controlled, and used to do good. These fools like the Avengers completely underestimated his capabilities. Though once his new teams initial briefing happened, he could hold his tongue any longer, it was begging to give out a remark which was "Ooooh! You humans and losing your little toys! You'd think by now humanity would have learned better than to leave them so exposed? But I supposed that's easier said than done when your civilizations entire accomplishments has been building such... Exciting toys".

@Dec @FireDrake150 @Thuro 116 Pendragon @Cromartie Sarkissian @Mighty Roman​

 

[Thuro 116 Pendragon]

Crichton pushed his chair back and stood up. "Well, with no further questions or ado. Lets get this clusterfrell started."

He set the device in the center of the table and started to turn the inset handle before he remembered. Holding a finger up he declared, "Hold on. I almost forgot something."

Walking around to Vader, he stared at the man till he stood up, then he stared at the others. What he was about to do was important in the long run, for him he got separated from Lost Souls, or if he died and didn't come back for a little while, or woke up in another dimension.

"While we don't share many of the Organization's ideals or interests and live right on the edge of being classified a rogue squad, this is still a military unit believe it or not. Everybody has a voice, but in the thick of a throwdown we need a clear chain of command. That's why I'm making Vader my CO. Out of everyone here, he probably has the most tactical and military experience."

"If Vader and me get the axe or are separated from the group, Hei takes command. That's the chain of command, and if any of you have a problem with it, there's the door." He gestured at the wall. Well, at the door beyond it at least. Gesturing at the wall would be kind of weird.

Lowering his voice to a pitch where only he and Vader could hear it, he didn't bother making what he was about to say come off as a joke. Both of them would know he was deadly serious, even if Vader couldn't get in his mind. "If you try to kill me to take command of this squad, it's not going to end well for either of us." He didn't explain his words, but it wasn't a boast. Crichton was as hard to kill as a cockroach, and had been compared to one many times by scorned women.

Then he stepped away from Vader and walked into the living room, a perfectly subarban affair that was designed not to attract attention. Not that a freakin girl dressed like a maid, a giant robot looking man, a little cutey pie, a swordsman, an albino and a freakin dragon didn't draw enough attention on their own. At least the house had had a supply of image inducers, just like the one Rachel carried to hide her eyes.

Setting the cube down, he looked at each of them in turn. The look there was clear, get in or get out. Either you were leaving before things got rough, or you were in it till the end.

"I don't know what's on the other side." He warned.

Then he knelt down and twisted the handle inset into the cube. All of the people had traveled via Time Displacement Equipment before, so it would be old hat. However, old hat or not, the built up static electricity that crackled harmlessly between them growing in intensity, until finally, for the briefest moment, they ceased to exist.

~~~~

"Now we're free. Now we're free. Now we're free." Crichton mumbled over and over again in his sleep, a mantra to keep the bad men away, or to keep the good men away from him.

He woke with a start, his entire body trembling, a pain gripping the lower left side of his stomach, like he'd been sucker punched and a bruise had set in. With his legendary luck, he probably had been. He was sleeping on some sort of hardwood cot, its stiff nature not helping the pain in his side.

Groaning, he leaned up and swung his feet over the side, his boots hitting hard dirt. Okay. He still had his shoes. That meant he hadn't been mugged. But, what had happened to him, and why was he here?

There was an old man sitting on a similar plank across from him, a weathered looking old man wearing a tattered and frayed military uniform and an eye patch over his right eye. He held a look of calm patience on his face, a man that had been waiting a long time and had been forced to learn patience to keep from going insane.

Crichton and the other man stared at each other for a moment, before Crichton naturally spoke up first.

"If you say 'my side your side' I'm going to shoot you."

He pulled his trench coat open to prove his point, only to discover that his holster was empty. Well… frell.

"If you say 'my side your side' I'm going to punch you."

The old man looked at him, and smirked. "It'd be the most exciting thing to happen in the last hundred years."
To prove his point, the old man pointed to the walls of the cell, where they were covered in week marks. Some of them written over so that they could actually be marked, all the space already having been used.

Crichton and the old man stared at each other for a minute, before Crichton spoke up again. "You really need to get out more."

"I hope I will." Was the old man's simple response. There seemed something a little forlorn about his response, like he'd lost something while he was waiting. A hundred years. Crichton couldn't even imagine. He must be some sort of enhanced to be that old and still alive, though what he was didn't really matter since he obviously didn't have the power or the will to escape.

"So what's the escape plan old man?" Crichton asked, figuring it couldn't hurt his odds at all. Well, unless it screwed him over somehow. He was kinda used to having innocent actions rebound on him in nasty ways.

The old man leaned over and pushed the door open easily, the door swinging easily on its edges. As he outstretched his hand Crichton could see that his hand was some sort of mechanized contraption, kinda like one of those evil scientist films. It had a white paint job, and looked more advanced than any of the designs that Crichton had seen in his home universe, or in his time with the Organization.

"If you could leave any time, why are you still here? This ain't exactly the Ritz."

The old man spoke, his words few, something that Crichton would come to find to be a common occurrence with the man. "It's the Hotel California."
Then he continued, making a new length record for the number of words strung together in a sentence in the short time that Crichton had him. "Go. See what's out there."

Needing no further encouragement, Crichton boldly walked out of the cells. He honestly didn't see what was so bad about this place? It was dank and damp, but that could be fixed with some interior design. On the plus side, there were no guards, no .Org members, and no Hera. That was an improvement every day of the week.

Another one of the cell doors opened, and some kind of zombie-like creature shambled out, clad in armor and holding a sword in its decaying arms. Before Crichton's shock wore off, the thing shoved a sword between his ribs, Crichton clutched at it disbelievingly, all of his witty remarks gone in that moment.

With a sickening sound he fell off the sword, thudding heavily on the ground as the world faded to nothingness.

Hello darkness my old friend.

Gasping, John awoke on the floor of his cell. He felt like something had been taken from him, but he didn't know what it was. He could just feel the hollowness inside of him.

"It's not the dying that bothers you." The old man was still sitting in his spot on the bench, it's possible he hadn't even moved. "It's what you lose afterward." The old man wasn't asking a question.

John just laid there silently, letting that soak in. When he didn't speak, the old man inserted a question that was half jab, half exposing truth.

"No witty line?"

John gave back a halfhearted, "I'm sure it's around here somewhere. Help me look for it."

Reaching up, Crichton grabbed the edge of his makeshift bed and hoisted himself up onto it. Surprisingly, there was no pain. It was like he'd never been stabbed. Lifting up his shirt, he looked at the unbroken skin beneath. There was nothing there, except a few dark tendrils winding their way across his torso. Running his fingers back to the source of the mark it led into a larger dark mark on the far side of his ribs. Probing the spot experimentally, he could feel it wasn't a bruise. But, for the life of him he couldn't remember actually what it was.

"It's the dark mark." The old man cut in not helpfully at all. Crichton could see that was what it was all by himself.

Continuing, the old man added helpfully, "It's what brought you back to life when you died out there."

Like a phantom pain John felt the sword enter his ribs again. Thinking hard and fast about what this meant, he looked the old man in the eyes as he asked. "You got one? And if you do, why haven't you waltzed out of here? How far have you got? Is there a limit to this powe-..."

Holding up his human hand, the old man forestalled the stream of Crichton's questions. "You lose something every time you die." He put simply, which would have to suffice as an answer. Crichton almost asked what, but he got the feeling that he wouldn't get an answer.

So instead he sat in silence with the man, then asked the most pertinent thing he could think of. "What's your name."

The old man stared at him, an almost indefinable sadness in his eyes, before he finally answered. "I don't remember. I think I was called Big Boss, but that doesn't feel like my real name."

The old man stretched out his robotic arm, John clasping it in his human hand flesh and blood one, and shook his hand, explorer to soldier. "Call me Crichton."

"Call me Snake."

~

When a developer creates a new program, he will often program it to say "Hello world!" to test it, to prove that it worked, that it was playing it's intended role in the larger scheme of the program. That it was correct, and not broken.

"Goodbye world!"

~~~~

Episode One: The Arrow

As the bubble broke down, they could see one thing. There were men all around them holding very big guns directly at their faces.

"Clearly." John finished his sentence with a small dose of humor and a great deal of annoyance in his voice.

However, John wasn't worried. All of the people here could handle a few goons with guns, although he wasn't keen in getting in a firefight five seconds into the mission. It was possible these were the good guys, though with the Ninth Team and Lost Soul's track record he wasn't betting on it.

John held up his hand, one in an open palm like was normal for a person being held at gun point, the other a fist, a silent order to Lost Souls not to slaughter these people.

One man pushed to the front of them. From the way the others deferred to him, moving out of his way with a practiced ease, it was clear he was the leader.

He asked a single question, very simple, and very baffling.

"Is my son alive?"

Lost Souls could either choose to fight them, or they could choose negotiation.

@BarrenThin @Hospes @Cromartie Sarkissian @FireDrake150 @CrunchyCHEEZIT @T.O.M. @Mighty Roman @The Silver Paladin @Kaykay​

 

[Mighty Roman]

"You logic is faulted; the presence of such technology on the balc market would thus accelerate mankind's scientific and robotic achievement, further prolonging the golden age of man and machine. Being's such as myself would grow more powerful due to the increased amounts of data available during our creation; do you fear change, Mr.Sloan?"

'Well, you're right in one regard. There's no need to fear change. It just depends on who's causing those changes. If it's some Mafia idiot with too much power, then we have a reason to worry. You're assuming that people are responsible enough for this kind of technology. They're not." Not yet, he thought. Then again, he didn't want the machine to know the real amount of 'leverage' he held over him.

"Furthermore, even if you truely did require this man returned to you dead or alive, why not send me off on another mission alone? Why involve an entire Team of units to take down a single man? What are you not informing us about this Gino Marsden? And more importantly, why are you not 'cleaning up this mess' yourself?"

'That's because I think that you're all itching to get out there and do some good.' He smiled. 'Or maybe,' he said, looking at Vaas. 'You're just itching to hurt someone. Or a lot of someones. Plus, who doesn't love surprises? I'm just telling you what you need to know.'

"Because he's smart," Sylar said, speaking up for the first time. "And maybe a little afraid. A little push in the right direction and he could lose control of you. If he even had any in the beginning."

"Ooooh! You humans and losing your little toys! You'd think by now humanity would have learned better than to leave them so exposed? But I supposed that's easier said than done when your civilizations entire accomplishments has been building such... Exciting toys".

Sloan glanced at his two new Teammates. They were powerful, yet also had an ego to match his own. The main problem, however, is that they were used to being leaders, and used to being the smartest men in the room. 'Well Sylar, there are a lot of ticking Time Bombs on this Team. But then again, considering what you'll soon be facing in the field, any rebellion from Cromartie will be the least of your worries."
He was tempted to create some witticism aimed at Loki about how Asgardian artefacts had been scattered around parallel Earths like Confetti, but then again, he still decided that it would be unwise to raise the ire of the Asgardian Trickster.
'Well, some people never learn. Anyway, here's the plan.'
He clicked the remote again. Now the board showed a map of the building from above.
"I'll be splitting you all into numerous Sub-groups for this little operation. Cromartie, Sylar and Vaas, you'll enter from the South of the building, and arrive there early. We want you to interrogate some of Mr Marsden's guards to find out where he's keeping the rest of his stock.

Victor, Loki, you'll be with me. We'll enter through the North side where the sale's being conducted. We'll enter under the guise of being potentially interested buyers, before finding out if any of the Metal Gear's been sold and who to. Then we'll be able to capture Marsden and decide what to do with his customers. Any questions?"

Unknown to them, down in his glass prison, Starhawk shivered at the name of Loki.
@D.E.C. @Thuro 116 Pendragon @Cromartie Sarkissian @Gen. Gwazi Senpai @FireDrake150

 

[Cromartie Sarkissian]

Crichton pushed his chair back and stood up. "Well, with no further questions or ado. Lets get this clusterfrell started."

He set the device in the center of the table and started to turn the inset handle before he remembered. Holding a finger up he declared, "Hold on. I almost forgot something."

Walking around to Vader, he stared at the man till he stood up, then he stared at the others. What he was about to do was important in the long run, for him he got separated from Lost Souls, or if he died and didn't come back for a little while, or woke up in another dimension.

"While we don't share many of the Organization's ideals or interests and live right on the edge of being classified a rogue squad, this is still a military unit believe it or not. Everybody has a voice, but in the thick of a throwdown we need a clear chain of command. That's why I'm making Vader my CO. Out of everyone here, he probably has the most tactical and military experience."

"If Vader and me get the axe or are separated from the group, Hei takes command. That's the chain of command, and if any of you have a problem with it, there's the door." He gestured at the wall. Well, at the door beyond it at least. Gesturing at the wall would be kind of weird.

Lowering his voice to a pitch where only he and Vader could hear it, he didn't bother making what he was about to say come off as a joke. Both of them would know he was deadly serious, even if Vader couldn't get in his mind. "If you try to kill me to take command of this squad, it's not going to end well for either of us." He didn't explain his words, but it wasn't a boast. Crichton was as hard to kill as a cockroach, and had been compared to one many times by scorned women.

Then he stepped away from Vader and walked into the living room, a perfectly subarban affair that was designed not to attract attention. Not that a freakin girl dressed like a maid, a giant robot looking man, a little cutey pie, a swordsman, an albino and a freakin dragon didn't draw enough attention on their own. At least the house had had a supply of image inducers, just like the one Rachel carried to hide her eyes.

Setting the cube down, he looked at each of them in turn. The look there was clear, get in or get out. Either you were leaving before things got rough, or you were in it till the end.

"I don't know what's on the other side." He warned.

Then he knelt down and twisted the handle inset into the cube. All of the people had traveled via Time Displacement Equipment before, so it would be old hat. However, old hat or not, the built up static electricity that crackled harmlessly between them growing in intensity, until finally, for the briefest moment, they ceased to exist.

~~~~

"Now we're free. Now we're free. Now we're free." Crichton mumbled over and over again in his sleep, a mantra to keep the bad men away, or to keep the good men away from him.

He woke with a start, his entire body trembling, a pain gripping the lower left side of his stomach, like he'd been sucker punched and a bruise had set in. With his legendary luck, he probably had been. He was sleeping on some sort of hardwood cot, its stiff nature not helping the pain in his side.

Groaning, he leaned up and swung his feet over the side, his boots hitting hard dirt. Okay. He still had his shoes. That meant he hadn't been mugged. But, what had happened to him, and why was he here?

There was an old man sitting on a similar plank across from him, a weathered looking old man wearing a tattered and frayed military uniform and an eye patch over his right eye. He held a look of calm patience on his face, a man that had been waiting a long time and had been forced to learn patience to keep from going insane.

Crichton and the other man stared at each other for a moment, before Crichton naturally spoke up first.

"If you say 'my side your side' I'm going to shoot you."

He pulled his trench coat open to prove his point, only to discover that his holster was empty. Well… frell.

"If you say 'my side your side' I'm going to punch you."

The old man looked at him, and smirked. "It'd be the most exciting thing to happen in the last hundred years."
To prove his point, the old man pointed to the walls of the cell, where they were covered in week marks. Some of them written over so that they could actually be marked, all the space already having been used.

Crichton and the old man stared at each other for a minute, before Crichton spoke up again. "You really need to get out more."

"I hope I will." Was the old man's simple response. There seemed something a little forlorn about his response, like he'd lost something while he was waiting. A hundred years. Crichton couldn't even imagine. He must be some sort of enhanced to be that old and still alive, though what he was didn't really matter since he obviously didn't have the power or the will to escape.

"So what's the escape plan old man?" Crichton asked, figuring it couldn't hurt his odds at all. Well, unless it screwed him over somehow. He was kinda used to having innocent actions rebound on him in nasty ways.

The old man leaned over and pushed the door open easily, the door swinging easily on its edges. As he outstretched his hand Crichton could see that his hand was some sort of mechanized contraption, kinda like one of those evil scientist films. It had a white paint job, and looked more advanced than any of the designs that Crichton had seen in his home universe, or in his time with the Organization.

"If you could leave any time, why are you still here? This ain't exactly the Ritz."

The old man spoke, his words few, something that Crichton would come to find to be a common occurrence with the man. "It's the Hotel California."
Then he continued, making a new length record for the number of words strung together in a sentence in the short time that Crichton had him. "Go. See what's out there."

Needing no further encouragement, Crichton boldly walked out of the cells. He honestly didn't see what was so bad about this place? It was dank and damp, but that could be fixed with some interior design. On the plus side, there were no guards, no .Org members, and no Hera. That was an improvement every day of the week.

Another one of the cell doors opened, and some kind of zombie-like creature shambled out, clad in armor and holding a sword in its decaying arms. Before Crichton's shock wore off, the thing shoved a sword between his ribs, Crichton clutched at it disbelievingly, all of his witty remarks gone in that moment.

With a sickening sound he fell off the sword, thudding heavily on the ground as the world faded to nothingness.

Hello darkness my old friend.

Gasping, John awoke on the floor of his cell. He felt like something had been taken from him, but he didn't know what it was. He could just feel the hollowness inside of him.

"It's not the dying that bothers you." The old man was still sitting in his spot on the bench, it's possible he hadn't even moved. "It's what you lose afterward." The old man wasn't asking a question.

John just laid there silently, letting that soak in. When he didn't speak, the old man inserted a question that was half jab, half exposing truth.

"No witty line?"

John gave back a halfhearted, "I'm sure it's around here somewhere. Help me look for it."

Reaching up, Crichton grabbed the edge of his makeshift bed and hoisted himself up onto it. Surprisingly, there was no pain. It was like he'd never been stabbed. Lifting up his shirt, he looked at the unbroken skin beneath. There was nothing there, except a few dark tendrils winding their way across his torso. Running his fingers back to the source of the mark it led into a larger dark mark on the far side of his ribs. Probing the spot experimentally, he could feel it wasn't a bruise. But, for the life of him he couldn't remember actually what it was.

"It's the dark mark." The old man cut in not helpfully at all. Crichton could see that was what it was all by himself.

Continuing, the old man added helpfully, "It's what brought you back to life when you died out there."

Like a phantom pain John felt the sword enter his ribs again. Thinking hard and fast about what this meant, he looked the old man in the eyes as he asked. "You got one? And if you do, why haven't you waltzed out of here? How far have you got? Is there a limit to this powe-..."

Holding up his human hand, the old man forestalled the stream of Crichton's questions. "You lose something every time you die." He put simply, which would have to suffice as an answer. Crichton almost asked what, but he got the feeling that he wouldn't get an answer.

So instead he sat in silence with the man, then asked the most pertinent thing he could think of. "What's your name."

The old man stared at him, an almost indefinable sadness in his eyes, before he finally answered. "I don't remember. I think I was called Big Boss, but that doesn't feel like my real name."

The old man stretched out his robotic arm, John clasping it in his human hand flesh and blood one, and shook his hand, explorer to soldier. "Call me Crichton."

"Call me Snake."

~

When a developer creates a new program, he will often program it to say "Hello world!" to test it, to prove that it worked, that it was playing it's intended role in the larger scheme of the program. That it was correct, and not broken.

"Goodbye world!"

~~~~

Episode One: The Arrow

As the bubble broke down, they could see one thing. There were men all around them holding very big guns directly at their faces.

"Clearly." John finished his sentence with a small dose of humor and a great deal of annoyance in his voice.

However, John wasn't worried. All of the people here could handle a few goons with guns, although he wasn't keen in getting in a firefight five seconds into the mission. It was possible these were the good guys, though with the Ninth Team and Lost Soul's track record he wasn't betting on it.

John held up his hand, one in an open palm like was normal for a person being held at gun point, the other a fist, a silent order to Lost Souls not to slaughter these people.

One man pushed to the front of them. From the way the others deferred to him, moving out of his way with a practiced ease, it was clear he was the leader.

He asked a single question, very simple, and very baffling.

"Is my son alive?"

Lost Souls could either choose to fight them, or they could choose negotiation.

@BarrenThin @Hospes @Cromartie Sarkissian @FireDrake150 @CrunchyCHEEZIT @T.O.M. @Mighty Roman @The Silver Paladin @Kaykay​

The majority of the 'Chain of Command' speech had gone over Scott's head; he barely knew the names of half the people he was working for, let alone how good they would be at leading. Well, all except Darth Vader; he had kept the Empire in order for years a long time ago in a galaxy far far away, so he should be pretty good at stopping the in fighting. As long as the Sith lord stayed away from tyrant territory, they should be alright in the even of John's demise

---
The Antman had been surrounded quite a few times in his as-of-yet short life, such as the time he was arrest, and that other time he was arrested, and the other other time he was arrested, or the time he was beaten up in prison. But they had all just been misunderstandings, right? Well, all is a very subjective term; the prison fight had been a misunderstanding, he had completely deserved the arrests... the first one at least.

But that wasn't important; all that mattered now was avoiding getting his head blown off by a bunch of gunmen. Well, he had health insurance, he was covered if things went the wrong way, but it was still a pathway he hoped to avoid.

"Wow wow wow! No need for any guns!" Lang cried, raising his hands in front of his torso, falling back onto his left leg. His size had been completely restored by this point "Look, you're going to have to be more specific; we don't know who your son is"

@BarrenThin @Hospes @Cromartie Sarkissian @FireDrake150 @CrunchyCHEEZIT @T.O.M. @Mighty Roman @The Silver Paladin @Kaykay​

 

[Gwazi Magnum]

"I'll be splitting you all into numerous Sub-groups for this little operation. Cromartie, Sylar and Vaas, you'll enter from the South of the building, and arrive there early. We want you to interrogate some of Mr Marsden's guards to find out where he's keeping the rest of his stock.

Victor, Loki, you'll be with me. We'll enter through the North side where the sale's being conducted. We'll enter under the guise of being potentially interested buyers, before finding out if any of the Metal Gear's been sold and who to. Then we'll be able to capture Marsden and decide what to do with his customers. Any questions?"

"Hm? The first mission I'm on with such talented people and you don't want to fight, but to disguise ourselves? This might be a nicer match then I thought... Maybe" Loki responded followed with faint laughter. "I have no questions though, what's the fun in that?".

@D.E.C. @Thuro 116 Pendragon @Cromartie Sarkissian @Mighty Roman @FireDrake150​

 

[FireDrake150]

Victor, Whom had been quiet for the most part until this point, Smirked. If his research served, Sloan Himself rivaled Victor's own intelligence, And Loki was a god? Did he recall that right? not that it mattered anyway. "So, We're going to be playing the part of customers you say? Who's to say thr man will talk, and not keep the information to himself? I have to admit, I've been aching to get my hands dirty again. Especially If I cross Paths with that Cocky Wormhole-on-legs Crighton." He fixes his masks placement, Before glancing to either of his teammates, His earlier smirk having twisted into a dark, Almost evil grin. "When do we leave?"

@Mighty Roman @Gwazi Magnum

Izana listens to the whole thing. Taking a half step towards the door when it's gestured to, He stops himself and glances back to his teammates. "So, Lemme get this straight. We're going to break into another world sneakily, And the rankage is Crighton, Ebon Mask guy and the white frown? What about the rest of us?" Half expecting himself to be on the bottom of the rankings, And bracing himself for the disappointment. "Or are we merely tools for you three High and Mighty superior beings?" This comment came with a hash twinge of resentment, a sign of how dangerous the wrong answer could be, Though more than likely the only one in danger at that point, would be Himself.

@Thuro 116 Pendragon @Kaykay @BarrenThin @T.O.M. @Hospes @allothersimayhaveforgottonmobileshitpost

 

[Thuro 116 Pendragon]

"So, Lemme get this straight. We're going to break into another world sneakily, And the rankage is Crighton, Ebon Mask guy and the white frown? What about the rest of us?"

Crichton looked at the little dragon before they left. It was a fair question to which there was only one answer. "If they chain of command is that broken, then chances are we're all dead and its largely irrelevant."

Then he shot the dragon a trademark smirk. "Besides, ebony and ivoy make perfect harmony."
​

"Look, you're going to have to be more specific; we don't know who your son is"

The man, his name was William Miles, glanced at the man's helmet. It was so strange, otherworldly. He wasn't the leader, that much was apparent. But he was the only one speaking for the group at the moment. He glared at the man, the anger apparent in his body language, his eyes, his voice.

"Don't play with me. Your kind has been infiltrating our world for decades. My son, or that impostor of yours, was the latest plant."

William held up a photo for them to see, probably specifically of the son he was referring to.

"Now that your games are out of the way, wherever you took him, is my son alive."

@Cromartie Sarkissian @Hospes @BarrenThin @FireDrake150 @T.O.M. @Mighty Roman @Kaykay @The Silver Paladin @CrunchyCHEEZIT​

 

[Cromartie Sarkissian]

Crichton looked at the little dragon before they left. It was a fair question to which there was only one answer. "If they chain of command is that broken, then chances are we're all dead and its largely irrelevant."

Then he shot the dragon a trademark smirk. "Besides, ebony and ivoy make perfect harmony."
​

The man, his name was William Miles, glanced at the man's helmet. It was so strange, otherworldly. He wasn't the leader, that much was apparent. But he was the only one speaking for the group at the moment. He glared at the man, the anger apparent in his body language, his eyes, his voice.

"Don't play with me. Your kind has been infiltrating our world for decades. My son, or that impostor of yours, was the latest plant."

William held up a photo for them to see, probably specifically of the son he was referring to.

"Now that your games are out of the way, wherever you took him, is my son alive."

@Cromartie Sarkissian @Hospes @BarrenThin @FireDrake150 @T.O.M. @Mighty Roman @Kaykay @The Silver Paladin @CrunchyCHEEZIT​

Scot bit down upon his lip, sliding the weak flesh along his teeth. This man was undeniably confident, parading himself in front of a group of potential hostiles completely unarmed in order to ask about his son, speaking with words coated in authority. There were several times that, while the man spoke, Lang detected hints of desperateness; if this man cared any less for his son, or perhaps if this boy wasn't his son at all, he could have locked the Lost Souls away, then interrogated them at his leisure. Maybe he could have made them wait, tortured them or starved them, then he would definitely get his answer. Yet, he did not. He just stared and threatened.

His face simply screamed of desperation, not in his expression; his facade was impeccable, yet his features were not so. The man's eyes stared back coldly at the group, deprived of patience and compassion. Stray hairs clung to the mans face like fleas on a dogs coat; there was no doubting this mans devotion to his cause, or causes.

And those words...they echoed around Scott's mind. Their kind... What did he mean by their kind? Were these things not human? Or did they just have something against visitors? It was undoubtedly a case of mistaken identity, right?

"Listen, I meant what I said! I havn't seen that face before in my life"

Well, that wasn't entirely true; he did bare a resemblance to that video game character he had seen Luis complaining about back home...

"I know how you feel, man" The Antman mumbled "I have a kid too. She's a lot younger than yours, by the looks of things. Her name is Cassie. I know what you're going through. Being separated from them sucks" Scott was, in fact, telling the trust. All those cold days rotting away in a cell, counting down the days until he could see his girl again; every night was another dagger in his heart. Maybe this guy didn't feel the same way; maybe he hated his son, and just needed something from him, but it didn't matter; it at least it helped him stall for time. "You really think I'd hurt someone else kid, no matter 'is age? No. The answer's no. Let me help you get him back"

@Thuro
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