Titans: International

[Hillan]

4th April 2021, Venice, Italy.

Thomas grinned as he stood on the balcony of his apartment in Venice. He and Chad lived together here, they both had their own 'Apartment' so to speak, the only things the shared where the kitchen and living room. Thomas was pretty sure he'd need his privacy, as he was certain he couldn't coup with Chad's overnight companions running around all night. He also praised god that the building was soundproof.

Thomas looked towards his wardrobe, a smile on his face. He stepped over to it, and pushed the door open. Inside his clothes were hanging. He pressed a button on the side of the wardrobe, and a hand scanner came out of the wardrobe back wall. Thomas pressed his hand towards the display, and the door opened. The clothes hanging was dragged into a hidden panel, and a hidden door opened in the back of the wardrobe, Thomas pushed it open, the door was heavy, only to assure that no one who didn't belong wouldn't be able to open it, as it required Thomas's strength.

The panel opened, and the model doll wearing his armor was shown. He grinned as he took off his t-shirt and jeans, grabbing the chest plate and taking it off the doll. He grabbed a skin tight suit that he put on, to put something between his body and the metal. He than began to put on the armor.

It took him 10 minutes to gear up, and as he was now standing on the balcony again, holding his helmet in his hand he smiled. Italy. A new age of Titans would start here and now. The sun was going down, and the day of the crime fighter was just beginning. He put on the helmet, and made sure that his Sword sheath was attached correctly to his belt, before he let out a mild groan, as his wings grew out. He panted for a couple of seconds, before he put his foot up onto the railing of the balcony and kicked out. He lived on the upper floor, though, they owned the entire apartment building, having a few tenets to make it seem as a plausible cover for the young Vice CEO and his legal adviser and friend.

He flapped his wings as he soared up into the sky. The flew up into the skies, breathed in. It was.. Still. But not peacefully still, more like the silence before the storm. Thomas gulped, he had never been to Venice where they lived now, they had only just arrived today, and getting the apartment together with their tech was more work than one would've thought, especially without Chuck here to help them. Thomas gave a brief thought to Chuck, Alice, Makarios and Adam, hoping they'd handle Gotham and America on their own, while in reality, Thomas knew they were more than capable to handle America without him and Chad.


He soared through the skies, not really looking for anyone to help, but only trying to scout the area. And taking in the view. But as luck would have it, of course he'd hear someone screaming for help. He began diving...

[Vonghese]

Chad sat in the gondola, across from a drop-dead gorgeous girl, and the only thing he could think was, This is supposed to be romantic?

He wasn't complaining about the girl, she was a model, Chad thought, though her accent was too strong to be certain. He wasn't dissatisfied with the ride, even the boat was rather too open for his tastes and the gondolier was right there to watch. Quite a change from a quick dash on his motorcycle to his home from whichever bar or club he'd been at. The pacing was... peaceful. Serene. If it wasn't for the odor of garbage that rose from the water, or the constant sight of fast-food cups, papers, and unidentifiable debris--was that a condom?--or the occasional dead fish or drowned cat, it would probably be one of Chad's favorite rendezvous. Instead, it just stank.

The totally gay but totally useful, not that he'd ever admit it, man-purse sat on the seat next to him. It contained only his Wyrda costume, a slimmed-down version without the trench coat, and the dark wraparound shades that not only concealed his identity, but provided an HUD with access to the entire city's schematics. At the moment, Chad wore business casual, with his sleeves rolled up and his thrice-accursed tie loosened.

The girl, Fransheska, mentioned something about a glorious bird symbolizing the hopes and fears of all nations, and how it was an omen that the world should unify in peace, and Chad was nodding along, hoping that he wasn't agreeing to something horrible, when she pointed. He twisted, and saw a familiar sight gliding up, seemingly over the setting sun. It was Thomas, his friend and ally, the only person on the continent he knew he could trust. Ever since Thomas had been mindfucked by an old enemy into attacking Titans Tower, and Chad had nearly killed himself trying to stop him, the two had been constant sparring partners and combat buddies. Each had the other's back, an unspoken bond of loyalty that was only forged in the hottest trials.

If Angel was making an appearance now, that meant... He's going to be insufferable if he gets all the action tonight.

Action other than that which you found in female company. "Grazie, passerotto mio," he said with an accent that was at least as bad as hers. "Mi scusi, um, devo andari?"

From the look on her face, he'd at least communicated successfully. She said something reproachful, but he didn't have time to waste. As they came out from under a low bridge, he leapt up, grabbed the railing, hauled himself up, and mingled quickly with the crowd. As he walked, he stripped away the tie, leaving it underfoot somewhere with more than a little malicious glee, then pulled out his shades and slipped them on. They clamped firmly around his head, and his world illuminated with the startup of his HUD.

Now anonymous, he continued to change, slipping into his armored jacket with ease, stopping behind a booth to rip away his dress pants to reveal pressure-solid liquid armor that allowed him maximum mobility while continuing to provide some protection against blunt trauma. By the time he'd walked a hundred yards, Charles Walker, Vice CEO of Walker Industries, had vanished mysteriously. In his place, Wyrda, who defied fate and physics, picked up a loping jog and headed for an alley.

To make it to the roofs was easy, he pushed off back and forth and soon rose four stories with ease. Once aloft, he broke into a hard sprint and leaped out. He turned a full backflip, landing with ease on another roof nearly thirty yards away. A tight grin showed his teeth, and he continued to pick up speed. Now it was time to have fun...

An icon in his HUD blinked. The cops had found some fun, it appeared. A routine stop had turned into a shoot-out several blocks over. As always, the authorities were woefully outgunned. Well, Wyrda was going to change that. He altered course accordingly and began gathering his concentration, shunting away all extraneous thoughts. If he was going to go into a gunfight, he needed all the mental juice he could get.

[Stein]

Shots rang out as Sarks looked over the fray below him. What the hell? He had only been on his way back to his student apartment after a day of exploring, and this shit had started! What had started out as the authorities having the upper-hand, quickly turned in to them being outnumbered.

"And me without my costume," he grumbled to himself as he debated what to do. All he had were a pair of shades and his helmet. And if he was honest with himself, he definitely didn't want to be the git who fought crime in a helmet! It wasn't even a motorcycle helmet! At least bitches loved motorcycle helmets. No, it was a moped helmet. He shook his head quickly, trying to stop his mental rambling.

"Well there's nothing I can really do about it. These people need backup. And what better than me!?" he cried out triumphantly as he waved his hand, a sky blue block appearing and stepped on it, floating down just outside the gunfight. He puffed out his chest and started running forward -- in what he hoped was a cool way--.....only to trip over a cobblestone and sprawl forward. "Gah......dammit!" he cried out, rolling on to his back and grabbing his knee. "Fuck this! I hate it! I'm not crime-fighting anymore, it's for chavs and slags! I hate this, it's stupid. I'm going home!"

He continued screaming at the top of his lungs, cursing everything in nature, causing a few of the goons to stop and look in his direction. Aware that he was drawing some rather........unwanted attention, Sarks straightened up. Clearing his throat, he knew he had to act. A few of them trained their guns on him. "Shit!" he called out. "When in doubt..........chicken out!" He said to himself as he created a stepping stone pattern of blocks in to the sky. Shots rang out in his direction now from the goons as he made his way up. A gray block appeared to his side, shielding him from fire and ricocheting the gunshots back towards a couple of the goons.

Finally out of the fray again, Sarks peered down again. Now that he wasn't in the direct line of fire, his courage seemed to miraculously swell up again. And with that, his ability to trash-talk. He called them out in perfect Italian, cursing their mothers and family. As he did so, he summoned purple colored small blocks. They shot out towards the goons, disarming a few, and forcing them back somewhat. But, even with the authorities at his back, he was severely outnumbered.

[Hillan]

Thomas was soaring over the skies, he quickly took a nosedive towards the ground as he picked up the Police's trouble with the gunmen. He grabbed his sword and unsheathed it. He blotted out the sun for a second before he landed on a grunt, grounding him, and swinging his sword at another grunt, cutting of the gunman's sword. " Cazzo!" The italian criminal cursed, as Thomas knocked him down with the hilt of his sword, knocking him down.

" Fire!" three of the gunmen shouted, as they began firing at Thomas, whom just smirked before he covered himself in his wings, the bullets bouncing off his impenetrable wings, ricocheting into some of the men's hands and arms, making them groin in pain and drop their guns.

" Surrender and I may show some mercy!" Thomas ordered, blocking a bullet with his sword. He felt a force hit his head and he bent he staggered a little. He looked at the man holding a desert Eagle, and Thomas felt how a little scratch on his helmet had been made. " Now, surrender and let the cops arrest you." He ordered. but the men still seemed to resist, one of them, a big fellow charged at Thomas, Thomas sent a right hook towards the man, but the man blocked his fast and sent the Angel towards the cop car, spinning in the air and hitting the ground before he bounced into a apartment wall.

Thomas grunted, as he broke lose. " Ouch." The Thangarian let out. as he saw Chad approaching. " Glad you could join me, Wyrda." He said, with a smirk, before sheathing his sword again, he wanted to take that big guy with his fists.

[Vonghese]

Wyrda grinned viciously, giving his friend a little two-finger salute. "Couldn't let you have all the fun," he replied, before focusing on the gunmen. "All right, gentlemen, let's dance."

One of them was holding a Heckler & Koch UMP submachine gun, an excellent weapon against humans. Against him, it was great exercise. The weapon spat a burst of .45 ACP bullets towards him, and time seemed to slow as Wyrda drew on his power.

The UMP fired heavier bullets at the cost of fire rate and velocity, which meant Wyrda could do a little more than just dodge the burst. He watched the subsonic man-stoppers approach with the lazy indifference usually experienced by people under high adrenaline. Crouching a little, he twisted into a sideways flip that took him between the flying bullets in a euphoria-inducing liquid smoothness. As he spun, he reached out and caught one of the bullets between his fingers. The little bit of lead was super-hot, but his glove protected him.

He landed in a low crouch, scything out with one foot as events sped back up around him. The gunman's feet flew up and he fell back. He would have hit the ground on his ass, but Wyrda twisted into a mule kick that broke the man's arm and two ribs and sent him tumbling to face-plant into the pavement.

Performing a move impossible for all but the most skilled of break-dancers, Wyrda whipped around, sending both feet into another man's groin. The FMG-9, one of the few SMGs that Wyrda actually feared, tumbled from nerveless fingers and the man let out a little squeaky sound before his eyes rolled up in his head and he collapsed.

Looking up, Wyrda saw another gunman bringing a Kalashnikov to bear. The thug would have had Wyrda dead to rights--he didn't have sufficient leverage to push off the ground away from the burst, and 30-06 rounds were supersonic--if Rollo the Walker's descendant hadn't plucked the bullet from the air earlier. He sent it whizzing forward now with a flick of his wrist, lodging neatly behind the trigger and effectively blocking the weapon from being fired.

[Stein]

The fight had suddenly grow in intensity. With the thugs bringing out even heavier artillery, Sarks had to pick up the pace. That's when two new figures arrived on the scene. One with wings and the other......with jumping? The winged man wielded a sword and knew how to use it expertly. The other guy seemed to move not only at physically impossible speeds, but also impossible accuracy and the like.

That's when it hit him. They were Titans! Titans were in Italy! But he didn't have time to focus on that now. With a smirk, he spun around, several Latch Blocks appearing around him, and fired them at the nearest group of gunmen. The blocks stuck over the nozzles of their guns, preventing them from firing and some blocks latched on to their feet. Creating one giant building block, he swung it at the group of men, sending the lot of them flying back. Focusing his attention on the area near the Titans, Sarks sent out a volley of Output Blocks, raining down a special form of exploding hell on some of the gunmen.

"Duck!" he yelled out the two, as the blocks made contact with the gunmen who were too busy reloading their firearms.

[Hillan]

Thomas ducked as the two blocks hit the gunmen. " Look, a local!" He shouted to Chad, whom were fighting. Thomas cracked his neck. " I'm gonna take you guys down." He set off with a flap off his wings, climbing in alitude really fast. He grabbed two of the gunmen before they could even react to the flying man. In a few seconds they were hundreds of meters of the ground.

"Nighty night." Thomas said, as he let go of the two, whom fell towards the ground, panicked, shouting. Thomas scoffed, before he swooshed after them, just as they were half a meter from being turned into wet piles on the ground he caught them, the two gunmen had actually soiled themselves. Thomas chuckled. " Weaklings." He said before he heard a bullet coming his way, from a heavy artilery bullet. He drew his sword, but wasn't fast enough, the bullet hitting his shoulder. a .55 Anit-tank Sniper had been used, as the Angel groaned in pain. the bullet had cone straight through, crippling his left shoulder.

" Son of a.." He though, the adrenaline in his body now blocking the pain, he dropped his sword and dragged his hand towards his crossbow, while the man with the sniper was reloading, Thomas fired his arrow just as the man was about to pull the trigger again. Thomas's arrow hit the man in the shoulder, knocking him down. " Freaking Italians, man." He pushed a button on his ear, to talk to Wyrda, whom he saw was fighting some guys " Yeah, so I just took a bullet to the shoulder, how have your day been?" He asked first with a light scoff, before a groan of pain. " Seriously, where the hell did they get these weapons from?" He asked Chad.

[Vonghese]

Someone shouted a warning, and Wyrda didn't hesitate. He threw himself forward, sliding on his knees and leaning back like a crazed music artist. His route took him between another gunman's legs, and Wyrda brought up a monkey punch that knocked the unfortunate man into a stupid sort of front flip. Then hell broke loose, as minor explosions went off all around him.

Popping back upright, Wyrda cast about. Someone suspended in midair was somehow forming and launching all sorts of bizarre cubes. Wyrda grinned tightly, twisting through the next volley with ease, managing to catch one of the last punks with the heel of his boot as he did so.

Landing, he snatched the collar of a gunman who was trying to flee and began delivering open-handed bitch slaps at the rate of three a second. Over the top of the howling gunman's head, he saw Angel.

"Fuck your shoulder!" Wyrda cheerfully shouted in reply. "I had to stand up a fucking model in order to be here! And they aren't even serious players, just extras in this show! There had better be beer after this, you hear me?"

He shook his head at Angel's other question. "Go ask a magic 8 ball, do I look like I know?"

[Stein]

Sarks had to admit. These guys were good. Damn good, in fact. They seemed to have years more experience than he did. But, he wasn't going to let that stop him. But, there weren't many goons left. Hell, there seemed to be only one left.

He jutted out his hand, and two Latch Blocks appeared, heading towards the man. They made contact, their gelatinous nature slowly engulfing him. He lifted the goon up, who had now swearing violently in Italian, and trying to make his way out to no avail. "Oi! Calm down, and keep your panties out of a bunch," Sarks demanded as he dropped the goon in front of the two playfully bickering American heroes.

"Oi, if you two want to stop flirting for a second....yeah, I'm Sarks. This guy....well, we'll call him Petunia. He may have some answers to your weapons question, wing-man," he said in the winged one's direction. "Oh, and you might want to speak Italian. I don't think you'll get much out of him in English. I mean.....unless you wine him and dine him. Make him feel like a pretty woman."

[Hillan]

Thomas chuckled as Chad disposed of the gunmen. " I'm glad you haven't lost your touch!" He shouted. " And yeah, there better be some mayor booze included in this gig, why didn't we go to the UK, I want scotch!" Thomas said, with a equally cheerful tone, before the guy with the blocks took down the gunman Thomas was just about to leap after.

" Oh my, don't you have freaky powers." He said with a light scoff before walking over to the man whom had been captured by the younger meta human, apperantly calling himself Sarks. " I'm Angel." He said with a nod, his helm bouncing off the light from the street light.

" Okay, my italian's a little rusty.. But I kind of have a better way to handle this." He said, as he grabbed the mans leg, and held him upside down with his right arm. " Dimmi, dove hai preso le armi?" (Tell me, where did you get the weapons from?) He said, the gunman shook his head, before Thomas gave out a tired groan. " Wyrdaaa. He's not talking." He whined with a sarcastic tone. " If you wanna play tough ball, fine." Thomas said, before he spread his wings and flew up into the air.

He landed on a building, a tall one, 30 meters up in the air, it was a big apartment building. Thomas held him by his leg from the edge. " Il mio braccio è stufo, parlare!" (My arm is growing tired, talk!) He ordered with his modified voice, to sound even more frightening.
The man began rambling in Italian, Thomas couldn't make out much more than "Boss, Slave" And " Underground" as the gunman's dialect was something Thomas never had heard before, the man didn't speak fluent Italian either, making it even harder to understand. Thomas gave a dissapointed scoff, before he pulled the man up and grabbed him by the collar before he flew back to Chad and Sarks.


" Okay, I couldn't really understand him." Thomas said with a scoff. " If anyone of you two gents would like to give it a try, be my guest. I have bullet to get out." He said, before he flapped his wings, and set off into the night. He never were one for talking to the cops if he could avoid it, something he missed about not having Chuck or Makarios around, both of them were better than him at handling the press and the cops.