Emmanuel. Emmaaaaanuel. Dude. A booming voice echoes throughout Emmanuel's consciousness. It is full of unimaginable power, but warm and inviting. This voice could only belong to one entity. It belongs to Samuel, God of Lions (And Bread). An entity of such power that even the smallest inkling of it would destroy a normal mind, and Emmanuel's chosen deity of worship.

In Emmaneul's mind, Samuel appears. He takes the form of a massive lion man, easily nine feet in height, stacked to the nines with muscle, weighing in at about 800 pounds. The man is huge. The rest of Emmanuel's conciousness is fairly blank, considering the fact that his ass was knocked out five ways to Sunday by Polaris. So right now, its just him and Samuel. Not a terrible thing for Emmanuel. Their conversations are always pleasant, and its been some time since they've had one.

"Dude, you really got your tail handed to you by that Polaris jackass. You used up all your power, AND went for a dick kick? I thought I taught you better than that brah." Samuel looks at Emmanuyel with a slight look of disappointment etched into his features. Really? A dick kick? How disgraceful, that look says. Aint no way for a man to fight.

" Samuel, you know as well as I do that there was no way for me to beat him. He outclassed me so far, its a miracle that I even managed to damage him in the first place. You know my body cant handle full power for more than a minute and I wasnt even able to touch him through that shitty ass barrier thing he had up. That was the only option I had available to me. He was a monster, and I almost died fighting him! In fact, I think I might BE dead! Am I dead? Is that why you're here? Cause I got my shit pushed in?"

Samuel shakes his head. "Naw, I just came to chat a bit. Talk to you bout what you could do in the future to not get rekt so hard. I think what it boils down to is becoming more efficient at using your power. Having enough power to atomize opponents is nice, but useless if it atomizes you along with it. I could put you back together, but it'd take me a hundred or more years to do it. Not really an option for someone in your line of duty, yeah? Talk to that Volt guy if you get a chance, he seems to have a pretty good grasp of what he can do, at least in comparison to you. Now, I think its about time for you to wake up, yeah? You've been out for more than a week." And with a snap of his fingers, a blinding light courses throughout Emmanuel's mind.

The poor doctors in Emmanuel's room are having a hell of a time. Since he used all of his power, Emmanuel's body has gone into a sort of self preservation state. When hooking him up to machines for monitoring purposes, Emmanuel just sucks the juice right out of it, along with the power in all the other electronics in the room. After a couple of hours of trying to get power to stay, the doctors decided that it would be a better use of their time to just go. Emmanuel's already casted up, and the wheelchair is right there in case he needs it, but they have other patients to see and need to get going.

"EuuuuuuuuuuuuugHAH" With a jolt and a sharp intake of breath, Emmanuel bolts upright in his bed as he regains consciousness, immediately regretting such fast movements. His hand goes down to his leg, trying to squeeze and massage some of the pain away, though the cast makes that a hard time indeed. Nothings broken in his leg, but his muscles are worn away, and until they come back, he'll need that cast. Thankfully, the League has state of the art medical technology, and the cast is form fitting and smooth, allowing him to move his leg, enough to walk, but not enough to hurt his leg more. So, very gently lowering himself out of bed, he begins limping down the hall to see if he can find anyone who matters around here and can tell him what went down after he lost. He also has to make a conscious effort to not suck the power out of everything he passes. He knows there are a lot of people who could probably use it more than he could.

Hi-Voltage

Whelp, nae aw thon is very good news. Not that he had expected much else. Like it or not, today was a wake up call. The League had gotten nutted, metaphorically, by Legion. Sure, the good guys got some hits in, but the Lightning-Slinger was willing to bet no one was high fiving each other and celebrating the score at the end of this one. Polaris and God knows who else out, Bluegrass and others dead, Furious captured, it was all a big ol’ fuck you. On top of that Marconi’s family was captured, which meant the Legion/Outfit war was certainly gonna escalate. Sore as he was, all this meant the Lightning-Slinger couldn’t slow down, not for one minute. There was too much work to be done. He thanked the orderly before heading on out.

But wha tae dae first? Ah could find Sonja and tha others, touch base wi them, or Zenith an tha other foonders, see were they want me next. Decsions, decsions. Before that he had a more important job to do though, He had to see Apogee, check on how she was doing. Sure, she was probably in fine physical shape, but after everything that had gone down in the prison he knew she’d be hurting. First she got a kicking from the bad guys, grim to be introduced to your limitations for anyone but especially so for someone who until recently thought they were invincible. Then she’d taken a life for the first time, and he knew that was a hard road to walk. She might not know it, but she needed to talk that stuff out, before it ate her up. Maybe she wouldn’t want to know, but he’d let her know he’d be there if she needed him. So he asked for directions and went looking for America’s strongest girl.

Morningstar

Stalker went down just as Pariah called a close to the action. Morningstar darted in and grabbed the acrobat. She didn’t weigh much, and it was better taking her in than letting her stay out on the streets were she could prove further danger.

Legion’s base going up in smoke was a great end to the mission, a nice little message that told the criminal enterprise that The League meant business. It would make them think twice before pulling their next stunt.

They got back to the base and Pariah handed out new instructions. She was happy to find she’d be joining Sixgun in the field. Field work always beats desk work, the icing on the cake being the cowboy was just like her, a regular human in amongst all the craziness that was their lives in a super heroic world. It would be good working with him.

Better than it would be working with Vigilance to interrogate the prisoners anyway. Still, she had the job now and so she might as well get it over with. She turned to ask the zombie to help her, but he was already gone. With a sigh she turned back to her former mentors partner.

“Looks like its me and you then. Who do you want to work on first? I’d suggest Villa, from reports she seemed close to Bishop, might have some useful intelligence.”

SIXGUN

He nodded as he heard the intelligent analysis, peculiarly distorted and accented as it was, coming from Wire. The Briton was off-putting to him. Smart and nebulously powerful, a dangerous combination. Not to mention there was no way to tell what he was thinking behind that helmet. He'd have to watch himself around this one.

"Thinkin' man there," he said with a broad smile. "Still, Fletcher Ross' point still stands, Fontana. Ya can't go sendin' us out into the field with limited intelligence. That's how we go and lose people, and it's not like we can ah-ford to do that li'l thing." He shrugged at Fontana. "So I'll ask again. Exactly which gangs are we meetin' with? You can tell us on the way, I'm ready to go," he said, clearing his breakfast dishes. He instinctively pulled his M1917 revolver, gave it a few fancy twirls before reholstering it. He missed his Rugers, but so far they hadn't been needed. "Let's go, gents."

---

SONJA

Sonja was aghast. No one had mentioned anything at all about torture, either this time or the first time she had suggested asking questions. "Hot Rod, I just want to talk to one of these people. That's it. I have to say I'm more than a little hurt that you feel the need to admonish me against torturing people every time this situation comes up. Do you really think I'm some perpetual sadist who's constantly champing at the bit to pull out the thumbscrews? Is that what you think of me?"

She shook her head, fatigue and stress clouding her judgment and making her quicker to anger than she might be otherwise. She marched over to the cell where the necromancer Styx was being kept, the door approached by one of Pariah's people. "Spirit of St. Louis," she said, holding up her League badge for identification. "I'd like to speak with the prisoner, please." The last word was an afterthought, sour and impatient.

The man remained calm and polite. "Ma'am, I'm under orders to personally interrogate-"

"Screw your orders," Sonja snapped. "You know anything about magic? Or magical politics, for that matter? Believe me, jail time is the least of that woman's concerns. I've already spoken to her, we've got the start of a rapport. I have a feeling I'm more likely to get anything useful out of her than ten of you guys. So stand aside."

Obediently, the man complied, and Sonja let herself in to the interrogation room, sitting down across the table from Styx. She smiled. "So let's pick up where we left off, lady." Sonja deliberately warbled the last word in the style of Dennis DeYoung. Really, it was Styx' own fault for taking the name she did.

Wire

Well, that seemed to win him over. Good good.
And we've learned something about our new associate: those guns aren't just for show.
Might be a good idea if to get one ourselves given the our next destination..

Wire finished up before carefully and quickly reattaching the chin on his helmet. He got up, stepped nonchalantly towards another thug grabbing his morning meal who looked as though he had been listening, and held out a gloved hand.

"Sorry, I'm going to need to borrow your gun."

The man looked defensive, but there wasn't much he could do to refuse the helmeted figure with a spoon in his hand. With brief narrow stare at the unflinching enigma, he reached down to his holster and passed it to him.

"Many thanks." He reached into his duffel bag, picked out a laser sight and snapped it onto the business end of the weapon. He looked down the barrel, gave it a small tweak, and turned back around and followed his comrades.

The Estate

Fontana gave Wire a grudging nod, acknowledging his points while trying to hid his frustration at the newbie, "You're right of course. There's going to be dozens of different agendas here and the chances of somebody dying today are about 95%. We just have to make sure that Music and Marconi are not among them. That's why we needed Howard back. We'll be keeping him and the other metas we have in reserve. Music and Marconi will try to sell their points but everyone get ready for things to spill. You two and La Sombra will be in the room with me and our guys. We sent Witchfinder in advance to set up overwatch."

The group was joined by other soldiers and hirelings loading weapons and preparing for the meet. They had lost quite a few men due to the assault on the Lab and Legion's abduction of the family but it seemed Marconi had continued to pull in more and more muscle. Marconi, Music, and La Sombra all arrived with their own entourage with Howard in tow. The mobsters and their hired guns went in the vehicles and drove off to the meeting point.

Fontana drew a pistol, a custom Colt 45 with nickel plating and an ivory handle, and loaded it, "Here's the deal. We're meeting everyone in a warehouse that's been out of service for years. There's gonna be guys there from the gulf coast, along the border, the east coast, the northwest, basically every big player outside of California and New York. The syndicates in New York have a gang war and the Metropolitans to worry about while the Californians have the Golden Knights and Los Diablos, they didn't answer our calls. This is going to be the biggest meet in gangland history. With Music and Marconi joining ranks and the guys we bought, we got the biggest force but we'll still be outnumbered by guys who can kill us."

"We've got Yakuza, Triads, Russian Mafia, Cartels, and every other kind of gang you can think of. Drug dealers, sex slavers, smugglers, arms dealers, we got 'em all because the League and Legion are putting the squeeze on them. Most of them will be small to mid-sized guys, especially after the past six months, and known threats are the Maine Family, the Haitians, Argus, and the Juarez Cartel. The Maines have that car-jumping freak Driveshaft with them and they could use her to get a surprise attack on us. They even hired some nutty meta called Bomber Man, powers self-explanatory."

"The Haitians hired that ice-breathing ugly Hailstorm from Miami and he can freeze your balls off like that, and a big-ass and strong-ass bruiser named Dozer. El Rey is coming himself and he brought that Luchador nut with him and the Panamanian. Rey and Tecnico are both hands-on guys but the Panamanian is a gunslinger with a fear aura. Argus is the head of a security company and they've got their fingers in all kinds of pies. Argus himself is one smart son of a bitch, he's a planner and he's got dirt on everyone going there. He's offering to sell secrets about Legion."

"There's also a few superhuman groups. That geek bank robber Dungeon Master is showing up because Legion tried to muscle in on his action. This guy's got super-intelligenc or something and his plans haven't failed yet so he's one to look out for. He's also got a loony with a bow, a loony with a sword, a loony with magic powers, and a gay-ass elf. Mind those are just known threats. And there's four new guys, towelheads from Iran or something, and they set up shop a little bit before Legion started blowing out. Rumor has it they all have some kind of powers and a penchant for drinking blood like a bunch of camel-jockey vampires. Any one of those guys could have more metahumans or supernaturals we don't know about . Our own metas are staying in reserve in case anything blows out. We'll be the first to arrive so get set."

The Outfit convoy arrived in front of a large abandoned warehouse in the industrial district. The soldiers, La Sombra, and the mercs got out and escorted Music and Marconi inside with Fontana leading Wire, Sixgun, and his own cadre of men inside. Somewhere unseen Witchfinder and other hired guns had set up shot and had their crosshairs covering the warehouse while Howard and a backup team lay in wait.

Outfit men started taking positions outside the warehouse while the rest entered. Inside they found an extremely large conference table that ran almost the length of the entire warehouse. Music and Marconi took up two chairs at the head while Fontana stood over Marconi's shoulder with La Sombra next to Music. Sixgun and Wire were left to take their own positions and the Outfit men started lining the walls and climbed into the railings overhead. Soon enough their enemies and perhaps temporary allies arrived.

Gang bosses of all shapes and sizes started streaming in with their armed entourages, all of them taking seats and trading barely restrained hostile glares with their neighbors. Yakuzas and Triads took seats next to each other as well as Cartels from all around the country, other Italian mafias, Russian mobsters, biker gangs, and more. All of them had quite a few armed men with them and the large warehouse already began to feel crowded. Then the big players showed up.

Roman Maine with his clean-cut look and distinguished blonde features looked more like a fortune 500 CEO then a mobster. The men with guns bulging in their jackets gave him away however. His machine-possesing young adult daughter was not with him but a crazed looking shaggy-haired and shabbily dressed man was. Christian Donovan followed and drew a lot of stares. One reason was the giant eight-foot tall hulking mass striding next to her and another was the blue-skinned man with a mask attached to his face. The fact that Donovan was a young, slim, beautiful Haitian-American woman was the most surprising fact however. One of her men pulled out a seat for her and she sat with Dozer looming behind her and Hailstorm at her side.

Argus and a squad of professional looking contractors soon entered, the short Romanian didn't really look like a threat but his hard-bitten features suggested a history of violence. They were followed by the small party of the Dungeon Master. The fantastical get-up of the five bank robbers drew quite a few derisive snorts but they didn't seem to notice. Soon the four mysterious Iranians came in along with a cadre of hired thugs, all of the assembled gangsters stared at them and it didn't seem like they liked what they saw. With the exception of the sultry woman with her three companions, who drew only stares of lust. Finally, El Rey, El Tecnico, and the Panamanian arrived. El Tecnico wore his signature luchador mask while El Rey was dressed sharply and looked the picture of a handsome hispanic gentleman. The Panamanian was on Rey's heels, and everyone they passed took a few steps away from the assassin. None of them noticed Sixgun at all.

Marconi stood up and smiled while Music continued to set his mouth in a grim line. The Mob boss said, "Ladies and gentlemen, thank you all for coming. Now that you're all here. Let's talk business. Namely, going to war with Legion." They all settled in and what could prove to be the deadliest meeting in recent history commenced.

The Hall

Outside the Hall, Bunyan and Brick seemed to calm down. The red laser sights over Supercell's chest disappeared as Brick chuckled, the sound echoing in Supercell's ears, "Damn man. Next time call ahead or something. With all that's going on we were ready to pound you into the concrete. That is if Bullseye and Specter didn't get you first." Somewhere high on the roof the League's signature Archer turned her attention away from Supercell while a man suddenly appeared behind the arrival and lowered a gun, "No contest guys. Guns beat arrows and fists. Even big fists like yours."

A few security men came out the door and dragged the pyrokinetic to the holding cells where all the other escapees were being held. Specter nodded, "Good work. Registration is easy anyway. Easier because we need more bodies to throw at Legion hehe. Get in there and talk to Anima at the front-desk, she'll hook you up fast-track you. Everyone's mostly back from missions now so kick back. Get going, we have a door to watch." Specter suddenly vanished again.

Inside the hall, Volt would find Apogee in the training room. She was punching away at a large bag filled with advanced impact gel designed for bruisers, Zenith-types, and others with super-stength to test the force of their hits. The carbon-fiber weave bag, a large heavy mass with an armored inner layer, filled with Savant's patented impact gel, and magically toughened by Destiny, began crumpling under Apogee's blows as she shouted out with every hit. She punched harder and harder until finally the most advanced and high-tech punching bag in the world went flying across the room. The few others in the gym tried not to notice and left Apogee to her own devices as she flew over to a pile of bags and put another one up. There were already four completely wrecked impact bags.

Inside the conference room Zenith waved off the other attendees to leave them. He rubbed his temples and sighed, "Casimir, you may think your scare tactics are helping the situation but they aren't. Other heroes like Pariah and Reaver like to intimidate the criminal element but you take it too far. You enjoy doing it. And you flaunt every rule of engagement we have by always pursuing lethal courses. You are a representative of the League, one of the only pro-active Superhuman organizations in existence. And you're causing outsiders to perceive us in a way that damages our credibility."

"These criminals don't know fear Casimir. Sure the low-level guys will start talking in whispers but the serious villains will never be intimidated by it. You're starting to scare the people we're supposed to protect with your brutality and one of these days you're going to take a step too far. Thomas has raised his concerns to me as well. He says there's talk among the Magus about bringing you in for questioning. We're keeping them at bay for now but you have to ratchet it down before someone gets hurt. Badly."

Inside Styx's interrogation room the witch seemed to be almost comfortable as she sat chained to the table with a magical circle drawn around her to prevent her casting a spell. On the other side of the mirrored glass, Thomas stood and observed while a security team was ready seconds away. Styx smiled and leaned back in her chair as far as she could, "And what was that? I'm sure it was something important, but with all the excitement I quite forgot. Although I do remember it had something to do with you guaranteeing my safety from the Fellowship and Legion, before I say anything. I think a mutual pact on our power would do quite nicely."

In the sorcery community, a pact on one's power was as sacred as it got. When a spellcaster swore their power to a pact, they invested their own magic into it. If broken, it would cause the mage to lose some of their own powers as well as letting the wider magical community know that they were an oathbreaker. It was a risky agreement but it was up to Sonja. After all necromancy and murder with magic were two of the most sacred Laws of Magic as laid down by the Fellowship

Vigilance didn't seem any happier to see her and you could almost feel the scowl under his mask. He grunted grudgingly, "Probably the best choice. We all knew Bishop back in New York and he's always been a big player, and besides that little girl Villa seemed to be one of his most trusted followers. Bishop is probably pretty high-up in Legion anyway." Bishop also known as Anthony Johnson, had been a small-time gangbanger beneath Pariah's notice until he got his powers. After that he had made quite a name for himself and amassed quite the criminal syndicate with his potent powerset. Pariah and company had clashed with him several times with little result and it had eventually taken bringing in Zenith to chase the villain off.

Vigilance opened Villa's file, "Her name's Maria Rodriguez. Orphan from Los Angeles, parents were drug addicts. Mother died in an overdose and Dad died trying to rob a connivence store. She was on her own for god knows how long and eventually joined a small gang. Became known throughout the neighborhood for being a crack shot. When she got her powers it got even worse. Whole rival gangs were wiped out in short order before she wiped out her own gang and started a new one. They kept getting bigger and muscling in on more turf while she racked up a huge body count. Eventually they got overt enough for the cops and the Golden Knights to come in and wipe them out. Villa escaped and she's been off grid till now."

"She's tough. A fighter, a survivor. The hard approach probably won't work on her and she showed a lot of devotion to Bishop. But we need whats in her head. We need to get her to flip and we need to do it now. If she falls the rest of them will follow shortly. And how much she follows Bishop, she's also always been out for number one. I say we exploit that somehow. Offer her a good deal. Of course, you've been with Pariah longer so I know you have your own thoughts." Vigilance kept his tone neutral but the insolence was very much present.

Hot Rod was taken aback when Sonja got mad at him and thought he had assumed that she was going to use torture as method to get information. That wasn't what he meant and he quickly went after her to try and talk to her.

"Wait Sonja, that's not what I meant. I just was saying that I was never really good at torture or intimidation methods as a way of getting information and I leave that to heroes like Pariah. I'm not saying you use torture to get information out of criminals, I'm sorry if my words upset you" Hot Rod said her, hoping that she would understand the misunderstanding and wasn't mad at him.

---

St Francis moved away from the area where Zenith was talking to Casimir, and looked around for a more quiet place to pray and give thanks to God. It was hard but he did find a place and his birds vocalizations helped sooth his mind as he sat comfortably on the floor and closed his eyes he started to pray.

Hi-Voltage

Several shattered punch bags lay testament to Apogee's current temperament i.e. not very bloody good. The gym wasn't empty by any estimation, but the occupants were sure trying to make it look like it was. Good idea lads, leave tha lassie clearly struggling wi her emotions to her own devices, smashing things clearly being a healthy response post mission. Twats. That said he couldn't judge them to harshly, Apogee was one of the most powerful people on the planet, and if she threw a tantrum he doubted it would be a pretty sight. Still, he was constantly doing things he'd rather no, not like one more was gonna bother him overly much.

He approached casually, trying no to show how much he was hurting, only now becoming aware of how un-presentably he was attired, costumed all a-tattered, torso bared to show off fine purple bruises and sweat matted chest hair, blood still drying into whatever material was left. There was a stale whiff of grey sweat in the air too, though if that was him or the usual scent of the gym he wasn't sure. He assumed his blonde hair was pretty dishevelled too, but that was hardly new.

He stood a little to the side of the punching bag, coughing to announce his presence.

“Imagine ma surprise when ah wake up inna hossie bed an naebody has brang me any grapes! If ah wasn't sure ah was in Ahmerica before, ah sure ah'm now. Ye people have nae sense of decorum.” He smiled to show he was joking, that lopsided grin that made his usual sharp features look almost boyish.

“How ye daeing lass?”

Morningstar

You could cut the tension in the air between Morningstar and Vigilance with a knife, it would have to be a damn sharp one though, as it was thick enough to choke you. That said you'd have to be careful with a knife like that in this company, as either party would be liable to grab it from you with intentions of stabbing the other one. They could work together, just, but neither would be able to honestly say they enjoyed it.

For all that Vigilance knew his stuff, having come to the same conclusions she had about how to deal with Villa. The Legionnaire was the type of person who thrived on conflict, and if they went at her head-on then she'd just dig her heels in and they'd end up with a fat pile of squat. No, they had to go at Villa at an angle, worm their way into her head and keep her second guessing herself and her erstwhile allies.

“Right. You lead in there Vigilance, but be subtle about it. Let's let her own insecurities do our work for us, if she thinks Legion is gonna give her up then it sounds like she's the type to give them up first. I'll observe, and if I see a crack in her defence I'm gonna go for it, both barrels. Sound good?” She posed it as a question, but it was anything but. She was 'senior officer' in this investigation, so she was calling the shots.

Mr Joe Black

Thomas's aura was never a difficult one to locate. He was one of the most powerful mages in the Northern hemisphere, you just can't miss a signature like that. Joe was making a bee line for it, looking like he was in the detention facility, probably giving one of their recent prisoners the business, the thought of straight laced, white collared, perianal nice guy Thomas trying to put the fear into a rake of cracked-nut criminals so incredulous that it was enough to bring a rictus like grin to Joe's face. If he was paying more attention to were he was going he might not have triped over St Francis, knelt in the path with birds flying about him.

Joe went a tumble over his arse, taking the Saint with him. The zombie was quick back on his feet, swatting a chirping bird outta his face as he did.

"What you doing in the middle of the walkway with yer eyes closed ya mook? I should kick yer nuts in!"

“What are you..?” The man’s chuckling confused Supercell. What was he laughing about? Why hadn’t Aban noticed how tense they were a moment before he introduced himself? With a glance towards the roof, the man’s words were confirmed as true. He was mere moments away from having an arrow cut a hole between his eyes. Or perhaps the man with the gun who had managed to sneak up behind Supercell would’ve finished him off first with two rounds through his heart. Aban Ali Sahar’s heart felt like it was about to jump out of his throat. He hadn’t noticed the laser sights before, or the archer above him. How strange it is to realize that one was on the brink of destruction, yet was too ignorant to notice. Had the past years outside of a warzone made him soft? Was he getting too confident in his abilities, letting things slip past his subconscious? Whatever the case, it was an uncomfortable wake up call for Aban. He needed to keep his eyes open next time.

“Ha..ha..Yes. Called ahead.” Aban laughed nervously. He turned swiftly towards Spectre as he began to explain registration to Aban. The man’s word choices were less than uplifting, as Supercell realized the gravity of the situation that the League of Superheroes currently faced. This “Legion” Spectre mentioned..they must be a credible foe indeed, to challenge the League. Aban resolved to do a bit of research on Legion during his next time off.”I will speak to Anima. Yes. Thank you, sir.” Aban couldn’t help but jump when the man vanished into thin air. Invisibility? Teleportation? Super Speed? Judging by the name the bruisers called him, Aban figured the former to be the highest probability.

Taking in a long breath of fresh air, Aban stepped through the doors to the League’s Headquarters. He looked around at the lobby, amazed by the sheer size of the building, as well as the architecture. Modern Western architecture always amazed Aban. Perhaps it was because of how accustomed he had come to the destruction and poverty that plagued Damascus. Perhaps it was because of all the time he had spent in a place like South Side. More than likely, his appreciation was a combination of both. Supercell weaved his way through the room towards the front desk. He took another breath, and introduced himself.”Hello Anima, my name is Aban Ali Sahar. I am here to sign up as a member of the League of Superheroes."

The secretary nodded and began to type away on her computer. Aban was afraid for a moment that she was ignoring him, or possibly hadn't heard him. He was about to repeat himself, when she finally spoke up."Supercell, right?" Anima asked without looking up."Yes. I am he." Aban answered unsteadily. How had she found out his secret identity so quickly? He was a pretty small time vigilante, at least by the League's standards. After thinking it over, it seemed to make some sense. They were a superhero organization, so they had to have contact with the Chicago Police Department; and Supercell had worked with the CPD before, which would mean the police would have something on Aban."Right, now you're registered. This has the information you'll need to find your room, here's the key. Welcome to the League." With that, the secretary turned back to the computer and Aban wandered away from the front desk. He followed the instructions on the paper that Anima had given him. They were pretty simple, so he didn't have too hard a time finding the room that had been assigned to him.

Supercell unlocked the door and stepped inside. The space was much nicer than the roof he was currently living on, but it wasn't all that. There were all the simple commodities you'd expect in an apartment, and little else. Aban put his clothes and food away, before slinging the backpack onto his back and leaving the room. He decided to leave the door unlocked as he stepped down the hall towards the common room, eager to meet his fellow heroes for the first time. He decided that he wouldn't immediately start lobbying for his cause, as was his plan before. Aban would need to gain their trust and appreciation first.

After only a few minutes of walking down the hall, Supercell spotted a man covered in lightning tattoos limping down the hall. Aban quickly changed his course, moving up alongside the injured man."Greetings, fellow Superhero." Aban began in his best English,"I am Aban Ali Sahar, and I just got here. You could say I am a "newbie." So I have decided to get to know my peers. Where would you recommend I should go to uhm, eh..How do you say..Where should someone who is new go?"

SONJA

A nagging voice in the back of her head whispered that was unfair and you're being rude to a valued friend, but she didn't care, she was already tired and keyed up. She ignored Hot Rod's apologies, though the same voice told her she'd have to make it up to him at some point. She simply stormed into Styx' room and began the interrogation. When the sorceress proposed a pact, she leaned back in her chair, briefly considering it. Magical pacts were devised at some point in the far and distant past, their seriousness respected even by the worst dark magic practicioners. However, there were any number of dodges. The classic one was deliberately vague wording- as long as you kept to your exact words, you couldn't be held as an oathbreaker. She would have to be careful.

"Alright, I'm willing. But I have conditions that need to be fulfilled first," Sonja warned. "One, I want you to understand that in exchange for League protection, you are to provide us with all the current information you have on Legion. Members, locations, intentions, abilities, dispositions. In as much detail as possible. Two, you are to renounce all use and study of black magic for the rest of your natural and unnatural life. In return, we are prepared to protect you from Legion and will intercede on your behalf with both the federal government and the State of Illinois as regards whatever crimes you have committed. If you're satisfied with these conditions, we may clasp hands and enter the pact." Sonja rested her hand on the table, as if challenging her to an arm wrestling match. I'm taking sole responsibility for this one, Thomas, she reassured Destiny in the other room, beaming the thought directly into his head.

---

SIXGUN

"Gawd damn and a half," Sixgun muttered to himself. "This is one hell of a collection of desperadoes."

And indeed it was. According to the placards somehow had thoughtfully placed on the table, more than forty different cities were represented here. Some of the biggest names in organized crime were present. Sixgun, under Pariah's tutelage, had gone through a who's who of organized crime figures, but never expected to see them all in the same room. Roman Maine, for one, and Christian Donovan. Between the two of them they represented most of the crime on the East Coast. His eyes widened as he saw El Rey come in, a familiar face from Phoenix, accompanied by his personal scientist El Tecnico. Bad. Sixgun's immediate thought was to blend in with the Road Kings once again, but the Indianapolis chapter he had familiarized himself with was currently chatting with those from Tacoma and Memphis. No way he could hide among them, especially not in this white suit. He edged behind a tall Korean gangster, hoping to make himself invisible. While he was confident in his mask back home the last thing he wanted was to be recognized here. Especially not here. All it'd take was one gunshot, one accusation, and this would turn into a massacre, the like of which would probably destroy half of Chicago given the presence of metahumans. Like Bomber Man. Didn't they guy tear up downtown Austin a year or two back?

The atmosphere was already growing sour, as bitter rivals found themselves in the same room. Sixgun looked away from the sight of Road Kings trading insults with the Cossacks MC, to see a Philadelphia mafioso coldly staring down his counterpart in the same town's Greek mob. Unless Marconi and Music could get them all to agree on something, tensions could very easily boil over.

Sixgun gave a poke to Wire, who seemed ill at ease himself. The man's body language seemed defensive, much like his own. Maybe he had also recognized someone here. Trying to make sure El Rey and the Panamanian could not see his face, he whispered to his partner. "This place is a powderkeg, man. Fletcher Ross got hisself an idee, though." He unobtrusively pointed out one individual seated at the table, a man who was very familiar to him indeed. "You seein' this fella in the black turtleneck? The one with the rent-a-cop types with rifles behind him. Serge Ionescu. Calls hisself Argus, after the giant with a hunnert eyes. I'm thinkin' if things go south, he's the guy to protect. The Bosnians will watch after Music, and Marconi has more men than anyone, not to mention La Sombra is watchin' his back. But this fella Argus is some kinda spymaster, see? Got informants and wiretaps and drones, that kinda thing. A knowledge broker. If anyone here has hard intelligence on Legion, it's Argus. So we keep him alive at all costs, get me?" His point made, he took a watchful position, jacket opened just enough that he could easily reach his revolver if need be. The .45 would be all but useless on some of these people, but it was better than nothing.

Wire

Wire was most definitely on edge in such a dangerous situation. Very few people seemed happy to be there, and those were the ones that worried him the most.

He felt a small poke from Ross as he tried to size up as many people as he could. The man leaned into his ear and whispered "This place is a powderkeg, man. Fletcher Ross got hisself an idee, though." He unobtrusively pointed out one individual seated at the table. "You seein' this fella in the black turtleneck? The one with the rent-a-cop types with rifles behind him. Serge Ionescu. Calls hisself Argus, after the giant with a hunnert eyes. I'm thinkin' if things go south, he's the guy to protect. The Bosnians will watch after Music, and Marconi has more men than anyone, not to mention La Sombra is watchin' his back. But this fella Argus is some kinda spymaster, see? Got informants and wiretaps and drones, that kinda thing. A knowledge broker. If anyone here has hard intelligence on Legion, it's Argus. So we keep him alive at all costs, get me?"

Wire gave him a hard look that lasted but a second. Weren't they hired specifically to protect Marconi and Music? Prioritising the acquisition of intelligence was secondary surely! And how on earth did he know about this specific guy? Sure every thug knew their big bosses, and they knew their big bosses competitors. But this man in the white suit recognised the spy master of the underworld. He could assume that they had had dealings in the past; he'd fought the Yakuza at some point in time, so that wasn't too much of a stretch. But it still bugged him. It meant that the chances that he had his own agenda beyond getting paid, and beyond any form of loyalty, had increased. The possibility of more being to him persisted at the back of his mind.

Not that he showed it in that single second of thinking time. Wire nodded and decided to pry "Sounds like a good plan. So how come you're so knowledgeable of Mob Bosses?"

The Meet

As the two hirelings talked among themselves, the room was filled with the clamor of crime bosses and syndicate leaders all trying to get a word in. Marconi tried to talk over the onslaught of voices while Music scowled in his chair. Maine looked utterly unflappable while El Rey seemed to revel in the chaos. The arguments, suggestions, accusations, and threats kept escalating and it seemed the most historic gang meet ever would dissolve in seconds until Donovan snapped her fingers. Dozer nodded and slammed his fist into the wall behind him, completely collapsing it while shouting, "QUIET!!!!" His voice boomed in the hall and rang so loudly that everyone covered their ears and grunted in pain.

Voices died in throats and eyes wandered over nothing as Christian Donovan, the so-called Pirate Queen of the Gulf, stood and addressed the room, "Thank you Dozer." The dark-skinned goliath nodded and crossed his tree-trunk sized arms. Donovan smiled and the expression had a dark allure that promised all kinds of things, many deadly, "First off, I'd like to thank our hosts for inviting us all here. Never before have so many come together like this, let us not waste it. We're here to take back our business from the Legion. If nobody has anything constructive to say, please stay quiet. Or my man will have to escort you out." Dozer growled, the sound almost subsonic, and her authority was cemented.

Marconi briefly frowned but it was replaced in a flash with his trademark smile, "Thank you Christian. She's right. The League is bad enough but Legion is running us all out of business. We're all losing money and men faster than Congress's credibility. They are a unified front and they're wiping us all out because we've been fighting each other. Now, it's us or them and if we don't act now we'll all be dead or in jail. Or worse, getting honest jobs." The whole room grimaced at that.

Marconi continued, "What we need is a coalition. A meeting of all the syndicates into one Alliance. We'll put aside our grudges and vendettas long enough to put a bullet in every Legionnaire. Then we can get back to killing each other. This coalition will be led by the bosses of the biggest gangs serving as a committee. For the moment, we'll pool all our men, money, and supplies together and especially our metas. We'll hire more guns. We'll bribe more cops. We'll even slip some things to the League. All so we can get rid of the Legion. If we work together, we got a hell of a better chance than we do alone."

The discussion continued with the Juarez delegation, the Maine Family, Donovan, and a few others making the most contribution. The Iranians remained silent while the Dungeon Master looked amused and Argus kept a blank face. It seemed to be progressing swimmingly, with several management and organizational decisions decided. But there were some unhappy faces in the crowd. Minor gang bosses and independent crews were irritated at the leadership of only some gangs. More than a few men seemed itching for a fight. Marconi and Music kept delegating with the other bosses and the growing unrest went mostly unnoticed save for Fontana who gestured to his hirelings.

The Hall

Apogee punched the bag for a few seconds as if not hearing but Volt could see the slump in her shoulders as she kept hitting it. Eventually she said, "Not good Volt. I messed up today. I almost got you killed today. I killed today. And Bluegrass is dead. Beatdrop is dead. Even that new girl Cordella is dead. I just... I don't" she kept hitting the bag, even harder now, and one could almost hear the tears rising under the surface.

In Styx's interrogation room, Thomas projected back, Alright Sonja. I'll try to smooth things over with the Magus and the Fellowship. But if this goes south. It's her head.... and probably yours too. Styx smiled and clasped hands with Sonja on the table. Something that sounded like a small sonic boom bounded across the room as Styx glowed with dark light. The pact was made and they were now bound. Styx leaned back in her chair and said, "Ask me questions, I wouldn't know where to start."

Vigilance grunted, not at all happy with the direction, but entered the room and closed the door. He kept the mask on and dropped the file on the floor, while Morningstar watched on the other side of the glass. Vigilance pulled out a chair and sat, "You're in a lot of trouble Rodriguez. Multiple killings. Assaulting officers of the law. Threatening civilians in a public space. Kidnapping. Breaking and entering. Illegal possession of weapons. And resisting arrest. Put that along with all your other crimes and you're a shoe in with the death penalty. They might be trying to abolish it sure, but I'm sure a judge and jury will expedite your case. It's not going to be like last time." Villa spat on the floor, "And if I refuse? Why should I be scared of you pussies?"

Vigilance laughed and said, "You'll be put in Pandora's Box, that new supermax they're building in the ass end of nowhere. Minimal contact with the outside. Iron tight security. And the most dangerous supers in the country. And what do you have? Super-reflexes? You won't even make it to the chair. You'll be raped then killed most likely. Or killed than raped. Maybe eaten. Legion can't save you. The only person who can save you is me. And I'm still iffy."

Villa sat still as stone in her chair but underneath the table her foot tapped erratically. Vigilance continued, "Tell me everything you know about Legion. Names, places, dates, everything. I want it all and I want it now." Villa gritted her teeth, "Fuck you hero." Vigilance laughed again, "Hero? I'm no hero. I'm not even particularly nice. No, tell me everything or I'll let the word slip on the street that we had this talk. Even if you get out, what do you think happens then?" Vigilance leaned in, "You're all alone now Rodriguez. Up shit creek. And I'm about to throw away the paddle."

Villa was still resisting but her uncertainty was starting to show, doubts about her survival and her own organization. All she needed was another push.

SIXGUN

"Well, when you're a freelance hitter like Fletcher Ross, it pays to know who's worth working fer," Sixgun said by way of explanation, lighting a cigarette to duck any further questions from Wire. Luckily, Dozer screamed for quiet right then, and both men were shocked into silence.

The meeting seemed fairly orderly from then on, Sixgun trying to remember as much as he could on the off chance the small cameras he had discreetly placed around the room didn't work. He took maybe a deeper drag than he intended when Marconi made a throwaway reference to infiltrating the League. It'd be easy, Sixgun realized. They didn't exactly screen their people carefully, and their open-door policy meant very few applicants were turned away. Pariah, we've gotta tighten up, he thought.

However, some of the gang leaders didn't quite look happy, probably because they were being ignored. Ben saw Fontana gesture discreetly for him. Trying to remain inconspicuous, the man calling himself Fletcher Ross gave his partner a nudge, then unhurriedly worked his way through the crowd to Fontana. "I take it someone's going to need to be walked out," he said quietly once he reached the capo.

---

SONJA

Sonja leaned back in her chair, pulling a pen and paper from the air. She really didn't want to have cause to regret this pact, so she might as well start asking some questions. Pushing her designer sunglasses up, hoping they concealed her tired, bloodshot eyes, she started taking a few notes. "Let's talk leadership," she said. "Who's your direct report and where do you meet him or her?"

Hi-Voltage

Volt stepped in close, grabbing Apogee's shoulder and attempting to spin her around to face him. If she had been expecting it she probably would have never budged, but she was all sorts of unbalanced right now, both physically and emotionally, so she turned like a top. Heres hoping I dinnae take the place of thon punching bag.

He could see her face now, the raw emotion that etched nigh unbearable pain across her usually pretty features, the conflicting tumult of emotions that raged like a storm behind her eyes, the tense hump of her shoulders. He knew it all, had been there himself. He didn't have to cast far to remember what it was like to taste failure quite so bitter as she was now, after all he wore his failures like a uniform, but he knew some people weren't as adapted to self loathing as he was. Some people liked themselves, and when they did something wrong it felt like a betrayal. Emily was still new to this job, and this was the first time that she was forced to accept the concessions that heroes have to make to keep the world safe, the decisions they choose that chip away at their soul.

It was a horrifying revelation, finding out that saving the day means damning yourself. He remembered when he found that out for himself, the feeling of grey emptiness, the knowledge that he'd already lost Daniel for not doing what was right, then realising that if he was going to do the right thing he was more than likely going to lose himself. He'd just wanted someone to hug him then, and tell him it was gonna be alright.

But nae one did. Deep down ye widnae let them. Ye started this on yer own Tommy-Boy, so ye dealt wi yer problems on yer own. Even when Clara and Szymon tried tae help ye shoulder the weight, ye just pushed them away. Ye've always had a knack fer daing things tha wrong way. At least ye can learn from yer mistakes, help others dae things tha right way.

So he threw his arms around Emily, pulling her into a tight hug. He tried not to feel self-concious, public displays of affection never sitting very high on the list of things he enjoyed, knowing that Emily needed this.

"We're people Emily. Nae Gods." He spoke softly, still holding her close. "Nae matter what anyone says different we're just people. We laugh, we cry, we win, we make mistakes, we triumph, we fail. Then we pick oorselves up and dae better next time, we dae it tae honour those we failed, tae make sure nae one else has tae suffer for oor mistakes. We dae it cause its the right thing tae dae." He fell silent then, but kept on holding her. He'd keep on holding her until she told him to stop.

Because it was the right thing to do.

Morniningstar

Morningstar entered the room then, soft and quiet. Vigilance had said the hard approach would just make Villa clam up, and he was right. It was the soft approach that would crack this nut, the one were you slid up to your target all nice and quiet, picking your moment.

She sat herself at the table opposite the legionaire, made herself comfy on the seat then began.

"I read your file Villa. I read about LA, about your parents and your gangs, the bodycounts and the Golden Knights. I read it all and one thing stuck out to me. Your a survivor. You understand how the world works. Or at least you did. You see, back in LA you didn't let anyone or anything slow you down. You did things your way on your terms and you were untouchable."

"Now? Now you've hitched your horse to Legions wagon, and look were its got you! You're in the tender care of Vigilance here, the kind of cretin that would never of dreamed of nabbing you back in your LA days." She knew it was Pariah that had caught Villa, but she doubted the distinction would bother the crook overmuch. The point still stood. "And the bad news is we took a lot more than you from Legion today. I myself went knocking on the door of a place called the Den. If you don't know what that is then your useless to us, and if you do know what it is then you know Legion has much bigger worry's than getting you back. They haven't protected you Villa. Its time to stop protecting them."

The hero lent in across the table, enough for atmosphere but not enough to actually be in danger if Villa tried to attack her. She wasn't stupid.

"It's time to start thinking about yourself again."

Wire

Wire left his partner alone after that comment. It was a simple dismissal, and could mean a variety of things. With the slightest of shrugs, he dropped the discussion and proceeded to do what he did best: observe.

At least one other powerful mob boss accepted the necessity of the meet. That was encouraging, and would actively discourage interruptions from those unprepared to make a move; any gang would think twice on a takeover given the certainty of two large outfits being your opponents. The trouble was, any gang with the balls would have thought a lot more than twice about it..

Wire's ears pricked up as Marconi mentioned dropping hints to the League, although he did not move. Listening to the world at half-speed made keeping your emotions in check a lot easier than the people he was surrounded by. And given the League's resources, he doubted that they wouldn't have some form of representative here. It was time to see who they were. Slowing his perception more gave him the opportunity to scan the reactions of those in attendance; maybe they would shift their weight, or move their head, or take a deep breath. Maybe they wouldn't do anything. Regardless, he saw numerous people who he could say reacted to the words "the League". However, given the context in which they were mentioned, it was difficult to gauge their relationship. Discomfort at the prospect of helping the League was definitely to be expected, gang member or not, but he now had some faces he could at least assume had some ties to the League. Positive or negative. Fletcher was one of them, and that did not surprise him. Wire now was 60% sure that he was a spy, and miles away from certainty.

At the end of the speech and as negotiations began, Wire made note of the outlier; small bosses who were feeling insulted at their insignificance in the grand scheme of things. He had neglected to factor in that small detail. They would start a fight out of obligation to their pride. That was dangerous.

Fontana seemed to have noticed, and Ross gave him a nudge to action. They proceeded to the man, and his partner approached him. Wire had his back.

St Francis was in a very peaceful state of mind before he bowled over by Mr Joe Black, and his birds gave shocked cries as they flew off of him to avoid being harmed. When Francis got up off of the ground and got a look at the zombie, his divine senses gave him a shocking visual of Joe since he was like an undead creature. He gripped his staff tightly and his aura of divine mana intensified out of wariness after the zombie made his threat. He didn't make any move because his mind reassured him that any undead beings in the Hall of Heroes had to be members of the League if they weren't locked up with the rest of the criminals.

"I'm sorry, I was just finding a place to pray for a bit" he said to Joe, trying to keep a steady voice. Unlike St Michael, Francis was more wary of the darker supernatural beings such as the undead because it was unnatural in how life worked, things were suppose to die when their time came. Only dark magic could break the cycle of life and death by bringing the dead to life.

The Meet

The movers and shakers kept talking while Fontana whispered at them, his hands beginning to hover near the inside of his jacket, "Yeah, and there's a lot of guys to walk out. I need you two to get some guys and-" suddenly the fragile and tense atmosphere was shattered into a million pieces. The first round, fired by a red-faced and cursing Russian thug splattered his rivals brains all over the back wall. It wouldn't be the first. Those with faster draws drew their weapons as the room burst into chaos and noise.

Fontana cursed and pulled Marconi under the table while La Sombra and music drew pistols. Dozer shoved Donovan behind his massive back, Maine ducked under the table, and El Rey smiled as he drew his own weapons. Sides were chosen instantly, mainly based on prior alliances or rivalries. The room was rent by the sound of gunfire as rounds were pumped in all directions. Blood flew everywhere. It spattered the walls, the table, other gangsters. Men dropped like flies as every grudge between every gang suddenly burst to the surface.

Fontana shouted and the Outfit began firing while their high-powered allies did the same, the coalition of leaders banding together against the random violence. There had been hundreds of men in this room and already dozens were dead. Over the thunder of gunfire, outside other gangsters took up a fight, the Witchfinder making his presence known with his fifty caliber rifle. Several of Argus's men had been killed but the rest maintained discipline and fired back at the aggressors around them while the man himself kept his head down.

The Dungeon Master's Elf had been ventilated and the Archer had managed to down several men before choking from a bullet in his neck. The man himself was under a shield cast by the Mage along with his Knight. The Iranians turned on everyone and they flashed through t crowd, tearing and ripping with inhuman strength and speed. Hailstorm shoved the frozen statue of a man into the ground and kept firing torrents of ice while Dozer wrapped Christian in his arms and shielded her against the rounds, charging through the hole in the wall he'd made to safety.

And it seemed there had been more metas present than previously thought. Several of the street gangs had a super or two with them and soon enough fireballs, lightning bolts, ice spikes, and more flew through the air along with bullets. One such Meta spotted Marconi and jumped on the table and flashed towards him in blinding speed. He was no Nitrous but he was faster than any normal man could have followed, a knife flashed in his hand and several men were choking on blood as he slashed throats while running at Marconi. Another man took off his sunglasses and his eyes gleamed red before scything through a whole swatch of Yakuza gangsters. He then turned his gaze towards Argus and his men.

The Hall

Apogee hugged Volt back and squeezed. Though she did so lightly, he would definitely feel the world's strongest girl wrapping her arms around him. Her sobs continued for several minutes, her tears flowing freely down her face. Gradually the tears decreased in intensity and volume until finally she only sniffled and before long those abated as well. She still held him however. She was much much stronger than Volt but shorter and her wet eyes looked up at his, "Thank You." Her eyes flashed red and they were suddenly dry. After a few more moments she withdrew the hug, leaving Volt somewhat sore. She looked at the ruined punching bags and said, "I want to get away from her for a little. I don't care where, just away for a bit. Will you join me?"
You
Styx smiled and leaned back in her chair, "We all serve a master. A dark warlock of extreme power. I know not what his name is or even what he truly looks like. But I have felt his power. He is one of the most powerful mages alive. He calls himself the Ascendant. His base of operations is not truly known to us. The way to it is forever changing and the location itself is warded like noting else I have ever seen. We see him when he wishes it and no doubt he knows now that I am captured. You met him before when you stopped that silly Sarin and her gang in the bank." No doubt Sonja still remembered Bouncer's voice changing to that of some demonic monstrosity while her eyes gleamed blood red, no doubt she remembered the mental presence of something that was dark and powerful like nothing she had ever quite felt in a mortal.

Styx smiled, "Your pet Magus would be no match for him. Indeed even your Elder Mages would be hard-pressed against him. But there is another. A woman in red who is almost always by his side. An enchantress and a witch you may know as Desdemona." Desdemona was an infamous witch among the magic community. She seemed to be a young and beautiful pale brunette in her twenties but she had been alive since the mid 1600s. Mages were commonly long-lived but they still age visibly. Not so with Desdemona.

Desdemona had once been a respected Mage and member of the Fellowship of Sorcery, a member with promise whose achievements and work made great leaps and bounds in arcane theory and study. However as the centuries passed Desdemona's beauty began to slowly fade as wrinkles grey hair started to appear more and more. The vain Desdemona in the later years had become obsessed with remaining eternally young. She shunned every other pursuit to follow her obsession and it ostracized her from her fellow Sorcerers until finally in the 1970s she found the answer.

She drained the life force of young, beautiful girls until they were withered husks. She shared the secret with several others and they began abducting scores of young women for their purpose. Finally they had been discovered by the Magus after they went so far as to enslave an entire remote village in the English country side. Every single member of her little following soon lost their head save their leader who lead the Magus on a case across the sea and through the vastness of America, costing a half-dozen Magus their lives along with several innocents as she "feed".

She had run into South America and there she had been lost by the Magus. It was assumed she had died there, the victim of either a mundane crime boss, the jungle, or even another supernatural predator. Her work remained influential but she was never spoken of again except as a cautionary tale to acolytes of the dangers of forbidden research. And now she has resurfaced. Styx said, "Desdemona is his right hand. She is the one who gives us most of our instructions. And I know where to find her. She found a lair in the Spirit Realm where she conducts her research and gathers strength to the Ascendant's cause. Ogres, ghouls, vampires, and darker things. To enter you need to find the link in the mortal plane and open a rift," she smiled again, "The link is at the bottom of Lake Michigan."

Villa finally broke. She gritted her teeth and said, "Fine. I want to cut a deal. Keep me out of the damn box." Vigilance said, "Depends on what you give us." Villa spit and stared at Morningstar, "What do you want to know?"

SIXGUN

"Tarnation!" Sixgun yelled involuntarily as the first shots rang out and the Korean gangster next to him flew back as though yanked on strings, a trail of airborne blood in his wake. Bullets were flying in earnest even as he drew his gun, and the summit degenerated into an insane free-for-all, everyone against everyone else.

Sides seemed to be emerging, though. The Maine family and Cartel seemed to have thrown in with the Outfit- while they weren't going out of their way to work together, they were pointedly refraining from shooting at one another. Better than nothing. Donovan had chosen discretion over valor, and the Iranians had gone kill-crazy. Various superpowered attacks were flying as well, not to mention that one guy spinning around up in the rafters under his own power, he was definitely flying.

Sixgun took in the situation, his superb reflexes allowing him to see that he had to make a split-second decision. There was the speedster charging along the surface of the table directly at Marconi, knife in his hand and murder in his eyes. And there the was the man with the lethal gaze, a second away from turning it on Argus. One was his link to the underworld, the other a potential link to Legion with his vast stores of knowledge on just about everything

Who to save?

He wasted a blink of an eye worrying about being recognized by El Rey or El Tecnico, both of them expert martial artists who knew everyone fought in their own distinctive way, unique as a fingerprint. But he saw El Rey emptying his machine pistol at gringos and El Tecnico busy with suplexing a gangbanger straight through a table, knew they were too distracted.

He went for Argus.

"Get to Marconi!" he instructed Wire, not looking to see if the man heard him or was even next to him, as he fired three .45 rounds at the man pouring energy out of his eyes. Ben couldn't take the chance the man with lethal eyes was wearing armor, so he aimed accordingly. Two bullets to the groin, a third to the head. Not looking to see what effect it had, hoping it at least took the meta's attention off Argus, he threw himself forwards.

To best protect the man, he had to be by his side. And the quickest way to reach Argus was to crawl beneath the dozens of tables pushed together in the center of the room. Revolver in hand, dust from the floor of the old building smudging his white suit jacket, he took the shortcut to where the man had taken cover, poking his head out from underneath where he was pretty sure he'd find Argus.

---

SONJA

This was solid gold, if it wasn't all a line of bullshit or an invitation to walk prettily into a trap. While she was wary, it was too good not to act upon. A raid on Desdemona might be in order. Savant, if she knew him, probably had a dozen sets of plans for a submarine or bathysphere, not to mention the new Atlantean fellow who had joined the team might be able to help attack the bottom of Lake Michigan. Dangerous but doable. Taking on Desdemona would require an orchestrated effort from both superhumans and magicians, but it'd be a massive blow to the organization. But they still had Polaris, Knightmare, Sanguine, so many others to fall back on.

"Alright, then. So what was the plan at the prison? One you broke out the high-risk prisoners, where were you supposed to take them?" She shifted in her seat. "And what even is your overall goal aside from just generally being terrible people?"

Wire

When the first shot had reverberated around the hall, Wire was the first to pull out his gun. Time for him almost ceased to move, as he spun around and saw the fool who had fired his gun in the most idiotic place imaginable. He whipped the handgun round and watched as the laser sight painted him. He pulled the trigger twice, and both of his biceps had bullet wounds. He paused as he hoped beyond hope that that would be the end of it.

It was not. Gunfire erupted all around as the meet was thrown into chaos.

...Perhaps we overestimated their discipline.
Perhaps someone just got shot dead by a small time bossman and now people want blood.
Its like they're sharks.
Try not to die.
Heh.

With his head on a swivel, Wire backed up against the wall, wary of a counterattack from the gang he had just shot at, and wary of any other fools that felt like taking him out. He saw one gun aimed in his general direction, and with a quick step to the side, he was able to avoid being hit: he wasn't fast enough to dodge a bullet, but he was fast enough to dodge a trigger finger. A Korean gangster near him fell backwards as a bullet perforated his lung. Another two bullets shattered the killer's shoulders.

Scanning the room now in full anarchy, he could see that some of the bigger gangs were working together. Or at least, they weren't shooting at one another. Good news: it wasn't full anarchy. Still, as soon as the metas came into play, Wire could see that this was all going to go to hell unless something acted quickly. Until something else came to his attention, that something was going to have to be him. A speedster was heading straight to Marconi, the benefactor of this cauldron of blood. He saw that his partner was shouting something at him, but time was moving too slowly for him to understand his words. There was too much going on. Wire fully stopped time in an effort to calculate his next move. In a millisecond that lasted 10 minutes, Wire planned. He reloaded with pinpoint precision and kept the number 14 in his head. 14 bullets. 14 deaths, or 14 injuries. That was the one decision that he still had to make.

With a running step, the man in the helmet propelled himself forwards and over the table in a corkscrew. His gun blazed 14 times in a circle of semi-automatic fire, raining lead on the out of control metas and whoever had the audacity to bring a machine gun. He did not miss: not with a laser sight. Wire wasn't able to see the effects of his shots because with each, he had to refocus on his next target and decide how best to handle them. But now he was on his back, and sliding off the other end of the table. He knew that he had aimed to shatter the shin bone of the meta with a knife running directly to Marconi, and that he had had 11 targets in total. 3 of them could be taken out with two shots to the shoulders. 2 of them needed a lethal shot: the ice queen Hailstorm, and an electricity wielder who decided it would be a good idea to fly up and fry people. They both took a shot to the neck, as they would not be reasoned with and they would not be put out of action with a simple injury. Other than that, he had aimed to shoot the lighter out of the hand of a fire manipulator, breaking his index finger in the process, and attempted to down 3 of the leading Iranians to try and put them on the retreat. He'd also watched as one of his targets stumbled backwards as a bullet connected with his forehead. As expected, his partner was a frighteningly good shot. Of course, Wire would not know if he was until he could reload and get off the damn table. Looking up, Wire had the displeasure of seeing an angry man ready to put a gun in his face.

He rolled backwards over his head, kicking him square in the jaw with both feet. The man was sent straight backwards to the floor, and Wire landed low, with his back to what he assumed was mahogany. Crouched down below the table kept him from being shot from the other side; only the top of his helmet was showing to the other side. He had burned through his entire clip, and was now facing potential opposition. It was such a mixed bag here, he couldn't judge easily who was actively trying to kill him and who wasn't. And seeing the rather flashy stunt he had just pulled, he figured that he'd find out quickly now.

In fact, he was counting on it. Wire pulled out another magazine.

Hi-Voltage

The smallest of grunts escaped Volt's lips as Apogee hugged him back, the pain from his earlier exertions being thrown up in sharp relief as the strongest girl in America squeezed him round the ribs. He was tough, but he sure as hell wasn't that tough! Still, he grit his teeth and took it, knowing that she needed this. He could feel her body heave as she sobbed, felt it start to abate after a few minutes, felt her arms still tight around him when she stopped crying. He still held her when she thanked him, as low intensity heat vision burned away the evidence of her crying. Wid be useful if ye were watching the Notebook.

Eventually she stepped away, Volt finally being able to breath in a deep breathe again as her python like grip slithered away. Even then there was a strange sensation to him, like somehow he's just lost something. Damn, wonder what that is. Part of him knew what it was though, and just didn't want to admit it. Maybe that was why he was so quick to agree to accompany her away from here, wherever that might be.

"Sure thing, ah could use some air maself. How bout ah meet ye in the entrance atrium in ten?" he answered, gesturing at the ruined tatters of his costume. He left then, making a quick pace to his personal room. One quick shower later and he was dressing in old jeans, a pair of hard working converse and a blue hoody. A cap was pulled down over the tangled mess of his hair. Lastly was his wrap around ray-ban sunglasses. He still had an identity to protect after all, a cap and sunglasses going a long way towards that end he had found. He left his costume dumped in the corner of the room, a problem for later, before shooting off to the Atrium.

Morningstar

Morningstar didn't gloat or congratulate herself when Villa broke. There'd be time for that later. Now she had to get as much out of the villain as she could get.

"I want everything, but lets start with the important stuff. Names, locations, hierarchy, who leads you, from where, how many assessts does Legion have, how many meta's. Lets hear what you got."

Mr Joe Black

"Find a place to pray for a bit!?! Well why the hell did you pick in the middle of my path!" growled Joe. Something about this guy made Joe feel funny. It was like there was a pureness in the air around him, like all the smog and the pollution and the dirt of the city just couldn't corrupt the space around him. It wasn't necessarily a bad thing, just strange. The longer Joe stood there the calmer he was feeling. The zombie pulled out his ciggies and lit up, momentarily forgetting to see Destiny, some strange feeling making him want to find out more about this hippy in front of him.

"Who you supposed to be anyway? Radagast the Brown? Whats with the birds?"

"Oh come on, I don't always go in for the kill," Casimir chuckled, "I actually usually prefer to capture the scum and subject them to the most excruciating torment imaginable, but with your rules and everything I can't even get that much!"

Casimir clenched his fists under the table in annoyance and growing anger. Why was he even wasting his time trying to talk this stuff out with Zenith anyway? Zenith was the real life embodiment of all of Superman's ideals, there was no way that he would even consider what Abaddon had to say before getting all preachy about maintaining trust and peace with the rest of the world, and of course giving the villains they dealt with some opportunity to reform themselves in prison or whatever box the League stuffed them in.

"No fear huh? I'm sure you already know this, but there's not much for our supervillains to fear when all they have to worry about are a few scrapes and bruises and some half-assed time in prison. Do you seriously think they care about any of that, Zenith? Do you really think that punishment is enough to keep our society safe from future threats or to make sure the subdued villains never rise again?"

Casimir opened up his hands and spawned a grisly looking skull, still bloody and wearing the torn mask of the first major villain he as Abaddon had dealt with. Obliterate, a metahuman with the power to generate destructive beams that could easily demolish entire buildings, responsible for the death of many and destruction of much. It was... a difficult battle to be sure, and Casimir sometimes doubted he would have come out victorious had he not had the energy to produce and maintain the defensive aura form of his dark magic.

"I'm sure you remember this. After I spilled his guts and turned him into a grisly Christmas tree the amount of crime and villainous activity went down, a good amount if I remember correctly. Maybe some of the people felt afraid, but I think it was negligible compared to the feeling of security they had whenever they walked the streets during that time."

The skull disappeared with a darkened flash.

"I'm not saying we should always kill for the slightest of infractions, that's just stupid, but I am saying that you should all consider my methods... *ahem*, my desired methods more carefully. Sure I might enjoy them a bit too much, but at least they are effective in cutting out dangerous infections and keeping them quelled for longer amounts of time than your short term remedies do."

It's too bad that the Magus had to be roped up in all this controversy too. Zenith at least was concerned because of the value he placed on life, but the Magus was probably more concerned about the nature of Casimir's residing spirit and the power it had given him. Oh well, he had to deal with them later, though hopefully he could do so without much trouble like right now with Zenith. As much as he wanted to kill some of those wizards from time to time, he doubted they would really be deserving of such a fate or worth the trouble. He decided to still keep an eye out for them, his first few encounters with them weren't exactly friendly after all and he seriously doubted that they looked at him any differently nowadays.