Emmanuel slows his limping as the Middle Eastern man pulls up next to him. Suits him just fine, after all, limping isn't an activity meant to be done quickly, and on a scale of fine to hurting, Emmanuel's leg is more than on the sore side. Well, I guess that's what happens when you tear your leg muscles apart at the seams from overloading them. Nice job Emmanuel. Made your leg go to hell for barely more than a minute distraction. Oh well. It worked, Hotrod didn't die or anything, and now Emmanuel knows that he's playing with real power in the League business. Fun times.

“Well greetings to you too Friendo! The name is Emmanuel, pleasure to meet you.” The pair continues down the hall, in no real direction. Emmanuel has no idea where he's going. He never did get that information about Apogee or Volt, and it seems like it will have to be put on hold for a little bit. So as it is right now, he's got really no plans. The only thing he could think of doing is going down to the training hall to get back to work. Polaris really pushed his shit in and he can't take that laying down. He guesses the best thing to do would be to make a new friend, with this man right here. He certainly looks pretty competent, and with such a polite greeting, how bad of a guy could he be? Probably not at all! So that's that. New friend plan is a go.

"So, you're a new guy? That's great! Always nice to see new talent in the League. Always gotta be bolstering our ranks to crusade against evil. For some of us, like myself, that's literally part of our job description. Fight against evil wherever you see it, you know? I like to think we're pretty good at it here. " Emmanuel says this with a straight face. He does realize that to some people, he fits the bill of the typical 'Truth and justice prevail against evil' kinda hero. He's had some people laugh at him for his apparently naive way of thinking, but he honestly does not give a damn. He's got power, enough to make a difference, and he plans on using it.

"Anyway, back to your question. The best place for new guys to go. Hmm. Well, I'm honestly not super sure right now, considering I just woke up from passing out and don't know where everyone is. I guess the main gathering room or the Atrium would be a good way to meet some more of our members. I was planning on heading down to the training facilities to power up some. I really got pushed in by some guy named Polaris on the last mission. Tore my legs to hell too." He gestures at the cast on his legs. "If this was a lesser facility, I might have lost my legs. My muscles were trashed." He grimaces and shrugs. "That's mostly do to my own power though. Got too much of it, can't handle it all at once. Too much juice going into my legs isn't good for it. That's the whole reason I gotta train." Emmanuel smiles at Supercell. "You are absolutely more than welcome to join me if you'd like. Maybe some light sparring or something. My main power is electricity, but you won't have to worry about that right now, I'm in no condition to use them again so soon."

Emmanuel stops dead in his tracks, realizing that he had been totally rambling. Maybe all the painkillers hadn't quite worked through his system yet. "Oh my goodness. I am so sorry for rambling. If there are any other questions you have about the League or myself or anything, ask away. I will answer to the best of my ability, my friend."

“The pleasure is all mine, I assure you.” Aban said to the man after he introduced himself. Aban listened as the man who called himself Emmanuel spoke. A smile slipped its way onto Aban face as the Lightning-powered superhero explained the League’s need for more heroes, as well as his own philosophy when it came to fighting the good fight. Aban couldn’t help but feel that Emmanuel would more than likely listen to his cause. The way he spoke so passionately about fighting evil and injustice, Aban thought for sure that he would help with Aban’s Syrian problem. Perhaps recruiting help wouldn’t be difficult, especially if everyone around the League was as noble as Emmanuel made himself out to be. Hope filled Aban as he momentarily spaced out and dreamed of what it would be like when he and his army of heroes stormed President Bashar’s palace and freed Syria from the war and strife it has suffered for so long.

Aban mentally shook himself back into reality as Emmanuel changed the subject. You’re living in the here and now, Aban. Not the future. Get a hold of your imagination. He chided himself, before tuning in to listen to Emmanuel’s words. Aban frowned as Emmanuel mentioned that he had just woken up from being passed out: why had his new acquaintance been unconscious? Aban decided not to press the issue. More than likely, he had been injured in the line of duty. This was a dangerous job to be sure. Aban quickly found his idle thoughts answered when Emmanuel mentioned someone named Polaris. Supercell reached into the inner corners of his mind, trying to remember where he had heard the name before. Ah, that was it! The prison escape! Aban remembered listening to the newscast, and Polaris had escaped. The reporters had discussed Polaris’s past in length, though truthfully Aban didn’t remember much of what they said. Aban nodded as Emmanuel mentioned the Atrium and Meeting Hall as some places he should go. That seemed like a decent plan, however Aban was far more intrigued by Emmanuel’s explanation of where he was heading.

With a shrug and a chuckle, Aban brushed off Emmanuel’s apology for rambling.”You are just fine, my friend. You were very informative and helpful; thank you. As for the invitation: I would be more than happy to spar with you. I’ll try my best not to hurt you anymore than you already are.” Aban gave the man a playful grin along with his last line. In truth, Aban was afraid the living battery would absolutely pumble him in a fight. Supercell’s powers weren’t exactly impressive, especially when it came to fighting."May I ask you another question? What's it like, working with the League?" Aban asked, ready to get a move on whenever Emmanuel was.

The Meet

Fortunately for the Meta, the bullet raced right into his gleaming red eyes which vaporized the round and saved his life. Unfortunately for him, he was still shot twice in the groin. His falsetto shriek was muffled by the constant barrage of bullets and he fell to the floor in a heap. Argus turned his head. made eye contact with Sxgun, and said, "I'm in your debt but this isn't over yet." One of his guards fell gurgling as blood streamed down from a ragged hole in his throat. Argus cursed and fired his pistol over the table.

The firefight was still raging and the ground was littered with dead, dying, and wounded men. Hailstorm clutched the wound in his neck which instantly froze to try and staunch the bleeding, whether he lived or died he was out of the fight though Donovan might have words about an Outfit merc striking one of her hirelings. The electrokinetic fell from the rafters and as he died several nearby men were electrocuted by his high-voltage death knell. The speedster cried out as his shinbone shattered and he fell to the table. Right in front of Sixgun. He groaned on the table while bullets flew around them. His eyes widened when he saw Argus and with blinding speed his hand reached for the knife he dropped.

Nearby, the Iranians hardly seemed to be affected by their wounds. They each bled from several places but still splattered the walls red with their inhuman strength and speed. One of them, a young man covered in gore, saw Wire and grinned from ear to ear. He ripped the arm off the man he held and jumped at Wire while screaming wildly, intent on dashing the man's brains across the table with his grisly weapon. Behind him, an honest-to-god knight in full plate hacked away at one of the Iranians with a longsword and blocked the man's savage hits with his shield while Dungeon Master himself was clutching his stomach with his mage crouching over him.

The Hall

Apogee was in the Atrium as Volt had indicated. She had quickly changed out of her costume and was dressed just like any other teenage girl would have in the winter. She didn't seem happy but her eyes were dry. Emily managed a small smile when she saw Volt approach and said, "Wanna head to the Fortress? There's always something going on there, we'll probably find other Leaguers there too. But honestly, I just wanna get out so what do you think?"

Villa grunted and said, "A lot of the Upper Echelon guys, you already have from what I've seen. The Mages are the ones who run the show and Desdemona, Belladonna, Creon, and the Master are all free and clear. Wildfire was one of the last of the original lieutenants under Bishop who leads the metas. But now I imagine the ones they broke out from Prison fill out those positions. Nobody has seen the Master except Desdemona, Creon, and Bishop but he, or she, runs the show. Desdemona is his right hand and I bet your mages know all about her. Creon was a runty Warlock the Master found and rose up to be a serious nightmare, he does everything but he's particularly good at summoning. Belladonna is a vamp from the 18th century that we recruited. I'm pretty sure's she's insane. She's definitely deadly. We also have some Brit named Obsidian leading his own squad."

"The Master runs everything but Desdemona is the one who gives us our orders. Creon leads the Sorcerers, a couple dozen low to mid-powered ones with a few hundred acolytes, while Desdemona gathers us supernatural allies through coercion, creation, or entrapment like that werewolf Frank Givens. You took out the bulk of them at the prison. Bishop leads all the metas and mundanes with a bunch of other metas leading squads of their own. Besides the heavy hitters we have as many metas as you do, spread all over our territory. Which is pretty much everything between LA and New York. There are about three hundred of them close to or in Chicago but mostly low-powered. We have about five times as many mooks with guns from various places, including a couple hundred professional mercs, you took out a team at the prison."

"We have everything we need. Weapons we took from the syndicates we overthrew along with their territory. If there's a mob or mafia haunt anywhere where we're near, 7 out of 10 it'll be one of ours. But you managed to take out the Den and the Lab. We were trying to turn some of the civvy metas into our thralls, I'd say a bit more than half of the metas we have are poor bitches we took. They're all under a spell that the Master cast himself and we're trying to do that to your friend Furious right now. We were also trying to synthesize a vial that would increase our power like having a conduit. Now that's kinda bust but we still have arms and supplies enough to take it to you. We control the rackets so we can afford almost anything. But... someone else is involved in our cash flow. I don't know who but they're able to get us military-grade shit you can't find on the black market."

"The location of our main base always changes. Some kinda spell. Creon or Desdemona are the ones who know where to find it. That's where we're keeping Furious and the other important captives like the Marconis. It's where the Master lives. I don't know about Desdemona but Creon made a portal to his place from a heavily fortified compound in the woods. It's hidden by a glamour so you have to really be looking for it or already know it's there. It's where Bishop coordinates the field teams and probably where he took the guys we sprung." Villa smiled sourly, "Anything else?"

Styx leaned back, "Bishop has some base or some such in the woods that he runs things from. Heavily defended. That's where he'd take them. As for our goal? Well, nobody can truly know what the Master wants. But so far conquering the criminal scene and making a lot of money is good enough for most. After all, you heroes made your own club to do things better. Why not us?" Styx grinned, "It's also much more exciting since we don't have to abide to any law. So many opportunities for new magical research that you Fellowshippers don't enjoy." The grin became vulpine, "If that's all, I recommend you move on Desdemona quickly."

Zenith sighed and shook his head at Casimir, "That's not what we're trying to do Casimir. Fear isn't how we work. Sure, the prison system is a mess but it's the framework in which we have to operate in. We have to be an example to people of a better way of doing things, and we can use that to change the system for the better. If we get people behind us we can help create a system of justice that doesn't just punish criminals but tries to reform them as well as putting programs in place to help stop more normal humans and metahumans from turning to crime in the first place."

Zenith stared at the skull, "That was something that dropped crime down for a little bit but set us back. If we use our power like that it turns the normal civilians against us, we become something that's above them. Something they can't connect to or believe in but fear instead. We can't change things for the better by making the common person afraid. Your methods didn't stop the crime rate from rising as soon as some new bold ones decided to try their hand. There will always be dangerous enemies to fight and your way won't stop them from springing up. Our way is meant to prevent them from materializing and trying to turn them around. It's why we take in so many metas who would otherwise be on the streets or rotting in confinement. Many of our members used to be supercriminals. They couldn't have joined us and turned things around if you had followed through."

"What you're suggesting are methods that would make us some kind of Spanish Inquisition or Gestapo. Thugs who brutalize and murder while flaunting the law that the people make. It will get rid of criminals but it won't get rid of crime. It would destroy this League if we were found to be doing things that you're implying we should. It's the same exact thing that twisted Polaris from a respected hero to the man he is now, when he decided that he knew how people should be punished. And it's not something I'll tolerate in a member."

Zenith looked him in the eye, "I want you to be by the book from now on. Don't take matters of punishment into your own hands. We haven't caught you at anything but if we do, I can't help you anymore. You'll be a criminal in the eyes of the law and of the Magic world. The DSA and the Magus would destroy you. If you really want to help matters, than heed my words. We already lost one hero because of this kind of thing. I'm giving you this chance. You'll be monitored from now on and if you slip up, that's it for you and the League. We won't pursue you unless innocents are hurt but we won't help either."

SIXGUN

At heart, Ben Brady was a simple man. His dress would be simple and unadorned, when he was finally done pretending to be Fletcher Ross. His favorite foods could be bought at any corner store. His weapons were low tech. His methods, even more so.

When the speedster flopped over in front of him, therefore, his reaction started before the man even began to reach for his knife. Sixgun possessed incredible reflexes, virtually the peak of human ability. The speedster was disoriented, badly wounded, and in a lot of pain, which would surely diminish his own reaction time.

So, that made them about even.

He punched the speedster in the jaw.

Ben was pretty good at punching, and he had fast hands. The man was already wounded, dulled by pain from the wound to the leg. Surely that'd make it easier to take him out of the fight. Just the same, he grabbed Argus and pulled the older man under the table, revolver at the ready.

"Listen, bud, Fletcher Ross is gonna do his humble best to get you out of here," he said. He peeked over the table, fired off a single aimed round at one of the tattooed Bratva goons spraying bullets all over the room. He immediately ducked back under the table, hoping no one was going to play a demented game of Whack a Mole with him.

He grabbed Argus, pulled the man close to be heard over the crackling of gunfire and screaming. "Look, just in case you don't make it out of here, I need to know what you know about Legion. Somebody has to know!" he demanded. He thumbed back the action on the revolver, preparing to leave cover just long enough to let off another shot. When you brought six bullets up against automatic weapons, you had to choose your targets carefully. Two rounds left, then he would need to reload.

---

SONJA

"I'm not Fellowship, I'm independent," Sonja said icily. It was a sore point for her- she valued her freedom. She figured she had what she needed, and stood from the table, pocketing her notes. She walked to the door and let herself out. "She's all yours," she said to the man guarding the door. "I got the important stuff out of her, but pump her for every detail you can get. Even the smallest detail can help. Hell, Pariah taught you how to debrief people, you don't need instructions from me," she said.

There was a lot to do. She would need to talk to Thomas, no way would she take on Desdemona without him. Savant's help would be needed to navigate the lake. And of course she was going to have to do some fighting when they got there, she had to round up some volunteers willing to take on the spooky scary sorceress.

"Sonja Simpson to the main lobby, Sonja Simpson, main lobby."

. . .damn. Of all the times to be paged by the clerical staff. This early, too. She once again used her telepathy. Thomas, we need to start putting together an assault on Desdemona. Get Henry and start finding volunteers, I'll come help you in just one moment.

She sighed, teleported out of the hallway in a puff of smoke, materialized in the lobby. She glanced at the receptionist, who silently pointed off to one of the many armchairs strewn around the large space. A white woman in her late thirties sat in one of them, rising in greeting as Sonja approached. She was short, barely five feet in heels, though Sonja sensed calling her that would be a mistake. Petite might just be acceptable. As Sonja approached the woman, she could see that beneath the conservative suit she was extremely fit, possessing the sort of muscles you might associate with an Olympic athlete or weightlifter. "Ms. Simpson?" she said politely. "Pleased to meet you. Monica Wolff."

"South County?" Sonja asked immediately. The woman had a definite St. Louis accent, she was from back home. Some people claimed they could tell the exact block someone grew up on just by their accent, Sonja wasn't quite that good. Encouraged by the other woman's nod, Sonja issued the challenge that was made whenever two St. Louisans met up, one outsiders just didn't understand. "What was your high school?"

"Ursuline. You?"

"Roosevelt." She smiled, indicated a sofa. The two sat. "What can I do for you, Ms. Wolff?" Sonja asked. True, she was still impatient to get to work, but felt she had to at least put on a show of politeness for someone from her hometown.

"Please, call me Monica. I know you're a busy woman, and I'll get straight to the point. I'm here from the Barclay-Hoffmeyer Group."

That made Sonja sit up straight. BH was one of the richest, most powerful companies in the world, with a net worth that eclipsed the GDPs of several countries. Not to mention her employers. And this woman had driven up from St. Louis, where the North American headquarters were located. Something big was going down.

"You're not in trouble," Monica Wolff hastily assured her. "Far from it. We heard about the riot, the other fights going on. That you lost members. Beatdrop and Bluegrass, a couple others. Eugene Barclay himself wanted someone to come up. The League does great things, but you can't do it alone. Barclay-Hoffmeyer is here to help."

Sonja leaned back. "Help how?"

"Financially, maybe. We can bankroll your projects and initiatives, we know your man Savant has dozens of blueprints for incredible inventions that are so far only conceptual. We have connections all over the globe, if there's trouble you don't have to hear about it on CNN, you'll be there already. Not to mention recruiting. We've been on the lookout for Awakened individuals for some time now, we can refer them to the League." Wolff smiled. "And don't forget, you're not our only superhero, our other regional headquarters sponsor some as well. Silver Arrow immediately asked if he could come to the US and lend a hand when he heard about the prison riot."

"That sounds like him," Sonja said with a smile. She had met Silver Arrow, Stuttgart's premier hero, on numerous occasions. She knew the energy manipulator better as Osman Sahin, a Turkish German and devoted father of four. A man who could be counted on to do the right thing.

"There's more," Wolff said excitedly. "Black Star, who works with our Japanese headquarters in Fukuoka, has expressed interest in working with the League. So has Aleph in Tel Aviv. African HQ says they have a hard time keeping Assegai from leaving Durban to come to Chicago. These are powerful, experienced heroes, Sonja, they could be a huge help to you guys."

"So, something's in it for BH."

"Merchandising," Wolff replied. "Publicity. Access to a unique talent pool. We both stand to profit. Sonja, I was hoping you could speak to the Founders on my behalf, convince them how beneficial this kind of partnership could be."

"I will do that," Sonja promised. "It sounds like you have a lot to offer us, I'll try to sell it to the team. Now, Monica, if you'll excuse me, I have a lot to do."

"Of course. If you need me, I'm staying at the Drake. Just remember, we're here to help," the BH representative said with a smile as Sonja headed back upstairs, back to the work of putting together an assault team.

Wire

His hopes were well placed: his allies didn't miss his daring slide across the table, and they certainly didn't miss the chance to ventilate the aggressors he was now lying in front of. With a few well placed shots, the guns aimed in his direction were quickly thrown backwards. The newly floored bodies however opened his line of sight to the most bloodthirsty group of them all; one of which he made eye contact with. With sick satisfaction, he tore off a mans arm and began to head straight for him.

...
I'll admit it. That is quite horrifying.

With inhuman precision, the magazine was shoved into place. With force, he kicked himself backwards across the floor towards Marconi. He imagined that he would need to buy a new coat by the amount of mess his back was picking up off this floor, but that thought was only floating round his head to keep his nerve. Once again, time was slowed to a manageable speed and he aimed a bullet into the advancing monster's eye socket. It hit just to the left of his left eye, making a small explosion of human erupt from his face. Wire propelled himself backwards after catching a quick glimpse of what was behind him: mostly bodies and a barricade of overturned tables which Marconi had gotten himself behind. As he was below the table, it should be plain sailing.

His vision returned to the carnage before him, unaware of the full effects of his bullet and eager to get out of the way of any possible gunfire.