Citrine | Portland, Oregon

"Been a while since I've seen your sorry face, Cyrus."

They sat in a quiet cafe, one table from the door and sidled up against the window. Citrine had an arm hooked around the back of her chair, staring non-chalant across the mahogany. She wore black server clothes, giving the appearance of a coffee girl on break. Despite working for the past five hours, she looked perfect. Not a blonde hair was out of place, and her crystal blue eyes were highlighted with smudge-free cosmetics.

It was her smile that was most disarming. It spoke with genuine warmth, lighting up her eyes. "But I am thrilled you're here. Tell me, is there any news?"

Her visitor leaned forward, resting an arm on the table. He was an intriguing man to look at, what with his black nationality, bald head and patch covering his left eye. He was tall and built (maybe even handsome), but seemed to have a dislike to any colour. Dark clothes and a black trench coat hugged his body, shiny dress shoes on his feet. 

"Not anything good, I'm afraid. Zephyr was found dead outside his apartment at 4:36pm yesterday, the cause unknown. Epsilion was forcibly taken in by the government two weeks ago." He spoke evenly, an assertive tone behind his words. 

Citrine's brow delicately furrowed. "I see. So if it's as bad as you say... Are you ready to tell me who you are?"

A quick shake of the head. "No. In time, Citrine." Cyrus glanced up at the clock hanging by the flatscreen embedded in the wall. "I can't risk staying any longer, unfortunately. Turn on the news, you know what day it is today."

He was half-out the door before Citrine could stand. Hovering, he glanced back. "...Be careful." The door clinked shut behind him not a moment later. 

Dutifully, Citrine waltzed around the counter, pulling out the staff remote. The TV to her right came to life, and she flicked through the channels for the news station. With absolutely zero customers in the cafe to serve she could watch in peace. Wringing out a washcloth, she began idly washing down the counter as her eyes hovered on the memorial special. 

"Today we remember the tragedy that happened exactly two years ago on June 11th, 2012 at 5:19pm. Obsidian, the leading founder of its time in biochemical technology erupted in flames, setting fire to the buildings surrounding it. Although most were evacuated safely, 51 people died while 27 were rushed to the Emergency."

They rolled some footage of the site as it was two years ago, with smoke filling the air. Screams and small explosions could be heard as the camera tried to capture as much destruction as it could. The scene was replaced with Obsidian's HQ as it was in 2014, completely demolished and turned into a memorial site with copper statues, trees and gardens. 

"Obsidian was sued and disbanded after their top-secret weapons wreaked havoc on our city. Their name on file was 'Operatives', but these super-human creations were the furthest from the heroes depicted in popular media. With the country's security on high alert, the government has done its best to bring these terrorists to justice..."

The screen was behaving strangely, flickering out of focus. And suddenly, both audio and visual cut out. All the screen displayed was black and white static. Citrine frowned, flipping through channels. All had the bizarre static. But right as she was about to give up and turn the TV off, a masked man came into focus on the screen. His skin was painfully white and his attire was strange, black monk robes with gold edges coupled with a black mask. He stood behind a white wall, in his grasp was a thin, square device with rows of red buttons.

"Hello... Operatives. I have something for you." Malice dripped from his tongue. "This is being broadcast on all channels US-wide, I want the whole world to witness their greatest, most stupid fear. You, my dear Operatives. They hate you, fear you, spit upon the ground you walk!"

He made a dramatic flourish with his hand. "I don't. In fact, we're friends already, and I'll tell you why. This device I have, I'm sure you're familiar with its original. I believe they called it the Kill Switch Protocol." 

With a malicious laugh, he pressed a red button at random. Citrine's heart jumped into her throat, and she held her breath. Seconds passed before she finally relaxed, utterly relieved. Half-way across the US, a man slumped in his seat on a bus, dead in an instant. 

"You see, your life is in my hands. A man just died to be an example for all of you. Now, here's what's going to happen. You're going to be in New York tomorrow, Manhattan square. I'll have people who will contact you when the time is right. You could consider this a... Forced business proposal, almost. You could be great, my dear. Enough of this hiding in fear, you're better then the cage society confines you in."

He put a finger on his masked chin, appearing thoughtful. But he shook his head. "Mmm, nah. We'll talk more later. And, for your sake, I do hope you consider." He seemed to smile behind the thinly veiled threat. The screen abruptly blacked out, then resumed normal programs. 

Citrine continued staring in horror, her body frozen in cold fear. In an instant, her past caught up with her. The awful days of living in terror under the hammer of Obsidian... The ghosts were back, clawing at her insides. 

Well shit...

Bridgewater, New Jersey

Cheshire had been cleaning her apartment and listening to the radio when the broadcast went live. Even with her life at risk she grinned as she listened to the threat. She could imagine his movements with his evil monologue, the gestures and the showmanship. She half-listened to what was said. She heard the word friend and jumped up and down excitedly, she loved making friends. Manhattan Square? She loved that place! She didn't need to be forced to go anywhere, she wanted to go already. She turned off the radio and finished cleaning as quickly as she could. A bit of window spray here, wiping of the glass there, and a good work over on the floor with the mop. She even worked to clean off the walls and ceiling, but that had been finished first as she always liked getting the difficult stuff out of the way first.

She stepped up to a framed picture of her father and her mother from before she had been born. "I'm heading out Daddy. Bye Momma! Oh wait, right I need to pack up." She giggled a bit at her airheadedness.

She grabbed a duffle bag and put clothes in it. Then she pulled a box hidden in a compartment under her bed. Within were her wire and needles as well as a couple stacks of twenties and hundreds from small jobs and even a robbery. She shoved the money under her clothes into the duffle bag, and she slid the four needles into their respective hiding places up her sleeves each prepped with enough wire to be thrown twenty feet. Zipped up her bag and dropped it by the front door. At this point she had a thought: what if the other Operatives actually came? That would be great! It would be like a class reunion! Her smile had grown a good inch by now by these thoughts.

She then went to her kitchen and opened on of the drawers; this one held her office supplies and her checks. She then wrote out a check to pay for her rent over the next six months, and a note was written as well explaining she had a sudden business trip to her landlord and wouldn't be able to pay in person. She signed it with the name she was under here, "Cherry Sinclair".

Then she grabbed the bag and headed to her 1994 Geo Metro started the old thing and headed to Manhattan Square from her New Jersey home. Traffic was normal but that was fine, because she knew she'd make it before tomorrow anyways. She was excited about meeting new friends and meeting back up with old ones. "I wonder who's going to be there?" She mused to herself most of the trip.

"You know who I am. You don't know where I am. And you will never see me coming."

---

8:30 PM

He had always been a problem to the company. He couldn't remember a time when he wasn't. His heart couldn't be stopped and his blood had broken down every microchip they had placed in his system. They couldn't scare him into doing anything he didn't want to, and in the end they did nothing but strike deals with him. Most of the time he was on the most benefitting side in those bargains.

His pointer claw drew circles on the bottle cap on his wine, each revolution leaving an scratched indentation in the metal. He had no fear then, he had no fear now when the man hit the kill switch. All he was was a man with an invisible hammer attempting to become Obsidian 2.0. Sequels were always worse than the original. This was no different. Manhattan square... He hoped that whatever this person had planned he hoped he had the tools necessary to hold back everyone else who wanted to get their hands on him and the other operatives. Not that he'd care. They'd regret having him around as soon as he escaped whatever confines they had for him. He always did. Normally he'd have better things to do, but this person could give him something worth visiting for. He was always good at bargaining. Especially when he had higher ground and the other had nothing to threaten him with.

That and he was in New York already.

He released a held breath and flicked the television off. He was currently working in a sewer that he had changed to make his home. He wondered if this was how the teenage mutant ninja turtles would have felt if they existed. He stood up, minding his massive claws as to not tear the fabric of the couch as he stood. Life in the past few years had been rough, but he has survived. When his Quartz brothers fell he carried on. He was a survivor, just like the animals he took after. Primordial and so evolutionary sound that they had barely changed in millions of years. He dawned his huge coat. On most grown men it would be down to their knees in size. He was so much larger than the average person that attempting to blend in was impossible. He had to move, and feed at night or to stay hidden throughout the day if he wanted everyone to not know he existed.

He momentarily wondered if the others thought he was dead, and then he wondered how they would react to him being alive.

He popped the collar of his jacket. He was momentarily appreciative of the fact that he had been dressed at the time of escape. His huge sickle claw tapped on the concrete floor, and he moved into another room. It was like a kitchen actually. Not a super nice place, but it had some of the basic equipment. A fridge, stove, other things all hooked up to a generator. All of which he had stolen at some point or another. It had been hard to move some of the bulkier objects. He had the strength for it, but moving some of the equipment through man holes and entryways had been risky. He moved over and opened the fridge, and to any other person the semi-homely attitude would've been lost instantly. Out of the fridge the great reptilian man pulled a human head in one hand, and what looked like a butchered thigh in the other. He was feeling especially hungry tonight. Blood slowly defrosted and dripped down on the ground from both body parts, creating soft tacking sounds on the concrete floor. The soft light of the room illuminated a bloody cleaver stuck into what seemed to be a chopping block. setting the thigh down, the great reptile lifted up the decapitated head by it's hair to look it over. People had gone missing, mostly those that wouldn't be missed. He was a predator, and he sought out the prey he wouldn't be tracked for killing.

"Good evening, thank you for joining me for dinner."

---

10:00 AM

Hannibal had taken to the buildings the following morning, armed with nothing but a pair of binoculars, seeing no need for a weapon. He would wait and see if he wanted to involve himself in the situation. He was not feeling like fighting this day. His tongue flicked in and out of his mouth, constantly smelling the air. The air was foul, and polluted. Much like the sewers but in a different way. He wondered if any would actually show up to this, and if they did, then who would be there? Many of his Quartz-brothers and sisters had been killed through various means over the past few years. He was taking a risk being out in daylight, he worked at night for a reason. His body shimmered for a moment, his ability to camouflage adapting to the surroundings and making him appear as if he wasn't there. The image his body made was somewhat distorted, but a careful eye would spot the faint outline of his being if they were close enough. He dully remembered someone once saying that looking at him in this was somewhat stressing on the eyes, like looking through a pair of prescription glasses that are someone else's. His eyes moved separately in several directions, watching for anyone he remotely recognized. As finding their whereabouts and protecting them from harm should they need it would provide him with a valuable asset if he required them. A few people owing him a few favors couldn't hurt, and letting someone feel like they are getting close could lead to dinner, or someone willing to throw their life away to protect his... Neither of which really bothered him, as food in his belly was always good and someone willing to save him some pain later on was a welcome thing. Not that he'd ever return the favor. Of course they wouldn't know that. He was a lone wolf, and a vicious one. But the stag hunt philosophy stated that working as a pack can and will lead to better outcomes. He was all about choosing his battles. That was why he was here now.

"Come now..," the psychopath monologued, watching the square. "Fortune favors the patient... Give me something interesting to watch..."

Jack leaned back on a pure white loveseat, feet up on a nearby ornate glass table while sipping crown royal from a tiny porcilean teacup, pinky up and all. "I swear I think the fire in that footage looks smaller every time they show it... Right Mr. Mayor?" Jack spoke over his shoulder not straying his eyes from the 50" flatscreen.

"Obsidian was sued and disbanded after their top-secret weapons wreaked havoc on our city. Their name on file was 'Operatives', but these super-human creations were the furthest from the heroes depicted in popular media. With the country's security on high alert, the government has done its best to bring these terrorists to justice..."

Sounds of muffled yelling and scratching ductape started to rip. "QUIET DOWN Mr. Mayor.... jeeze trying to watch tv here, now what channel is PBS on here? I'm still trying to figure out if Big birds a guy or a chick." Jack kept clicking the the channels until the Robed man appeared on screen. "What the shit? This ain't porn..."

"You see, your life is in my hands. A man just died to be an example for all of you. Now, here's what's going to happen. You're going to be in New York tomorrow, Manhattan square. I'll have people who will contact you when the time is right. You could consider this a... Forced business proposal, almost. You could be great, my dear. Enough of this hiding in fear, you're better then the cage society confines you in."

A loud crash erupted in the kitchen as the Mayor somewhat escaped his duct tape prison and now was bolting his fat pasty white half naked ass towards the main door. Jack was quick to come up behind him and grab him by an ankle. Quickly he put the fat man into a chokehold and escorted him to the master bedroom, closing the oversized pocket doors behind him. "Damn! Can't a guy watch tv in peace? Now look, I'm not gonna kill ya... yet." The fat man started to struggle again but was quickly muffled by Jacks gloved hand. Pulling out a cell with another he sent a quick text and stuffed it back into his jean pocket. "Now in a couple minutes a very nice young lady is going to come in here, she was told you were into some kinky shit so the duct tape won't suprise her." Slowly Jack took his hand off the mans half taped mouth. Directing the mans attention to various photos scattered through the bedroom of famous Mr. Mayor enjoying the "Nightlife" with the taxpayers dollars.

The fat mans eyes lit up wide as he muttered under the tape trying to explain they are fakes. "Forgeries you say? Hmmm but I do recall a handfull of eye witnesses pinning you there... I wonder how that happened?" Jack couldn't help but give a smirk at his own handiwork. The Mayor was now staring in disbelief with Jacks full attention. "Its simple... we will be in touch, if I need a favor than you will WITHOUT HESITATION generiously and good graciously help me with anything I ask with a smile." Jack took out a handfull of other raunchy photos and stuffed them in the mans shirt pocket. "Oh, and if you don't..." Placing a gentle hand on the mans face Jack quickly mimiced the pudgy cheeks, gray hair and sleepless brown eyes that stared back at him in shock and fear. "...There's plenty more where that came from."

The man sat there in disbelief as Jack walked out of the bedroom. The doorbell rang and non chalantly he grabbed two bottles of red wine off the counter and opened the door. "I warmed him up for you." Jack said with a smile as he handed a bottle to the well dressed and highly paid prostitute. The elegant woman just gave a coy smile and took the bottle before heading into the bedroom. Jack took one more look at the TV which was paused on the mysterious hooded figure before checking himself out in the mirror, a fat, pasty, pudgy old man in an expensive suit. "I wonder if we will still get paid..." He muttered before locking the door behind him.

The twenty-four-seven café was moderately popular for university students to dine at; it was cheap and open at all hours of the night, after all. Howie’s Good Day was a plain eatery with red and brown decorating the joint to appear homely; white was avoided because it left certain aloofness in the customers. The café attempted to have an old-timey feel and a jukebox was placed in a corner, playing dreadful 60s music and the waitresses wore hideous muted yellow dresses with pinned metal nametags. One of the waitresses, Sylvia Szypowski, was just arriving for her shift.

Her platinum blonde hair, dyed to hide her real identity, was pulled into a low ponytail and her bangs brushed her forehead. If anywhere else, Arsenic, the name she has long since lost, would have been content with her bangs, but she was in Tampa, Florida and that meant excruciating humidity. Sweat slicked down her face and she was immeasurably glad for the air conditioning in the Good Day. Sighing under her breath, she tied the thrice bleached apron around her repulsive yellow dress and stabbed the ugly thing with her nametag. The café was in full swing at nine o’clock as all the students were flooding in, hoping to eat before college class began.

The day was going just fine for Arsenic. By ten o’clock she had earned twenty dollars in tips and everyone had been courteous enough. However, it just could not last for the ill-fated twenty-four year old.

“Waitress!” A young university student called her over, clicking his tongue like she was a dog. Arsenic felt the recognizable stirring of rage in her gut as she approached the brunet, a notepad in hand.

“Hi, I’m Sylvia.” said Arsenic, providing the expected affable greeting.

The smug little bastard just rolled his eyes and closed his menu with a snap. “Yeah, whatever. I want a black coffee and some eggs. A speck of salt on it and we’re gonna have problems. Now, shoo.”

She seethed, heading to the back and relaying the order. While waiting, she took deep breaths to unwind.

Inhale.

Exhale.

Inhale.

Exhale.

“Hey, Cinnamon or whatever your name is, I want it pronto! I actually go to college and need to get there on time before I become a minimum wage employee like you.” The uncouth patron called superciliously.

Hocoam, the chef, glanced at the blonde with sympathetic eyes which just added fuel to her fire. Compassion was something she absolutely didn’t want. She was a trained killer, not some deprived girl who couldn’t handle a niggling client. “Here’s the coffee he ordered.”

Arsenic took it graciously, smiling tightly. “Don’t pity me. I don’t need it.” And with that she walked from the back.

Unbeknownst to her, Arsenic’s irritation had resulted in the throbbing pulse in her fingernails. Used to it, she ignored the familiar twinge and didn’t notice the cyanide seeping from underneath her fingernails, running over her pale flesh and slipping from them and into the black coffee.

“Here’s your goddamn coffee, asshole.” She spat vehemently. He threw back his head and tauntingly gulped the entire contents of the hot coffee before raising an eyebrow and glancing at her.

“I want to speak to your manager.”

Arsenic hissed, about ready to tell him where to shove it, when his eyes rolled into the back of his head and he slumped forward in the booth. The Operative’s heart stopped and she stared down at her hands, only now feeling the dampness of poison flowing from them. Damnit. Attempting to manage her breathing, she ran from the room, glad no one has noticed his deadness. She entered a door that read ‘EMPLOYEES ONLY’, the only white thing in the café. The dressing room’s door was slightly ajar and she went through it cautiously. At the back of the dressing room was an exit door that many of the employees went out of for a smoking break. Arsenic shoved that door open and exited through the door, the hot Florida sun fluttering over her pale face. Shit, she did it again.

---

Arsenic had to leave; she had to leave as speedily as she could. She had enough money to buy a plane ticket to somewhere far away, an advantage of having an emergency fund for something of this sort. Her clothes were already packed and now all she had to do is throw her calico cats, Hemlock and Belladonna, into their cages.

“Tsk, kitties, come here.” She beckoned, bending over to stare under her bed and at the two pairs of lustrous green eyes. “Want a treat?”

With promises of goodies, the cats came out and she managed to wrangle them into their crates after feeding them a certain something for them to loosen up. Arsenic was all ready to go when her TV started to malfunction. Slamming her fist on it to get it to work, she missed the appearance of the man, but she heard him quite fine.

“This device I have, I'm sure you're familiar with its original. I believe they called it the Kill Switch Protocol."

In a fit of fury, Arsenic tossed her TV out the window.

There were two seats on either side of the aisle, and Citrine was mildly disappointed when her plane ticket didn't have the window seat. She looked across the middle-aged man asleep beside her, sneaking a glance out the window as they left the lights of Portland behind. Due to her unique situation, she asked for the next flight to New York. Traveling in the dead of night wasn't something she enjoyed, but it was quite familiar. They'd arrive in New York at 7:13am, and Citrine likely wouldn't find a wink of sleep the entire five hours she was stuck hurling through the sky. 

A bright, golden thread wove itself down the aisle, alerting Citrine of the stewardess slowly making her way with the food cart. Watching the hand-out of snacks and drinks made her tummy audibly growl; she hadn't had a thing to eat all night what with the rushed packing and a quick taxi. When the stewardess reached her she spun a quick sob story that scored her two extra cookies, crackers, and a free sandwich. Happy with the spoils of her labour, she devoured it all in ten minutes flat. 

Satisfied, she spent the rest of the flight going through scenarios in her head. While her vision couldn't show what awaited her in New York, she assumed a couple things. There would be other Operatives in Manhattan Square, some of which she may not be happy to see. And the eccentric trying to control the most rare breed of humans in the world, she was curious to see what his game was. Security would be on high alert at the Square (the masked man was an idiot, really), so going in disguise would be her best chance. It wouldn't do to have the suits walk her off in handcuffs, not with the game only beginning. 

10:15am

After holing up in a hotel and finding a couple hours of sleep, Citrine treated herself to a small spree down the flashy stores of New York. Her disguise went for a chic, trendy look, dressing in a cashmere shirt, dark slacks, a beige pinstripe blazer and white high heels. A colourful silk scarf wrapped around her head and white Ray Bans hid her eyes, perfectly disguising her most noticeable features. 

Manhattan Square was encircled by officers and shiny police cars, just as Citrine anticipated. She knew talking her way in would be useless and resigned to simply walk around the Square, eyes open. The other Operatives would be faced with the same predicament, she just hoped the eccentric man had a way to contact them despite the cops crawling around. 

"Miss, excuse me but I believe you dropped this." Said a man behind her. When Citrine shook her head he simply pressed a wallet into her hand and walked off, disappearing into the crowd. What surprised her was what the wallet contained -- $1000 in cash and a brand-new identity with her picture on it. The fakes were very convincing; whoever forged these had some serious skill. The wallet also contained a note, which Citrine curiously read:

Consider these gifts an investment in our two-way partnership. You will find I'm a very easy man to get along with; you scratch my back, I scratch yours. I love the sound of money, the sound of cooperation. But the sound of disappointment, I hate thee. 

Come join me at my facility under Magnet Theaters, 254 West and 29th Street. Come alone. Don't be followed. The consequences could be... Well, unpleasant. 

 Hugs and Kisses,
~Laraxis
Citrine re-counted the bills, debating if it was enough to cover her shopping bill. Quietly tutting, she hailed a taxi and made her way to the west side of New York. Stopping ten blocks away, Citrine stepped out and continued the rest on foot, quickly glancing around. It was too easy, slipping back into the old ways. Back when predators hunted predators...

Her senses unfolded outwards, picking up the emotions broadcasting in her vicinity. Dozens of pinpoints registered on her internal radar, commanding half her attention as she methodically zig-zagged her walking, searching for any suspicious patterns. About five minutes from the theatre Citrine finally spotted two shady spots shadowing her movements, and she darted into an alley. The suspicious targets rushed in after her, panicking, to which she quickly diffused in the darkness. With two men knocked out cold, Citrine departed the alley and finished her journey. 

The theatre was wedged in among many other buildings along the busy streets, windows facing the road with an elegant, dark green awning overhanging the concrete. Thick gold letters spanned the awning: MAGNET THEATER

Citrine slipped through the doors, unsurprised to see the theatre empty except for one child hostess who seemed to recognize her. The child escorted her to an elevator behind the 'Employees Only' door, and she was sent several levels underground. To her amusement, this Laraxis character installed the elevators with music. The lamest piano music possible. 

The elevators opened to a hallway of shiny white floors, walls, and a high ceiling of equal shine. The hallway led to a huge warehouse-like room filled with various containers, strange bits of metal, and rolls upon rolls of copper wire. Laxaris stood at the center of a massive computer console, surrounded by men in white working on glass dashboards flickering with data. Laraxis still wore the same robes he did when he hacked into the broadcasting channels, but the mask was gone, revealing perfect platinum hair short on the sides and slicked back. His angelic face was offset by the sharp line of black underlining his blue eyes. 

A wolfish grin flashed across his face. "I see you got my gift."

Citrine played the magnanimous card, returning the smirk. "I was so intrigued, Mr. Laraxis. 'Twas very generous of you, to be sure. Nothing's free these days, however, and I know there's a catch."

He waved her off, shaking his head. "No catch, no catch. Please, do you think of me so negatively? I have only an innocent proposal, one which I'll give once more of your brethren arrive." He gestured to a tea tray beside him. "Do you take sugar?"

"Hah, I don't know if we were that close." Citrine scoffed. "No, straight with a shot of peach Schnapps please."

There.

There was only one person he knew who could so expertly dodge and weave her way through the crowd. It was too risky to move down himself. He might've been camouflaged, but being so had it's drawbacks. He was too big, too bulky to maneuver through the crowds of people and police cars without being noticed. No, that would be impossible. He redirected his attention back to his person of interest, who had been handed something by a stranger and was now hailing a taxi. Smart girl, she played herself common. He had yet to meet her, but he had seen no reason to suspect she had gone dull as of yet. He certainly hoped that someone with as much potential as her wouldn't be a hinderance to whatever it was this person wanted of them. Because if your limb was caught in a bear trap it was best to chew it off, you'd be better off then chancing the hunter. Anyone who was holding them back, he'd make sure to give them a good, solid chewing.

He briefly wondered how her liver would taste, served with a nice side of fava beans and a chianti.

His attention was brought away from the road, it wasn't like he could watch for much longer as she was driven off, but taken away by something more.

He smelled sweat, he smelled the bodily chemicals created when fear was going through someone's mind, the smell of adrenaline and blood flow. He took a step back from the ledge, and turned around. There a woman stood. She was averaged sided, small compared to him, and quivering like a leaf. He allowed his camouflage to drop, and he shimmered back into a human's line of sight. There was a moment of silence between the two, the one shared in that brief moment between predator and prey, the moment when the antelope looks the crocodile in the eyes just a millisecond before it strikes. The look the crocodile returns? A stare of determination, and in his case, interest on finding out if the person's health defects based on the condition of their internals. "E-excuse me sir," the woman stammered, holding out a wallet. "Y-you s-seemed to h-have dropped t-this." she continued. She looked like she was about to cry.

"No, I didn't."

The woman dropped the wallet and ran, and he took chase by sheer instinct, and he was on her in a second, with one of his feet firmly planted on the small of her back, his huge sickle claw positioned to cut through her spine any second. At this point the woman was balling, clawing at the ground in some feeble attempt to escape. He leaned down, allowing some of his weight to be placed on the woman's body. She hacked and gasped, sounds of her ribcage struggling to keep his weight up and not smash her like the fly she was. He craned his long 'S' shaped neck down to her neck, and allowed his tongue to dance over her ear, taking in her smell and the taste of her flesh. His body rumbled for a minute, before he retracted his foot, and placed it right next to her head, using his long tail to balance out his body. He opened his mouth and two huge fangs flexed their way from the roof of his mouth like that of a rattlesnake cleaning it's teeth. The woman dared not move.

"I'm not hungry."

Within a second he was gone, turning around in a whirlwind of scaled and muscle. As soon as he was a decent distance away the girl ran. She had never run faster in her life. Hannibal picked up the wallet, opening it up. There was no ID there for him, or cash. Simply a picture of Wally Gator. He snorted and his lip curled upward in a smirk. Inside the wallet was a note, designating where the location he was supposed to go to was, along with some stupid love note. Something about Magnet Theater. How arrogant. He shimmered into camouflaged state once again, and followed the street signs below from the rooftop to his destination.

---

He had been stalking Citrine for a short while now. Not that she knew. He had arrived about ten minutes after she had, and at this point he was constantly flicking his tongue out of his mouth to track her scent. He knelt down, getting his nose close to the floor, and followed. He had first found the two knocked out men and thought for a moment if he had been followed. He smelt the air.

The wheeled around and whipped his tail, which nailed the poor soul following a little too close and sending him smashing into the wall, pieces of brick coming down with him. He didn't know if his shadow was dead. He didn't smell dead. He didn't smell particularly alive though either at this point. Maybe he had stopped his heart? He reached over and gave the man a few solid flicks to the chest, and soon enough he felt the ever so soft thumping sound again. Yes, he had stopped his heart. But there was no excess blood on his hands. In fact, he had done his good deed for the day. Might as well double up so he wouldn't have to be a good samaritan tomorrow. He picked up the man, along with the two others that had Citrine's scent all over them, and continued on Citrine's trail, eventually leading himself to an elevator. He stepped in, and hoped that the elevator didn't have a weight capacity below 1500lbs, because he was pretty sure he was approaching that point with the combined weight of himself and the three men he had carried. Someone would be thrown out if it wasn't. Thankfully for the unconscious men, the elevator groaned and then began to slowly lift them all up to the floor that had been listed in his little direction slip in the wallet.

He exited the elevator, and invaded the conversation just as the twit spoke about his brethren and Citrine denied their closeness. He gruffly tossed the three men he was carrying off his shoulders, their bodies landing heavily in front of the elevator on the floor. He hoped they had a janitor with an exceptionally high pay grade because that hired muscle was going to become his food if they didn't clean it up by the time they were done with this business meeting. "Citrine," he said, his whole body shimmering in and out of camouflage for a second as his body adjusted to the new lighting in the area, but ultimately remained visible. "I'm hurt." he said, taking a moment to look at his ex-coworker, and then to the man across from her. He smelt tea. Finer tea based on the separated ingredients. This man spared no expense. Then again so did John Hammond in Jurassic Park and that backfired tremendously. "Remarkable boy. I do admire your courage in calling us here. I think I'll eat your heart." he said. It wasn't as much as the threat, and more of the way he said it. So dismissive, yet serious. As if it was the kind of thing someone said on the day to day basis.

"Then again, all good things to those who wait."

The trip to New York was long but uneventful: bumper to bumper traffic, loud honking or horns, some road rage, and a lot of waiting. That was OK though, because Cheshire was going on a trip. An adventure even. She rocked out to some Bob Seger's Against the Wind, and other on-the-road songs. She even sang along for some parts of the trip. She reached her destination late at night: a motel. A cheap motel, on the outskirts of the city. From here she planned on taking the subway to Manhattan Square in the morning. She flopped on her bed and bounced a few times before settling in to sleep. Bright and early would be when she'd get up, so she set her alarm clock for 5:30 AM. Before long she fell asleep with that Cheshire grin still on her face.

In the morning she woke up and took the time to make her bed and clean up the mess she had made upon entrance to the motel, after all she expected to be living here for a couple days at least. She put on a dark blue sweatshirt with a hoodie and a comfy pair of dark blue jeans with a hole in the left knee. She brushed up her hair and tied it back into a bun and finally left the motel room and locked the door. Since it was so early in the morning, not many people were there. She saw a police officer in the parking lot smoking a cigarette, and a homeless person sleeping against a garage door across the street. The officer simply looked at the homeless man with a disapproving look.

Cheshire took a walk down the street and found the entrance to the subway and entered. The next train would be arriving in a few minutes, so she waited. A few early uppers were there. A couple business-like folk, and a janitor or two that seemed to be coming off a late shift. The typical sounds of trains running on tracks could be heard in the distance. The train arrived right on time, just another thing to make her day great. She hoped onto the train and waited for it to get moving.

One stop. Two. Three. Five. Six. Six stops until she arrived. That was to be expected. A few of the commuters nearby kept their distance from Cheshire as no respectable human being should be as happy as she was in the morning. She hopped off the train quite literally and then up the stairs into Manhattan Square. She clapped her hand thrice with excitement before skipping towards an empty bench to wait. She looked at the clock: 6:52 AM. She was earlier than expected! That was great!

A business-like man sat down next to her at roughly 10 AM and handed her a wallet. "You dropped this, ma'am."

Cheshire blinked at him and looked at the wallet. She felt confused. Who was this man? How did she drop a wallet that she didn't even own? Then she got it! This was a contact. Was it a contact from the guy on the news? She giggled for a brief while and then took the wallet while chirping. "Thanks."

The man promptly left with a brief nod and entered the crowd that had amassed. She checked the wallet to see a bit of money that she didn't care for, an ID, and a note. She pulled the note and read the contents. Oh a summons! Oh hugs and kisses! She felt all giddy inside. She stood up and stretched a bit before hailing a taxi to take her to the given address. The ride was fairly easygoing. She found the scenery to be great. She loved the city, then again, she loved everything pretty much. She arrived at her destination and hopped out of the taxi and paid her fee with a handsome tip.

She entered the theater to discover that it was quite empty except she saw a door that said Employees Only swing shut. She walked over curiously and heard an elevator close shut. She followed the sound to where the elevator was and saw it was going down. The light only showed down to the basement's first floor, but if she understood the dynamic of underground bases that meant it had more than just one sub-level. She simply waited. Someone would come for her shortly. Not fifteen minutes later she heard the elevator ding and open to reveal a child hostess and let out a small sound of surprise before gesturing for Cheshire to come in. Cheshire slid into the elevator and waited as they descended several levels down. She even bobbed her head to the music, which garnered her a puzzled expression from the hostess. She then was led through a hallway into a warehouse-like area where she saw Laxaris, Citrine, and Hannibal who only just came out of camouflage.

She pranced right over. "Oh Hannibal, you and your eating people's hearts. I do have to say cooked cow heart is pretty darn good. I don't think I could bring myself to cannibalism though." Those that knew her would understand that she was completely serious and not a single joke had been told. She waved at Citrine. "Long time no see to all y'all." Then her attention turned to the guys she assumed to be Laxaris. "Hey, Laxaris, are you the one that did that television stunt? Pretty crazy IMO. Is that Kill Switch thingy really back in action?" Ultimately, she didn't care either way. She'd have something to do regardless even if that thing happened to be dying.

9:37 A.M.
Unknown Cave



It was a haphazard mess of scrap metal and frames, of monitors in the dark, and the hum of hydroelectric generators paired with the never-ending stream of water that echoed inside the cave. One would almost compare it to an adult treehouse that was forced to be made underground if not for information that flicked on the screens of the multiple computers. It flashed information of various federal organizations such as the FBI and it's agents as equally as several crime lords spread throughout Detroit. Spread across the desk were notes, papers, photos, and maps along with one or two cans of soda, pencils and pens scattered at various distances from the main keyboard.

Suddenly, as if something had created a vacuum in the air, a woman appeared within the blink of an eye. Her raven black hair was free this night as she adjusted her fingerless gloves and the leather pouched belt at her waist, holding up black tights. Her torso adorned with a navy skin-tight shirt and a blue jean-jacket making her look akin to some sort of cross between super hero and steampunk fantasy warrior - the short sword strapped to her back did nothing to stop this imagery. Her blue eyes scanned and adjusted to the oddly lit cave before walking over causally to a computer chair and sliding into it's embrace. With a flick of her wrist and press of a finger, the nearby T.V. popped to life, already adjusted to the news.

It just so happened that she had arrived just in time to see the theatrical entrance of the masked man who held the all too familiar device within his grasp. Torn between a smirk and a scowl, the woman known as Eidyia finally settled on narrowing her eyes in thoughtful attendance. "Hello... Operatives. I have something for you." Malice dripped from his tongue. "This is being broadcast on all channels US-wide, I want the whole world to witness their greatest, most stupid fear. You, my dear Operatives. They hate you, fear you, spit upon the ground you walk!"

He made a dramatic flourish with his hand. "I don't. In fact, we're friends already, and I'll tell you why. This device I have, I'm sure you're familiar with its original. I believe they called it the Kill Switch Protocol." The man dared to press a button and all the 'Librarian' could do was sigh. Either one of two things happened - he hit the switch for someone else and they instantly died or he tried to off her... to which he'd be disappointed. Of course, he could've hit the switch to Hannibal, but if this man knew anything about the Operatives, him choosing Hannibal would've been an effort at bluffing them all out into the square. Honestly, he'd probably succeed.

"You see, your life is in my hands. A man just died to be an example for all of you. Now, here's what's going to happen. You're going to be in New York tomorrow, Manhattan square. I'll have people who will contact you when the time is right. You could consider this a... Forced business proposal, almost. You could be great, my dear. Enough of this hiding in fear, you're better then the cage society confines you in."

He put a finger on his masked chin, appearing thoughtful. But he shook his head. "Mmm, nah. We'll talk more later. And, for your sake, I do hope you consider." He seemed to smile behind the thinly veiled threat. The screen abruptly blacked out, then resumed normal programs, but she wasted no time in simply pressing the power button on the remote before leaning back in her chair.

This was something she was torn between, in more ways than one. She had began a life that most of the others would've never even considered and sometimes Eidyia even wondered what the point of that was - trying to fight all the evil in the world. Besides the questions of whether it was possible, worth the effort, and so on, she now faced the dilemma of several factors. She wanted to play guardian to this new potential threat, feeling a sympathy for those still under the weight of that tiny red button and yet would it be more advantageous to let the arrogant son of bitch think she was dead and strike at her own time? Of course, were they worth saving? They all had their demons, there was no doubt about that - every single of them had killed people, stolen, lied, and manipulated according to Obsidian. Many, she dared say, now enjoyed that sort of life ...

Letting out a small huff in mild defeat, she propped her feet onto the desk and folded her arms, not daring to move. No, her presence in the square, whether she wanted to avoid the conflict all together or play the little hero in the corner, was better served if the acting fool thought she was dead. Let him hit the button and then she'd take a few to figure if she'd bother or not. She shifted over a bit and grabbed a vial of dulled red liquid and looked inside. A left over sample of the nano-bots that threatened to kill them all, once.

[DOUBLE POST]

PREVIOUSLY...

Polo's right thumb was twitching.

While he knew that this wasn't usually too big of a deal, today it was something to be concerned about. He flexed the appendage, the smooth pulls of his artificial muscles pulling the artificial plating, and moving his fingers.

Thirty-five muscles in the human hand, he mused. Seventeen in the palm, eighteen in the forearm. Not a single muscle in any of the fingers.

He rotated his thumb around, and used his left hand to flex it a little, working the movement to try and find the hitch.

My hand, though, may have a few extra.

He clenched the fist suddenly, and it gripped like a vice. Then he released the tension and worked the fingers again. Still - The twitch in his thumb was there.

This is going to prove annoying.

Polo stood from the couch, and began pacing back and forth. He picked up the hand grip from the coffee table and began squeezing it with his left hand, ignoring the minor twitch in his right. The muscles bulged a little in his forearm with each squeeze, and for a moment, he wondered if perhaps the twitch was just a nerve pulse issue that he'd have to look into. The problem was, there was a glitch in the system somewhere - And right now, he didn't have the time to go and fix it.

He dropped the grip back onto the table, and raked his fingers through his dark brown hair.

He should have contacted me by now.

Any other time, Polo would have just gone then and there back into his workroom and run a diagnostic. He would identify the issue, and fix it. The entire process would probably take about an hour.

But this, unfortunately, wasn't any other time. In all reality, he probably shouldn't be pacing about the room, either. But this whole thing had him understandably on-edge. He was awaiting a contact. And this one was important.

Suddenly, there was a flickering of blue on the couch. Polo glanced at the clock on his wall.

Well, only twenty-eight minutes late. Seems like my buddy's been busy.

The flickering continued as Polo finally sat down. He ignored his thumb and focused instead on the rapidly materializing hologram in front of him - The black-clad, trench coat-wearing, eye-patched form of Cyrus Locke.

"You'll have to forgive me for being fashionably late," said Locke. "The game's started, just as I was afraid of."

"It's nice to see you, too, Locke," smirked Polo. Locke didn't seem all that amused at the lame attempt at humor. His remaining eye seemed coldly serious. Polo chuckled slightly before simply waving. "Go ahead."

"I'm sure you've heard the news by now. The target plans to bring as many Operatives as he can under his control, and if he succeeds we're going to have our work cut out for us." Several profiles appeared beside Locke's hologram, with faces rotating beside code names - Citrine, Ghost, Hannibal.

A madman with his own super team of killers, thought Polo. Sure, what could possibly go wrong?

"The Operatives are powerful," continued Locke. "He could consider a coup d'état easily with his new team to do the dirty work."

Polo scanned over the operatives - This situation could get out of hand quickly, especially in a city the size of New York. Plenty of civilian risk, close-quarters engagements with these kind of operatives could end up with a significant body count - Not something that Polo was looking forward to.

"What does the guy want?"

"I don't know his goals," replied Locke. "This target is unpredictable. But action must be taken, and this is where I need you, Alter."

Polo had never been particularly fond of his code name. It hadn't been his choice, but the name had stuck as soon as his team had heard it. The number of times he'd been called "Alter Boy," too, were not his favorite memories. He'd tried to distance himself from it, but Locke was insistent - The name was a good fit.

"Tell me what you need," said Polo, quickly. Avoiding the name issue.

Suddenly there was a knock on Polo's door, which he glanced towards.

"Answer it," said Locke. "It's the delivery man."

Polo stood and walked to the door, where he found a small parcel sitting on his porch, about the size of his fist. His thumb was still twitching slightly as he picked up the box and shut the door.

Inside was a small device, circular with a small antenna. Polo turned it over and recognized it immediately as based on his own design.

"A hacking beacon. You could have just let me put one together real quick, Locke. Would have saved you the postage."

Locke ignored that. "With that device, I'll be able to lock on your location and hack information from all databases in your vicinity. Your task is simple. Head to Magnet Theater, west New York. The facility is underneath. When you get there, activate the beacon."

"Don't you have your own agents for this kind of thing?" Polo spun the beacon in his palm.

"He's looking for former Obsidian Operatives. My agents would be found out far too easily. I need someone he won't get a bad vibe from."

"If you say so," replied Polo. "But I don't think getting all of us old guard into the same room is such a great idea."

Locke tilted his head to the side, frowning. "I will convince the Operatives as best I can, but our target has a silver tongue when it suits his whims. Regardless, I'll see you at the facility, Alter. We'll stop this bastard, one way or another."

"Wait a second," said Polo. "Who is this guy that we're going after?"

"He calls himself Laraxis," said Locke. The hologram faded out, and the apartment fell silent once more.

Polo was stunned for a second, but upon hearing that name, his eyes became laser-focused. That was a name that he was all too familiar with.

It was now obvious why Locke had asked for his help specifically. If they were going to be taking on this threat, Polo was uniquely qualified for the job.

Laraxis... He picked up his jacket from his chair, and made his way to the door.

The memory of a fateful handshake just a single year ago flashed through his mind. It seemed that he'd be returned back to the viper's lair to settle a score. The good thing was, Laraxis didn't even know that they were playing a game yet.

Time to change that.

As he turned the handle, and walked outside, he made a mental note that he wouldn't remember for another hour.

It seemed that his thumb had finally stopped twitching.

---

NOW...

The first operative to arrive at Laraxis' little soirée wa not exactly who Polo would have suspected. A tap on his arm brought up the facial identification on his glasses, with a readout as the woman walked forward.

Katherina Ady aka "Citrine" - 22, Female - Hyper-precognitive abilities and emotive sensing. Possible translation into hyper-responsive reflexes and intuition.

The profile was a reminder that none of these operatives were to be underestimated, and engagement with each had to be handled with the utmost care.

Laraxis had seemed pleased to see him again, but there was no need for a dramatic introduction for these two. Instead, Polo, calling himself only "Alter," Watched this new meeting. He snickered briefly before just shaking his head.

This is going to get messy.

Polo watched from the side as the blonde approached Laraxis, not drawing too much attention from the others.

"I see you got my gift," said Laraxis as smooth as ice.

Citrine smirked right back. "I was so intrigued, Mr. Laraxis. 'Twas very generous of you, to be sure. Nothing's free these days, however, and I know there's a catch."

He waved her off, shaking his head. "No catch, no catch. Please, do you think of me so negatively? I have only an innocent proposal, one which I'll give once more of your brethren arrive." He gestured to a tea tray beside him. "Do you take sugar?"

"Hah, I don't know if we were that close." Citrine scoffed. "No, straight with a shot of peach Schnapps please."

The meaty sound of bodies dropping near the lift caught Polo's attention, but aside from the three unconscious guards in a pile, there was nothing there. Ghost...?

Polo quickly tapped into infrared, but couldn't see anything at first. It wasn't until he caught a shimmering eight-foot tall outline near Citrine that he realized what had occurred.

The profile was just a split-second behind his thoughts. Hannibal.

Henry Olin aka "Hannibal" - 26, Male - Lizard/amphibious based abilities with near meta-human strength, speed, senses and agility. Possible durability through ichthyosis. Capable of water-breathing, wall-crawling, and light-reflection camouflage.

"Citrine," said the creature, shimmering into visibility. "I'm hurt."

Hannibal looked from Citrine, to Laraxis, and then back to Citrine again, before noticing the tea. If Polo had to guess, he was playing at a mix of intimidation and evaluation. He couldn't recall if the goliath was particularly fond of herbs and hot water.

"Remarkable boy," said Hannibal with a playful seriousness. "I do admire your courage in calling us here. I think I'll eat your heart."

Polo rolled his eyes. This kind of humor was exactly Hannibal - It seemed the years hadn't changed much about Obsidian's resident lizard man.

Hannibal seemed to reconsider his feigned taunt and stepped back slightly. "Then again," he said. "All good things to those who wait."

"Oh Hannibal, you and your eating people's hearts."

Polo noticed their third guest.

Celeste Adaran aka "Cheshire" - 24, Female - Electrical abilities. Electrical absorption, detection, and emission.

This was an operative that Polo hadn't worked with. But apparently, she was plenty familiar with Hannibal.

Then again, who isn't?

"I do have to say," she continued with serious intent. "Cooked cow heart is pretty darn good. I don't think I could bring myself to cannibalism though. Long time no see to all y'all."

Polo couldn't read the expressions on the others.

"Hey Laxaris," continued Cheshire. "Are you the one that did that television stunt? Pretty crazy IMO. Is that Kill Switch thingy really back in action?"

A little perturbed that Laraxis hadn't taken the time to introduce him, Polo finally realized he needed to make himself known.

"It's most certainly in action," said Polo calmly, stepping toward the tea. "Live and operational, the KSP is fully functional with a global range." He grinned slightly towards Cheshire.

"So I wouldn't bother making a run for it anytime soon."

It wasn't a far drive for Jack, he was already in Brooklyn when the broadcast went off. Upon leaving from the mayors, taking a short detour to his apartment to change into some better fitting clothes. A nice pair of black slacks, satin long sleeve shirt and glossy black boots topping off with a form fitting leather jacket made him look more like he was going to a club rather than to some nutjob with a "kill everything" button with a potluck of superfriends that could potentially ruin his day with a well timed bullet to the noggin... or worse. Shuddering at the memory of what some of the other Operatives could do. On his way out he stuffed a retractable baton in one of his boots and his trusty Ace-in-the-hole in a hidden pocket in his jacket. The leather was too thick for anyone who does a random patdown could feel anything and it was still quick to grab just in case.

7am- New York

The train screeched to a halt and like every other Joe Shmoe Jack hustled his way to certain doom. His Training took over and already he felt the rush of the good ol days come back to him. He couldn't help but keep a slight smirk over his mug as he started on his first objective. Not being stupid enough to just wander around until some crackshot paints a red dot on his head like a haji at a hallal stand... no, he would keep an eye for any other operatives first. Change his face every so often and see who come to town. His first candidate for a face change was up ahead, a buddhist monk giving out bracelets at the turnstop. Buying some cheap budda beads and a quick handshake thanks gave him all he needed to dip someplace dark and switch to a rather well dressed asian. Throwin on a quick pair of shades he lifted from a passerby and he was incognito.

It wasn't long after he left the subway and got himself to the surface that he saw quite the familiar face with an all too happy look sitting at a nearby bench. "Cheshire..." Muttering under his breath hoping nobody heard. Flashbacks of her... unique attitude reminded him all to well on how dangerous she could be. Nobody would expect a dainty little thing that prefers to skip than walk jam you in the neck with a spike. Jack stayed out of sight and relaxed near a streetside pizza place with a few tables set outside. Ordering a slice he waited patiently to see whom this cat was waiting for and it wasn't long before some nervous looking fellow spotted her and made his way through the foot traffic to hand her a wallet, obviously not hers. This was his chance, taking note of which way Cheshire headed after leaving he proceeded to follow his new target willing to bet he had more than one wallet on him. Sure enough the man dipped into a side alley and dipped into a small dufflebag where he pulled out a cell and a handfull of other wallets sorting through ID's while chatting with whoevers on the other end of that cell.

With a quick sprint Jack yanked his baton out of his boot and pinned the guy against the wall, the man panicked and accidently dropped the cell breaking it. "Fuck! Man, what the hell?" The man spat as he squirmed against the damp brick wall. "Shut up and face the wall!" Jack said calmly twisting the mans wrist around until he obliged. "What I do man? I'm just following orders..."-"shut up! You packing?" Jack didn't wait for a response as he started to pat the guy down... nothing. Jack was half in disbelief before he grabbed the dufflebag and opened it up. Wallets... a shitload of them, all with different ID's and tons of cash. They all had a similar note in them to directions to the same place. Jack gave a smirk as he turned the guy around and gave a light smack to the guys face. "Thanks for the wallets bud, I'll be taking over from here ok?" Jack said while his face morphed from a old asian man into a middle aged caucasian with short blond hair and blue eyes. Mimicing the man right in front of him. "Time for a nap now okay?" A quick flick of his wrist and the heavy club gave a satisfying thud against the mans temple. If he was dead or simply unconcious he didn't know or even care.

Grabbing the dufflebag as well as the broken cell phone he made his way to a small motel within sight of the building that said meeting was about to go down and took inventory of the contents in the dufflebag. There were numerous wallets with ID's inside and Jack took note of all of them. This guy (whomever he was) had names and photos of quite a few operatives as well as enough cash to wet their wistles and still leave them wanting more. Stuffing a few grand in his cargo pocket and stashing the rest along with the now memorised ID's in the celing tiles of the two star hotel. Jack decided it better to sit and wait, keep surveilance on the building and check off whomever goes in. No sense walking into a trap just yet... and if the Robed weirdo decides to hit the button, than he's got steady intel that can be held in the cloud with just one call to a very loyal mayor that can ruin the Hood's day as well as the names and faces of quite a few operatives. "If I get put down, at least Ill have good company in hell..." He joked, watching out the window with a pair of newly bought binoculars to see who goes down the rabbit hole.

Unknown Cave

The several glowing monitors in the darkness began acting strangely, distorting their visuals into static as a new signal intercepted Eidyia's satellite. It snapped into focus, revealing a translucent blue Cyrus from the waist up, hands clasped behind his back. His repeated image across the monitors regarded the Operative with a grim eye. 

"Eidiya," He began, an image of Laraxis' face popping up beside him. "I approached you once before, five months and 18 days after Obsidian disbanded. I have need of your assistance. Judging from your demeanor I can assume you're not impressed with the target of concern, Laraxis Valco. 

"Laraxis is a dangerous criminal with technopathic powers. If his plans succeed, especially with the Operatives under his thumb, we can expect to see the United States descend into a state of chaos within six months. One must fight fire with fire, and this is where I need you."

Cyrus leaned closer, a map with coordinates replacing the image of Laraxis. "If you're ready to be reinstated, come to the United Nations Headquarters on 1st Avenue, New York. I'll arrange to have you cleared to enter, you'll be under federal immunity. Don't delay." He said, turning away from her. The screens shimmered and lost the signal, displaying their original visuals of sensitive data from around the globe. 

Laraxis' Facility

The eccentric monk curled his lip at the disposal of unconscious bodies on his doorstep. Some of these Operatives were truly repulsive, Hannibal especially. No art to their sense of killing in the least. It was a waste of talent, how could he work with this? "You," He snapped his fingers impatiently, pointing to one of the men by him. "Remove these goons from my sight, immediately."

Wordlessly, the men Hannibal took in with him were picked up and dragged from the room. 

Citrine regarded the lizard-man with an amused expression. "I honestly thought you were dead, Hannibal." He was one being she wouldn't even touch with a 30-foot wood pole. It was times like these she thoroughly enjoyed knowing his movements before he did. 

Other Operatives came out of the woodwork, hardly looking any different from when Citrine last saw them two years ago. The cold look of a monster glinted in their eyes, a look time cannot soften, nor pain release. She almost felt nostalgic, being in their company again.

"It's most certainly in action," Alter took a step toward the tea. "Live and operational, the KSP is fully functional with a global range."

"Thanks for the comforting news." Citrine rolled her eyes, accepting her steaming cup from one of Laraxis' workers. She stole a sip, finding an adequate amount of liquor garnishing her tea.

Laraxis licked his lips, glancing at Alter with a seductive smirk. "You sound so dangerous when you say it like that." Out of all the Operatives, he wanted Alter the most. A crowning jewel to his collection!

The ring of an incoming call interrupted conversation. Greatly annoyed, Laraxis snatched his iPhone from within the folds of his robe, bringing it to his ear. "I'm in the middle of something. What?" He snapped.

He listened for several moments, veins pulsing in his forehead. "He... He what?! Where the fuck are the wallets!" A pause. "And where the fuck is he?"

Laraxis chucked his phone to the side moments later, seething. Almost on cue, the child hostess brushed her way past the Operatives to stand by him. She was a dainty thing, dressed in black velvet and only coming up to Laraxis' waist despite the high heels. The ribbons in her curly, platinum hair made her appearance reminiscent to a porcelain doll. 

"47," He addressed the child condescendingly. "It would seem our thief is somewhere on the premise, watching the theatre. Be a dear and bring him back here, would you?"

She simply nodded and left, taking the elevator back up to the surface. 

"Now then," Laraxis sighed, turning his full attention back to the unique group attending him. The devilish smile returned to his face. "Help yourself to some tea, of course. But with more of you here, allow me to divulge the first step of my oh-so elaborate plan."

Pressing a button on a small remote, Laraxis glanced up at the large monitor behind him. It displayed a curious glass device, almost cylindrical in shape with two rods coming together within its alien design. "An intelligence agency in New York recently recovered the blueprints of a prototype weapon created by the Russians. This device has the potential to create an artificial mini-black hole. I need it, which means I need you, preferably alive..."

Outside Magnet Theater

The sun was exceptionally bright as 47 exited the theatre, though its harsh rays didn't affect her pearlescent rose eyes. She could see perfectly, likely better than any organic being. She systematically scanned the streets and buildings, taking in the genetic make-up of the people blissfully going about their day. Her target, the Operative Rook, peered down at her from the motel across the street. He stood out like a sore thumb, his genes reading incredibly different from the rest she sensed. 

She stared back, locking emotionless eyes with him before observing the motel doors. Her speed was surprising for what appeared to be a child as she crossed the street, entering the building to quickly ascend the stairs. The exceptionally unfortunate Rook still hovered by his window, and the child gave him a terse nod.

"Master Valco demands your presence immediately. Do you comply?" She spoke, her voice undoubtably synthesized and non-organic. It was the one key giveaway to her nature. Her appearance was very convincing, incredibly so... but she wasn't human. 

The fan rotating lazily above his bed and the drum of the TV helped the dreary attitude of Ghost's dingy hotel room. Somewhere near the border of New York and Vermont, he was laying low on his way to Canada. He had never been out of the country on his own before, that is, without being at the end of a leash, and liked the sound of settling down in a small French cafe every morning for breakfast. Theodore was not particularly excited for the move, more curious as to what living there would be like. He would most likely wind up leaving. And staying in more dingy hotel rooms until he made it to another city that would hold his attention for less then a year. Just another passing face on public transit.

"Thank you Sandra. Now, on to other news. There's a memorial service today in remembrance for the tragic event that happened with Obsidian just two years ago..." Ghost sighed and curled himself into a sitting position at the mention, immediately searching for the remote to change the channel. His pale hands patted the horrendously patterned duvet below him as he yawned; he was tired and bored after an uneventful morning. Ghost existed on a inconsistent yet reliable income from his questionable profession. He rarely lacked the money to stay at a nicer hotel, but he preferred the quick and dirty atmosphere of lesser establishments. Five star hotels reminded him of his time as an Operative, whereas a dirty hotel room made him think of his time before he had joined Obsidian.

He finally slapped his hand down on the remote and drew it to him. He rubbed a hand down his face as he flicked through the channels aimlessly until his control of the thing frizzed out. Brow furrowed as he continued to click and gesture with the remote, he grumbled. Into view came an unfamiliar figure, dressed in an strangely yet pious fashion. A black mask hid his features. But the part of the scene that drew Ghost's attention was the device in his hand.

At first, Ghost watched with a tilted head and suspicious visage, but the gravity of the situation settled on him as the man continued. His voice was chilling, but what was truly unnerving was the message it bore. After a brief moment of panic, followed by a thudding pulse then much relief as the unknown figure selected and dispatched a random somewhat-martyr for his cause, Ghost stood, the remote limp in his hand. "... And, for your sake, I do hope you consider." At that, Ghost (sputtering mild curses every so often) started to shove his clothes into his backpack. He threw his few sundry belongings in as well. He grabbed his key and stopped at the door, looking around to make sure he didn't forget anything. Satisfied, his hustled out the door and into the lobby, and then fidgeted through his whole transaction with the receptionist. She popped her gum, looking up at him with clearly suspicious eyes as the old computer whirred through his transaction.

"Here," she muttered at him as he quickly grabbed his change (for he had paid in cash) and quickly walked out the door. It was late afternoon, and he knew he could get into a hotel by midnight if he left now. It was late, and traffic wouldn't be too bad if he stayed outside the city proper. Ghost didn't think he was very frightened, but the more he thought on the man's threat, the thicker the infested blood running through his veins felt. He knew he couldn't be sure that the device the man had used was indeed what he claimed, but the prospect was enough for Ghost to consider it as a threat. His four hour drive was passed with thoughts heavy with the people he would see the next day, apprehension the main emotion dampening his chest like early morning fog. His sojourn felt more like a midnight reckoning hour than a countryside stroll.
__________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Ghost managed to hole up in a decent hotel a little ways away from the city. The next morning, dressed freshly in a green shirt and dark jeans, he was tucked away on the subway, having decided to take the trip incognito. He stood awkwardly vigilant on the subway, making sure to not alert anyone to his presence. It was one of the many times of day New York's public transit was packed tight and so he had to be careful to stay out of peoples' way. When he finally got to his stop in the city, he had much trouble removing himself from the subway. More than a few people were tripped as he was bumped around by unsuspecting passersby, but he managed to hurry away and up onto the street without too much suspicion. On the street, his used his normal technique for maneuvering metropolitan areas; he climbed across the faces of buildings. It was not major act of gymnastics, though it did show he was athletic(or at least it would have had anyone actually saw it). Perched on a particularly high overhang, Ghost tapped his foot impatiently as he scanned the crowd for any familiar faces.

He laughed at himself a moment later, the sound lost to the cacophony that sounded from the city engulfing him. He hoped dearly that he had come at the right time. Police had invaded the Square, and he was careful to keep from getting too close. A cop would be the one to immediately suspect an Operative if he noticed a spot of empty space at this time of day, especially because they were on high alert. He stood there for a long while before he saw a familiar face. Having gotten there around 9 o'clock, it took Ghost a little while to spot a woman seated at a bench who triggered something in his memory. He shuddered when he realized who it was; Cheshire. The strange woman made him cringe. After a few moments of him watching her, he figured she was just waiting around like him.

It was a little less than an hour later when things got a little more interesting. He spotted another familiar woman just as she entered the square. Citrine, well-dressed as ever, came striding purposely through the square. As he tried to keep an eye on both of them, the same strange interaction played out twice before him. They were both approached by shady looking characters and handed something his couldn't quite discern. Then, both of them hurried out of the Square and headed off to some destination unknown to Ghost.

He groaned as he realized that if he wanted in on the party, he would have to get an invitation. The one advantage he had over the other Operatives was that his face wasn't that well known, so when he dipped into an ally and back out, now visible, he was too worried about anyone who wasn't looking specifically for him. He wondered aimlessly for a bit before the same thing happened to him that did the two others he had observed. A man approached him, handed him a wallet that had definitely not been his, and disappeared. He opened it to find a few hundred bucks and a convincing ID with his picture. A note was there too, and he was soon on his way to Magnet Theater at a brisk pace.

Ghost went invisible again as soon as he could. Admittedly, he had felt a little naked before and was worried about how many people on the street were working for the masked man. He was anxious to catch up with the other Operatives and nearly jogged to the theater. Ghost had made very few enemies during his time with Obsidian and had departed on good terms with more than a few other Operatives. In this predicament, he knew he'd have a better chance with a few allies by his side. But he knew not to rely on anyone else just yet. He went inside with the feeling that the other's he had seen would most likely already be encountering something sinister. He made it the the theater and rushed inside. He only stood around for a moment before a door, marked for employees, swung open and a child came out. She directed him to the elevator and nearly shoved him inside, pressing a button and leaving just as quickly as she had come. The elevator dinged as it descended, soft music playing in the background. Ghost reappeared. If the elevator opened and they saw no one inside, it would be pretty obvious that it was him who had come down.

When the elevator stopped, Theodore took a deep breath and took a calm exodus from the metal box. It closed behind him, and he approached a gathering of familiar figures. The very first of which, who commanded the attention of everyone in a room, was the hulking beast that passed for an Operative, Hannibal. With how little control they actually had over the creature, Ghost had wondered often in the past, and again in that moment, why he had stuck around with them for as long as he did. Hannibal was both a good and bad thing. If shit hit the fan, following the lizard-man would probably be a good chance of survival. That is, if you didn't get in the way or look particularly appetizing. The escape route hovered in his mind as he walked slowly forward, wondering whether that act would be considered weak by the creature and warrant digestion. He didn't have any idea where he stood in the creature's eye and didn't even attempted to assume what that station would be. He decided that it would be safest to just stay away from him if he could.

Finally, Ghost looked up to the man who had reactivated the invisible noose around his neck. No mask hid his features now, and Ghost made sure to get a good look at his face. He had come in just as the man started talking of his plan. "An intelligence agency in New York recently recovered the blueprints of a prototype weapon created by the Russians. This device has the potential to create an artificial mini-black hole. I need it, which means I need you, preferably alive..." Ghost held back a groan. He hated going to Russia.

"It's most certainly in action," said Polo calmly, stepping toward the tea. "Live and operational, the KSP is fully functional with a global range. So I wouldn't bother making a run for it anytime soon."

"Thanks for the comforting news," replied Citrine sarcastically.

Polo smirked - It was clear that Citrine wasn't impressed, and for good reason. If Laraxis had wanted to kill them all, he would have done so already. The fact that they were all standing was good enough reason to assume the threat was mostly empty.

Laraxis, though, seemed rather impressed with his new ally, Alter, for reasons that Polo couldn't quite discern.

"You sound so dangerous when you say it like that," said their host. The greed that Polo saw in Laraxis' eyes made him a little uncomfortable. This man wanted Polo, or more accurately, wanted the technology that Polo could create for him. There was no getting around that.

The mechanical man just needed to make sure that he used that information to his advantage.

A phone rang inside of Laraxis' coat, which he retrieved angrily.

"I'm in the middle of something. What?" He snapped.

This guy is wound tighter than Hannibal over there, mused Polo. The phone's response was obviously something that Laraxis wasn't pleased with.

"He... He what?! Where the fuck are the wallets?!"

A response.

"And where the fuck is he?"

A response, and then a phone tossed to the side.

That was a perfectly usable iPhone, thought Polo. Never going to get the warranty now.

As Laraxis began speaking to a small, child-like hostess, Polo couldn't help but be creeped out by the little girl. Watching her mannerisms, though, he could tell that there was something... Off about her. Her gait was just a little too systemic, her movements just a little too controlled.

If he'd had to guess, he would have thought that 'Forty-seven' was less of a name than a version number.

He knew, from multiple attempts, that human movements were notoriously difficult to replicate. A device was only as capable as the computer that directed it, and the human brain was by far the most complex computation system ever divised. To even simulate such things within another creature was painstakingly difficult, and there were always little clues left in the uncanny valley.

Still, though, the doll machine's inner-workings could make for useful research, if Polo wasn't so creeped out by the thing.

As it left to perform its master's bidding, Laraxis turned back to the others, a small remote in hand.

"Now then," he sighed. "Help yourself to some tea, of course. But with more of you here, allow me to divulge the first step of my oh-so elaborate plan."

He pressed a button on the remote, bringing up the display of a device on the monitor behind him. Polo recognized it almost immediately - A glass cylindar with two rods connecting inside.

A Metamaterial Resonator?

"An intelligence agency in New York recently recovered the blueprint of a prototype weapon created by the Russians. This device has the potential to create an...

"...artificial mini-black hole." Polo finished the sentence under his breath, likely garnering a strange look, but he didn't care.

About a year ago, Polo had looked into the work being attempted in this field. A group at the Southeast University in Nanjing had performed a successful stability using a pocket-sized resonator designed specifically to capture and hold light and more importantly, microwaves, but the research had never gone much further.

Though Polo was interested in the technology as a curiosity, he'd never investigated further. The idea that a Russian group was also working on such a device worried him a little.

"I need it," Laraxis continued, undeterred. "Which means I need you, preferably alive..."

"That would certainly up our odds," said Polo dryly.

"I think, therefore I am. I destroy, therefore I endure."



Hannibal's entire body rumbled as more agents showed up. Normally he would use people, but he wasn't sure anyone in this room could be considered human anymore. His eyes scanned through them, each one of them moving in a different direction. He decided not to be rude to his fellow agent, his head turned on his neck to face Cheshire, who had said something about roasted cow heart. He didn't have the luxury to cook food as often, but his system was very capable of digesting food well beyond what the weak human stomach could handle. "Hm... I'll have to try that recipe. Normally I like them still beating, you cant get them more fresh than that. I understand your mentality blocks you from taking part in what every other species of animal is happy to take part in, but if you ever get over that, do try it. Human flesh tastes like pork. There was a time when I couldn't tell the difference between bacon of swine and bacon of my own kind." he said, his tongue flicking out and tasting the air. His head whipped around the other way just as the elevator came back up, and Ghost entered the building. Hannibal said nothing to this, his eyes going over the human for the time being, before validating that he wasn't an immediate threat to his well being and turning away to reply to Citrine.

"Yes, being shot and torn apart like I've been would raise one to think I would be." Hannibal said, leaning towards the girl so his head hovered only a few inches next to his ear. "Tell me, Citrine, are you disappointed?" he said smiling to himself as he leaned back and away. He tuned into the conversation at hand, they were speaking about the kill switch protocol now. Hannibal, had he not kept his calm demeanor, probably would've smiled wide enough to make Chesire herself jealous. He listened into the conversation more, it was full of things that didn't apply to him, and he loved it. What he didn't love was that Alter had taken up Laxaris' scheme as his own. He looked directly into Alter's eyes as he began to speak. "Yes well, while you're on about that," Hannibal began. "What do you have to offer me?" he said, stepping forward and too the table, and grabbing a teacup and placing it on the table in front of him. He lifted one of his claws and dragged it across his forearm. His bright blue blood trailed down his arm and fell into the teacup. Within a few seconds, the wound had already began to close up, but the point was made. The bright fluorescent blue substance sat in the teacup, creating an eerie blue shine. "That is three molar hydrofluoric acid. The inside of my veins are coated with polymers that keep it from degrading my body from the inside. Anything caught up in the steam is eventually degraded." he said, holding his hands behind his back. "They attempted the KSP on me once. I'm still here because they stopped working. The collar was the only solution, but eventually my body grew to resist it's attempts to hinder me as well." he said, falling silent for a moment. "You want me and the rest of my family," he said, stepping to the side to motion to all the other meta humans who were still standing. "...to deliver you a weapon of which has a potential to malfunction and create and event horizon capable of decimating our entire world, and later our solar system and the nearby surrounding planetary systems before stabilization." he said. "So, you need this weapon, and you need us alive," he said, stopping just as Alter said something along the lines of upping odds, "Of which I concur, living will make things much less complicated, but it brings me to my next question," he said.

His reptilian lips lifted, revealing his large teeth, an actual smile. An evil one, but it was real. "They struck bargains with me before the collapse to get me to do what they like. I lived like a king among the operatives. Luxury was mine in everything I did. I could've had fools kiss the ground I walked on if I wanted, and then had them for dinner that night." He said, stopping for a moment. "I am not bound by the same strings that the others are. You need this weapon. I need a reason to aid in delivering such a formidable weapon to your hands, and I'll consider what you have to say." he said. Personally he didn't think that any one man should have the power to control the world, and after how he acted with the phone, he wondered how he would act if even the slightest thing didn't go his way. "No more threats. No more protocols. No more operatives. Just you, and me in our sense of who has higher morality. Poetic isn't it, that I would be the one to ask?" his tongue flicked out of his mouth. "A government should fear it's people. If I am to take commands from you, I want to see how you react when you can no longer threaten me." he said, before he stepped back. He took a few seconds to stare at Alter for a moment, before he returned his attention back to Laxaris. "I'm sure there are others out there who have managed to escape your confines and didn't bother coming because of it. What happens then, should they try and oppose you? How will you threaten them?" he said.

"I am not the only one. Consider this my gift to you, Laxaris. You'll need it."

An hour passed by as Jack leaned lazily near the second story window of the shabby hotel room where he kept a close watch on the theatre across from him. Reverting back to original form for fear of pushing himself too much, he couldn't help but get partially lost in his thoughts about the whole killswitch situation. "What sick bastard hides out at a theatre?" He asked himself, instantly remembering the original message he left for all to see dressed like the phantom of the opera. "Oh right..." Realizing the kind of person he may have to deal with if he decided to go down there. "Prolly some pompous asshole with too much money and a flair for the dramatic... prolly never took that tacky robe thing off either." He muttered with a self amused grin. Sticking his hand in his jacket pocket he forgot he still had that guys broken phone with him, slowly cursing the fact that he couldn't manage to recover anything from it. The touch screen was cracked to bits and looks like it shorted out from the jolt.

His momentary distraction with the broken phone caused him to jump in suprise as he noticed a rather pecuilarly dressed little girl staring directly at him from across the theatre. After a brief second of locking eyes she managed to dart inhumanly fast up to his room. "Fuck!" He muttered, kicking himself for dropping his guard. Jack kept his cool best he could when the little girl appeared right in his door less than a couple seconds later.

"Master Valco demands your presence immediately, do you comply?"

Its a robot, fucking robots... Jack kept his cool and lazily looked over his shoulder to the eerily still little android. "Master Valco huh? He the one who created you by any chance?" Jack leaned off the wall and kept his hands in his pockets, slowly turning towards the girl as if attempting to address her. "Such attention to detail ill say that. That dress really brings out the serious and emotionless look in your eyes." He said sarcastically. Scanning the room for the means of escape proved useless since the only exit aside from the entrance the girl was standing near was the window. "But why a little girl? Your maker has quite the Lolita fetish don't he? Kinda creepy if you ask me.... add a foot of height and a couple years under ya and I may of gave my stamp of approval!" Jack kept talking to the lifeless robot as he attempted to think up a plan. Playing with the phone in his pocket he finally thought up something and pulled it out to show the little girl.

"Nice lil phone I got here right? Got it off one of Valco's wallet chuckin lakeys." Tossing the phone lightly in his hand he mustered every bit of acting he could throughout all the years trained with them as well as recon and intel with the Army. "Its pretty amazing the tech nowadays, I mean your the perfect example of how far we gone to disguise the most dangerous things to look mundane and homely. One wouldn't think twice to let their guard down around you... so wouldn't you think the same about these little guys?" He said pointing nonchalantly at the broken hunk of junk. "Just so happens I kept in touch with another Operative who is quite the hacker. With a little bit O' his magic and he managed to pull every bit O' info from this little phone as well as every phone its been in contact with in the last 24 hours." Jack would of been nominated for a grammy just for the devious smile he released upon the little girl. "I'm willing to bet good Ol' Massuh Valco has a snazzy piece of tech sittin in a satin lined pocket by his side too don't he?" He leaned forward staring right down into the androids emotionless eyes. "He's got so much intel on you guys he knows what brand of golden trimmed skivvies your massuh wears to bed at night, and if he don't hear back from me within the hour that intel will be leaked to everyone with so much as a first gen iphone."

And the award for best actor goes to..

Jack stood straight up and walked back towards the window. "I'm leaving here on my own two feet, tell that flamboyant jedi that if he hits that KSP his late nights at the Opera are over!" With a quick draw of his pistol he aimed at the android and fired three times then took his collapsed baton and busted the window before jumping out himself. The hard concrete sidewalk was no fun to land on from the second story and he fell with quite the thud but managed to roll through it without too much effort. Jack then bolted for the most crowded area and ditched his oversized jacket full of cash and tossed it in the air scattering the bills like confetti on New years. If the gunshots and broken window didn't cause enough commotion to draw cops and deter the android from giving chase, than the hundreds of people scattering to pick up the thousands of dollars would surely cause enough stir and time for him to mimic and dissapear.

Ah, so now I've got the Lizard-Man's attention, thought Polo dryly.

Polo couldn't help but smirk slightly, all throughout Hannibal's display. The blood, the teacup, even the explanation - It all just seemed like such a juvenile show. So unnecessary, and distracting.

Of course the KSP had been corroded. Polo had explained to the surgeons initially that such a device would be little but a temporary restraint, flushed from the creature's bloodstream within six months. He'd very quickly determined that even their control collar would be little but a minor deterrent.

Polo suspected there was little coincidence between the time it took for Hannibal's immunities to catch up to the physio-shock collar, and the sudden rebellion of Obsidian operatives.

As anyone knew, Hannibal was a rather potent wrecking ball, and now he was without a chain.

Polo said nothing in response to Hannibal's taunts. Better that the creature thought the bespectacled man was enthralled by Laraxis' plans - If the self-proclaimed "leader" was convinced, then all the better - It would keep attention firmly where Polo needed it to be.

"You want me and the rest of my family," said Hannibal, indicating the makeshift cadre.

Polo couldn't help but snarl a little at the association.

"To deliver you a weapon," continued Hannibal. "Of which has a potential to malfunction and create an event horizon capable of decimating our entire world, and later our solar system and the nearby surrounding planetary systems before stabilization."

Unlikely, thought Polo. The energy quantity needed for such a black hole would be astronomical. Even causing Sol to supernova wouldn't create such an event. A device like that would be small-scale. Single planetary body at most, and even then, of a temporary decay. A few thousand years at most.

Sometimes Polo wished he could shut off his brain.

"So you need this weapon," said Hannibal finally. "And you need us alive."

"That would certainly up our odds," said Polo dryly. He couldn't help himself.

"Of which I concur," replied Hannibal. "Living will make things much less complicated, but it brings me to my next question," he said.

Someone is on a tirade today, thought Polo.

"They struck bargains with me before the collapse to get me to do what they like," said Hannibal, with the gentleness of a pit viper. "I lived like a king among the operatives. Luxury was mine in everything I did. I could've had fools kiss the ground I walked on if I wanted, and then had them for dinner that night."

An exaggeration. But then again, Laraxis probably doesn't know that.

"I am not bound by the same strings that the others are. You need this weapon. I need a reason to aid in delivering such a formidable weapon to your hands, and I'll consider what you have to say."

"No more threats. No more protocols. No more operatives. Just you, and me in our sense of who has higher morality. Poetic isn't it, that I would be the one to ask?"

"You always were one to push against the order of things," said Polo flatly.

"A government should fear it's people," said Hannibal, turning to stare pointedly at Polo, before turning back to Laraxis. "If I am to take commands from you, I want to see how you react when you can no longer threaten me."

"Seemed more like a request to me," said Polo. "And who knows? Maybe our host is feeling generous."

Hannibal seemed unphased.

"I'm sure there are others out there who have managed to escape your confines," he continued. "And didn't bother coming because of it. What happens then, should they try and oppose you? How will you threaten them?"

I'm honestly not sure Laraxis has thought it out that far. You're giving him far too much credit, Hannibal.

"I am not the only one. Consider this my gift to you, Laraxis. You'll need it."

Polo would have liked to respond. But this wasn't his show. He had to play the delicate dance of willing 'second-in-command,' but not looking to usurp. This was a tango that could turn deadly with just one wrong step.

Luckily, Polo was pretty good on his feet.

"I'm also curious," Polo said to Laraxis, lifting and examining the teacup that Hannibal had ruined - a clear hole burned right through the base. "What other forms of persuasion might we be expecting? Surely you're not planning to leave us empty-handed at the end of this, eh?"

Cheshire listened to Hannibal recommended human meat to her. "Pork... Hmmmm... Pork." She then shrugged and tilted her head. "Eh, We'll see what I do and don't overcome."

Cheshire then watched and listened, she had never been good at holding a long conversation with anyone, so she had adapted by not having any long conversations whatsoever. She had no concerns over the KSP being operational, partly because she was incapable of having concerns and partly because she was one to just do as she was told. She had been one of Obsidian's top Operatives because of her willingness to follow orders and do as she was told. She stopped reminiscing when Laraxis snapped over the wallets.

She payed a bit more attention afterwards. He sent number "47" to collect whoever had taken the wallets, whom happened to be outside. "Someone's in trouble." She stated in a matter of fact manner.

Laraxis then pressed a button on a remote and began to speak about a facility in New York while the display showed the device in fancy fashion. Cheshire blinked once then twice as she processed this new information. "Uh-huh. Would this be somewhere in New York City or in the State?" She just wanted to know where to go next to get the job done. The others could have their discussion about the other details.

Mini-black hole... What idiot would make such a device? Didn't black holes eat everything? They had a more voracious appetite than Hannibal. Her hand shot into the air like a student with a question as she hopped up and down to get attention. "Wait! Wait! Are you trying to ransom the world or something? Are you like some super-villain in those stupid movies?" She was again without a sarcastic or joking tone and completely on the serious end of things with these questions.

Arsenic couldn’t stop her leg from bouncing and rattling. She was pretty sure it was annoying those who felt the vibrations of the connected plastic chairs in the airport, but she couldn’t find it in herself to care. She always hated the waiting and it didn’t help that her flight was delayed. No doubt they had discovered that that rich snotty bastard was dead by now. Any minute, men in police uniforms could be stalking in here to take her up and away in handcuffs and then she would be discovered for what she is: an Operative. She long since gnawed her fingernails to nubs and could taste the almond-tang cyanide. Both legs have begun shaking now and a woman next to her shot her a glare.

“What?” Arsenic snarled.

“Do you mind stop shaking your leg? I’m trying to read.” The woman said, not backing down.

Arsenic’s face became red and she could feel the sting in her veins as acid was produced with the hotness of her rage. “Last time I checked it was a god damn free country, bitch.”

The brunette woman was about to say more when the intercom buzzed and relief washed over Arsenic’s skin. “Twelve o’clock flight to LaGuardia Airport, New York City, New York is leaving in five minutes.”

Thank god! Arsenic held her hands close to her chest, to stop the acid from seeping from her hands and to stop her fingers from itching at the brunette wig that covered her platinum blonde hair. “Now if you’ll excuse me!”

---

The plane ride had been three grueling hours and Arsenic’s legs ached from sitting for so long. She had been stuck next to the bitchy brunette, dear god, and an annoying businessman who talked loudly on his phone when on the ground and snored loudly when in the air. The moment she was out of the airport, Arsenic let the built up acid sizzle onto a metal pole. The strong acidic thing ate away at the rusted metal, bubbling and gurgling until all that was left was a hole in the ground. Arsenic hoped no one noticed.

At only three in the morning and completely sleep-deprived, the blonde knew she had to find a hotel to stay in, a cheap one preferably but she had another one in mind. So she turned into an alleyway, changed her brunette wig into her redheaded one, fed her cats in their crates which she had to carry as well as her suitcase, and then hailed down a cab. The ugly yellow car stopped in front of her and a smoking man peered at her with dark slothful eyes.

“Where do you need to go?”

“La Quinta Inn Manhattan.”

“Okay.”

The drive was uneventful and the cabbie stayed quiet, though Arsenic deeply wished that he would put out his cigarette as it was putting her on edge. To testify to that fact, left over acid dribbled from her fingernails and onto her pants, burning a small hole into the jeans and soaking into her skin like a sponge would water. The cab finally slowed to a stop in front of a tall building and Arsenic grabbed Hemlock and Belladonna from where their crates laid on the bottom of the car. It was a struggle dragging the small suitcase she brought with her as well as the crates, but she managed. The Operative entered the building and gave her best winning smile to the deskman.

“Hello, I would like a room for three days.”

The man grinned back, though it was obviously forced by the brilliance of it, and he straightened his nametag out of habit. “Hello, welcome to La Quinta. That will be one hundred and seventy including tax.”

Arsenic handed him her backup debit card that was under a different name than her usual alias. He rang it up and slid it back over the desk as a receipt buzzed out of the machine. He tore it off skillfully and handed it to her to sign in which she did.

“Here are your keys, Mrs. Radomski and I hope you have a nice stay. If there are any problems, please don’t be afraid to contact me.”

“Er…thanks.”

Arsenic had to struggle up three flights of stairs – she couldn’t find the elevators – and only found her room when a maid directed her. She opened the door and let her cats out, locking it behind her and flopping onto the ugly floral bed sheets. She was out like a light.

---

Arsenic was hot-headed, impulsive, and ruled by her emotions, but she wasn’t stupid. She knew she couldn’t just walk into the Square; after the guy’s stunt, police will be swarming the place. So it was with a disgusted huff that Arsenic dressed in a pencil skirt and blazer, wearing closed-heel professional black heels and had her brown wig pulled into a low, but tight, bun. A briefcase was even carried to give her the look of a sophisticated businesswoman. Nevertheless, she was nervous – she memorized all of the alleys and the sewer system in case things got gritty – and it showed as her stomach bubbled with acid and poison, the two creating a mixture that left her leaning over her toilet, puking her guts out for at least an hour. She left the hotel later than she wanted.

The bus was chosen carefully over the subway; the subway didn’t allow her to scope the situation before hand and she wouldn’t be able to bail at last minute if need be. The bus ride would have been quick, but her rightful paranoia changed it into an odyssey; when someone got too close to her, she moved away; when somebody attempted to get information from her, for any reason, she promptly left at the next stop and caught a ride on the next bus. It took her a full hour to reach Manhattan Square, and when she did, Arsenic nearly lost her cool.

There were so many police. She had expected it, but the amount still astonished her. A brisk pace was kept as she skirted around the officers and she crossed her fingers in hopes that the contact would approach her soon. Her heart nearly stopped when soft leather was placed into her grasp.

“You dropped this.” A feminine voice uttered and Arsenic pivoted to find the source, but she was long gone.

Glaring at the leather thing, the acidic woman realized it was a wallet. Opening it, she noticed there was money in it and a little note. Without allowing any emotion to appear on her face, she set a vigorous walk towards Magnet Theater. It was only halfway there that she realized she was being followed.

Arsenic entered an alleyway and hid behind the dumpster as two shadows stalked into the opening. Without warning she lunged, gleaming liquid spilled down her arms and her fingernails dug into the throat of the first male. The acid burned through his skin like fire on paper and she used her fingers to carve the path around his jugular, ripping it out once it was severed from his body. The other had barely any time to react when she was on him, spitting acid at his eyes until they were only hideous third-degree circular burns. The acidic nail that sliced his throat was a mercy.

The briefcase was snapped open and Arsenic deposited her business clothes into them, pulling out a regular hoodie and jeans. She took off the wig and let her blonde hair fall out, relishing in the feel of bangs on her forehead.

The Magnet Theater wasn’t hard to find. She entered it, and seeing no one there, decided that the most forbidden area was the best to be checked. She went into the dreaded “EMPLOYEES ONLY.” An elevator door shimmered in the dull light and Sylvia figured it was the best place to start. The doors opened with a chime and she sauntered in; she jabbed her finger at a button randomly, though she restricted herself to the sub-floors – bad guys tended to work underground, after all.

It must have been pure luck that Arsenic landed on the exact floor that they were meeting at. She walked down the shining hallway, her shoes squeaking on the floor – though it should be noted she didn’t try to stop them, cameras must have already caught her presence so there was no reason for subtlety. The first door was shoved open and there they were: the Operatives and the mysterious Laraxis.

“What did I miss?” Arsenic smirked.