Laraxis Valco

Darkness. A small candlelight hovering o'er a table, casting pale shadows along the wood. She wept, her beautiful tears falling before I could dry them. I knelt at her feet, gently taking up her hands in my own. The sorrow bitterly lining the soft edges of her face brought a lump in my throat. 

'My dear, why do you cry?'

Her hand clasped my cheek, ever so warm. Why did she look so pained?  'You shouldn't be here, love.' Her voice was the sweetest music. 'We're compromised. They come... for me.'

'I would never leave your side. Even in death.'

~***~
Laraxis blinked, snapping back from his reverie. Hannibal's speech bored him terribly, and he ruined one of Laraxis' favourite china cups. Regardless, it briefly reminded him of something quite precious from his past. The over-sized lizard talked like he had it great, preying on the weak. And he dared to mention morality. What did he know about liberty? About sacrifice? 

The beast brought up another point. "What happens then, should they try and oppose you? How will you threaten them?" Hannibal said. "I am not the only one. Consider this my gift to you, Laxaris. You'll need it."

The monk regarded him with steely eyes before a smile crept at the edges of his lips. He burst into laughter. Hard, forced laughter that landed cold. It was unnerving, hearing a single, mocking noise echo off the white walls. 

"You... How dare you." The mockery in his eyes drained away, and he scowled at Hannibal. "You don't know me in the least. Not like I know you."

"I'm also curious," His little gem spoke up, making Laraxis smirk. "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?"

He walked over and snatched the cup in Alter's grasp, but otherwise ignored him. Compensation was an easy one, he'd address that in a moment. He peered at the lizard through the hole in the bottom, his first subject to coerce. "I'll give you reasons not even a beast could ignore. You've made your home in the sewers, pitifully eating the scraps of humans alone in the darkness. Like a vampire, you can't reveal yourself in the light. Out of all the Operatives, you're the one they especially want put down. Did you know you have a bounty, internationally? Exactly five million in cash for whoever finds the enigmatic beast. Dead or alive, of course."

He looked down at the cup again, noticing the residue of the meta blood. Maybe he'd scan it later, see what secrets were withheld in its make-up. For now, the cup was gently placed in its matching saucer. 

He turned back to them with a dramatic spin. "What I offer, however, is so much more!  Be it money, compensation, the finer things in life," He nodded to Alter. "Or morality..." His glance fell on Hannibal. "I am here to help fight for your freedom. Aren't you sick of hiding? Of being looked down on for what makes you superior in every way? Are you done playing the masochist, ready to take back what is rightfully entitled to you -- the lesser's respect, and their fear." He said, his voice glowing in confidence. Freedom was an ideal close to his heart, one that appeared wrenched from his grasp most of his life. Humans were vile things meant to fear, not be feared.

He raised a single brow at Citrine and Cheshire, baring his teeth wickedly. "I also offer an assurance from a sudden and unexpected death~" Citrine sputtered on her tea, but was otherwise silent, eyes narrowed. 

"Now, the mission in more detail..." Laraxis paced back and forth in front of the monitor, hands held behind his back. "The agency I mentioned would be the CIA. Their headquarters is situated in Langley, Virginia, a few miles off Washington. I have plane tickets, floor plans and decoders; no door should oppose you, and I trust your skills in espionage. The blueprints are in an underground vault guarded by sensors and cameras. As for the device behind the blueprints, you needn't concern yourself. Technology is my 'speciality', I will have complete control over the situation. The device itself will help assist in... Mm, breaking a few choice individuals."

"Wait! Wait! Are you trying to ransom the world or something? Are you like some super-villain in those stupid movies?" Cheshire said with disgustingly sweet enthusiasm. Laraxis wrinkled his nose, but nonetheless spared her a glance.

"What I am, dear, is nothing that can be defined by a single word like 'super-villian'. My goal is liberty, the means are insignificant. Those who oppose me will be swept aside as the dust they are. And if liberty comes down to ransoming the world, so be it." 

He frowned at the newcomers joining them in the underground. "Ah, the notorious Arsenic and Ghost. Any complaints to add, or can I continue?"

Citrine

"Yes, being shot and torn apart like I've been would raise one to think I would be." Hannibal loomed over her, leaning his maw down. All she could see was teeth, long and sharp. With him so close, she wouldn't have time to react to his moves, even with her advantage. Goosebumps tickled her arms, but she didn't flinch. "Tell me, Citrine, are you disappointed?"

The thrill of potential death delivered by a lizard (as opposed to a kill switch) was almost a comforting thought. A death actually worthy of a killer -- to kill and be killed. A smile played at her lips. "Disappointed? No. I've never been more pleased to see such a familiar face my whole life."

Hannibal and Arsenic were the only Operatives Citrine was exceptionally wary of, simply due to the nature of their powers. Cheshire, she was a dear, but it was only so long before even the ex-con couldn't stand her company. Ghost was the single individual she didn't mind, surprisingly. Alter... Alter was an Operative Citrine considered a traitor. Sure, he helped them get through locked doors as they took down Obsidian. But it was he who originally helped create the KSP, something she could never forgive him for. 

As Laraxis drawled on about his plans and motives, Citrine seriously wondered if Cyrus knew about this man. The enigma's parting words at her cafe seemed incredibly foreboding as she considered things in hindsight. Be careful, my ass. She looked down at her near-empty cup, feeling a little abandoned. There was no way out of this stupid situation for her.

"I have a complaint, though it could be interpreted as a question." Citrine locked eyes with Laraxis. "How long will this Operative puppet show last?" She referred to the KSPs subtly, ever so conscious of the remote itself within his reach.

47

This Operative standing before her tried to be clever. She saw right through his bullshit. The more he talked, the more she calculated he would try to make a break for it. How uncooperative... She considered as he called her something awful. 47's vocabulary module notified her that his insult was sexual in nature. Her rose eyes never blinked, giving a cold stare as Rook floundered about. Yes, it was called subtle unnerving. And yes, robots were the best at it.

"Nice lil phone I got here right? Got it off one of Valco's wallet chuckin lakeys." He showed her the cracked tech. Wrong move. 47 had a gracious master who gave her a unique scanner patterned after his own power -- communicating via electrical signals with technology. It only took a matter of seconds to perceive the mundane contents within the phone, bought yesterday and destined to be thrown away later today. A few calls, a few names. All conversations were short and spoken in code. So it didn't compute right when Rook started going off the handle about intel. 

Rook was bluffing. She knew Master Valco didn't even wear underwear. The elastic band left rashes around his hips, quite a rare allergy from what her databases said.

"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!" He said, firing some shots at the robot.

If 47's humor module was working properly she would have laughed. Instead, she briefly contemplated on the strange relation between her master and a Jedi. Her sight charted the trajectory of the bullets he fired, catching them in a bullet-resistant grip. It wouldn't do to have rips in her velvet dress, nor damage the motel, otherwise she wouldn't have reacted the slightest.

The porcelain child was quick on Rook's heels, leaping out the window after him. The multitude of targets was overwhelming, and he used that to his advantage. His coat unfurled and was tossed into the air, which she caught. There was a brief shower of loose bills which caught some attention from the passerby. Rook quickly disappeared into the crowd and 47 held tight to the jacket, debating her objectives. 

Well, most of the stolen goods were recovered. The papers didn't matter nearly as much as the faked ID's, their superior forgery was worth a fortune. Rook seemed like an unwilling participant she'd likely have to tranquilize to even get into the theatre. Her objective, it seemed, was obviously completed. 

It was as if the thief never existed in the first place. 47 spun on her heels, returning to the motel where she picked up the discarded duffle bag, double-checking its contents. Satisfied, the child returned to the theatre, dodging traffic with ease despite the bulk. 

Cheshire listened intently to Laraxis' response and bobbed her head. She thought back to what he said before she asked her question: "What I offer, however, is so much more! Be it money, compensation, the finer things in life," He nodded to Alter. "Or morality..." His glance fell on Hannibal. "I am here to help fight for your freedom. Aren't you sick of hiding? Of being looked down on for what makes you superior in every way? Are you done playing the masochist, ready to take back what is rightfully entitled to you -- the lesser's respect, and their fear."

She tilted her head as she thought a bit. She didn't mind being a masochist, in fact she kind of loved it. "OK well liberty is all nice and fine. I'd kind of miss the fun of the masochism though. The hide 'n' seek is pretty fun." She paused as she considered his statements. "Y'know... I think I'm in. I could do with something to do. Sounds like this could be a bit of fun. I'm just confused in one fashion: why threaten us with the Killy Thingy?" She glanced over at Hannibal and then over her shoulder at the newcomers. "You'd think that maybe one of us might y'know want your head for such a threat."

Her gaze then turned to Alter. "Or maybe you already have made plans for that. It wouldn't surprise me honestly, you mastermind-types are pretty good at plannin' I just do what I'm told."

She would be perfectly happy with working with all these lovely folks. She was quite impressed about the size of the bounty on Hannibal's head. She leaned over towards Hannibal. "Been doing much work? That's quite the bounty you've got there. You certainly earned it." She spoke about it like it was a positive thing that he had a bounty. She rather liked everyone that was standing here. Hannibal was a bit morbid from time to time, but she could handle that as that was just him and she could accept that wholly. She always found Citirine to be a great Operative. Arsenic was great fun to have around, she always had fun working with the girl, but she could never understand Arsenic's temper. Ghost, Cheshire was certain she'd get along just fine with the Operative, after all, she did splendidly with all of them. At least so she thought. Sure Alter helped make the Kill Switch Protocol, but Cheshire was never one to hold a grudge and his skills were quite handy to have.

She paced around eagerly, hoping to get to work with everyone else soon.

Hannibal

Hannibal smiled.

He had won.

"Yes... Yes, how dare I." Hannibal replied, his reptilian lips falling into a smirk, with just the tips of his teeth protruding from his maw. He made no comment, simply waiting for Laxaris' tirade to end. "You speak of freedom, but why?" he questioned, crossing his huge hulking arms across his chest and staring deep into Laxaris' eyes, peering into his soul. His eyes were alert and distinguishing, like that of a stalker watching their chosen victim for their day to day habits. "Everything you say relates to death. My bounty is created by what you could only guess my activities were, the KSP as a threat, your... bipolar behavior... all leads to subconscious expression of PTSD." he said, with slight distaste to his tongue at using a psychological profile to determine Laxaris' psyche. "The fact that you've taken the time to go through what little there was left of the agency to find out about our existence... The way you concocted this whole plan to dupe the military and want a weapon to give you the power to force the world into submission for us... The amount of homework you've done on reports about me and no doubtably others..." He said, before trailing off.

"You've done this before, haven't you Laxaris." He said, less as a question, and more as a statement. "And you lost something or someone... then failed." He stared hard into Laxaris' eyes for another few seconds, before he turned away to look at the rest of the operatives over his shoulder. He then turned back to look at Laxaris again, his arms falling behind his back and clasping each other, his fingers interlacing. "Have I ever told you the definition... of insanity?"

His eyes darted over to Citrine, who had commented that she was actually happy to see him. "It has been a long time since I have heard anyone say anything besides garbled pleading for their life or screaming upon seeing me." He said, a faint smile gracing the corners of his mouth, before it fell back to it's neutral face when Cheshire asked him about how he had earned such a warrant for destruction. "I have had no means of finding out how much I am worth. Very few ever see me until it is too late. But I suppose my style of hunting is known enough to trace it back to a bestial operative. There are signs of a short struggle at first, then the person is missing for a while and presumed dead. I've seen things about one hundred sixty something confirmed deaths on the little I have seen." he commented. "But they can only find so many corpses that havent been completely consumed... and only so many corpses that have been found." he said. "Personally I'd think it'd be higher if they had a solid body count." He said. He took a quick once over at the group, finding that Arsenic had joined them. Seeing them all again caused him to reassess them as a whole. Cheshire he found... interesting. Her mind was twisted and warped. He wondered how she would react when her walls would crack. Would reality gradually seep in or would she be overwhelmed? Her power had it's uses, but the best way to eliminate her would most likely to break down her mental walls. Arsenic he had enjoyed more than they others. Her attitude was... interesting to him and he had always enjoyed a good temper flare. Her power was simply dangerous. He liked that. Citrine was an entity on her own. She was dangerous, but at the same time not a threat and he himself questioned where she stood in threat level. He supposed she would have to be taken in a situation by situation basis. But for now... she was nothing he couldn't handle on his own. Ghost was good at being his nickname, and in his own way he supposed that as long as the operative gave him no reason to attempt a slaughter, that no issue would be had in any way with him.

9:39 A.M.
Unknown Cave

"Don't delay." The mysterious stranger turned away, her screens returning to normal. She had all but frozen with the vial in hand as she stared towards Cyrus, a brilliant hacker that had caught her attention before, listening and taking all the information given. Had she viewed the man as a threat, she could've attempted using her aptitude to try and follow his trail into the depths of the net, but if anything he seemed reasonable in his attempt to garner her aid. Had it not been for his convenient arrival, Eidiya may have strayed from the whole situation, but now she was too curious on whether the man's promise was true or not - not that she cared too much if she was protected. After all, with her unique combination, she was confident not even Citrine would be able to catch her unless Eidiya wished it.

Sliding the vial onto the desk, she plopped her feet against the metal platform and shifted from her seat, her eyes scanning over the equipment and various tools and gadgets she had been able to replicate and make herself over the years. Most would have to stay and she felt at ease knowing how secure the area was, with the door having been sealed for at least a year. Sorting through her belongings, she finally assembled a bag that held things such as small stun discs, throwing knives, and couple variations of handguns. She thought of grabbing her portable device that allowed her access to remote systems, but figured it best to leave it off the grid, just incase this madman really did have the power of controlling technology. That was the thing, after all... she knew all the operatives, their strengths, weaknesses, physical limits, abilities, but she had never met this Laraxis. As soon as she had time to scan his body, sure, but right now was no time to take risks.

It would have to take a few jumps ... but she would arrive in New York within only a couple minutes... she needed to be ready for potential gunfire. Maybe she'd catch them with enough surprise to scan their weak spots. Even if she was a 'super terrorist,' a bullet in her skull would prove a most unfortunate end. And with that thought, she blinked from view in a sharp snap of sound.

---

United Nations, New York City
9:42 A.M.

Since the threat of the operatives, every government building was being guarded with increased security. In this case not only security guards and the NYPD, but also a few agents from the FBI, since the United Nations stood for such a high goal and diplomatic location. So when the small pop of air building a vacuum was replaced by a woman in a streampunk-like outfit, the alarm was raised rather quickly. Not so fast as to stop her scanning though and within ten seconds, people had been put on edge with hands on their guns. She put her hand up, as if to stop them, and whether it was this notion or the fact that they had already been given orders not to shoot, they did not draw their weapons on her - just yet.

The man to her right had a wrist injury, slowing his hand draw by 0.3 seconds, the man on the left end with a knee reconstruction, causing a 1.3% drop in accuracy due to distance.. it made it far easier for her to move out of harm's way. Normal people wouldn't notice these things and even if they did, could not use them to an advantage, but Eidiya could calculate it all - it followed a logic pattern. "I'm not here for a fight," she stated plainly and looked around the room. Strange, she thought, to have felt like some superhero now trying to address the rest of the world. It was strange, but she handled it well, actually presenting herself in a confident, believable manner. "A man asked for my assistance... Cyrus... I don't think any of us are too happy about our masked terrorist on screen." Honestly, she didn't want to fight.

Polo could see that Laraxis was not amused at Hannibal's speech. But he suspected moreso, the monk was just annoyed that Hannibal had ruined part of his tea set. This was confirmed when Laraxis snatched the cup from Polo's hand, ignoring his dry inquiry into compensation.

The blood sample that he'd scraped from the cup, however, Polo tapped into his arm's analyzer tray. He linked with his base network and set the system to work.

"I'll give you reasons not even a beast could ignore," Laraxis said to Hannibal, pointedly. "You've made your home in the sewers, pitifully eating the scraps of humans alone in the darkness. Like a vampire, you can't reveal yourself in the light."

That's right. I'd forgotten about that. Hannibal didn't exactly drift into Polo's thoughts very often - The lizard was a rather repulsive creature, self-assured in his personal tirades and vendettas.

It's easy to see yourself as superior when you live among nothing but filth. But confidence bred from self-imposed exile is naught but an illusion.

Laraxis continued to glare at Hannibal. "Out of all the Operatives," he said. "You're the one they especially want put down. Did you know you have a bounty, internationally? Exactly five million in cash for whoever finds the enigmatic beast. Dead or alive, of course."

That's the official number, at least. Black market estimates put him at over twenty, easy. Thirty when alive, to the right buyers. Polo glanced at the analyzer scan on his glasses - the system was still looking for chemical makeup.

"What I offer, however, is so much more!" Polo could tell that Laraxis was gearing up for a sales pitch. "Be it money, compensation, the finer things in life," He nodded to Alter. Polo smirked in response.

"Or morality..." His glance fell on Hannibal. "I am here to help fight for your freedom. Aren't you sick of hiding? Of being looked down on for what makes you superior in every way? Are you done playing the masochist, ready to take back what is rightfully entitled to you - the lesser's respect, and their fear?"

We either adapt, or we fall away. There is no second choice, Laraxis. Out talents do not make us into gods, and it is our actions that garner respect. Not fear.

Polo had been right about this fellow from the beginning. Delusions of superiority, grandeur, and the goal to see the masses pressed to bended knee. This would be a more difficult assignment than Cyrus had originally implied.

Laraxis was now into the show of his speech. "I also offer an assurance from a sudden and unexpected death," he said, motioning to Cheshire and Citrine. The threats were becoming too commonplace - They were starting to lose their edge. A part of Polo questioned whether Laraxis had actually even killed anyone with that bootlegged KSP remote in the first place.

"Now, the mission in more detail..." Laraxis paced back and forth in front of the monitor, hands held behind his back. Polo kept his thoughts to himself, noting the continual progress on his analyzer as Laraxis continued. "The agency I mentioned would be the CIA. Their headquarters is situated in Langley, Virginia, a few miles off Washington.

Common knowledge.

"I have plane tickets, floor plans and decoders; no door should oppose you, and I trust your skills in espionage. The blueprints are in an underground vault guarded by sensors and cameras. As for the device behind the blueprints, you needn't concern yourself. Technology is my 'specialty', I will have complete control over the situation.

His specialty? Polo couldn't help his lips from forming into a smirk. He'd noted at least sixteen security flaws in Laraxis' base of operations just in the time that he'd taken to walk into the theater. A self-proclaimed "specialist" - Polo knew that a man's claims were only as good as his actions.

He noted the analyzer was about halfway complete.

"What do you plan to use this device for?" Polo inquired.

"The device itself will help assist in..." Laraxis seemed to ponder for a moment. "Mm, breaking a few choice individuals."

"Wait! Wait! Are you trying to ransom the world or something?" Said Cheshire suddenly, verbalizing Polo's thoughts. "Are you like some super-villain in those stupid movies?" Laraxis, for his part, seemed annoyed at the comparison.

"What I am, dear, is nothing that can be defined by a single word like supervillain," he said. "My goal is liberty, the means are insignificant. Those who oppose me will be swept aside as the dust they are. And if liberty comes down to ransoming the world, so be it."

"OK well liberty is all nice and fine," said Cheshire, crazy amusement in her eyes. "I'd kind of miss the fun of the masochism though. The hide 'n' seek is pretty fun."

Polo noted two more arrivals, and shifted his analyzer to the background to get a facial rec scan.

Sylvia Szypowski aka "Arsenic" - 24, Female - Poison and acidic emission, corrosion, and immunity.

Theodore Wenton aka "Ghost" - 27, Male - Material transparency and intangibility.

"Ah, the notorious Arsenic and Ghost. Any complaints to add, or can I continue?"

"I have a complaint," said Citrine. The annoyance on her face matched Polo's thoughts. "Though it could be interpreted as a question. How long will this Operative puppet show last?"

"Y'know..." Cheshire seemed lost in her own thoughts. Oblivious to the rest of them. "I think I'm in. I could do with something to do. Sounds like this could be a bit of fun. I'm just confused in one fashion: why threaten us with the Killy Thingy?" She glanced over at Hannibal and then over her shoulder at the newcomers. "You'd think that maybe one of us might y'know want your head for such a threat."

Her gaze then turned to Alter, of all people. "Or maybe you already have made plans for that. It wouldn't surprise me honestly, you mastermind-types are pretty good at plannin' I just do what I'm told."

"A trait," said Polo casually. "For which we masterminds are eternally grateful."

Ignoring that, Cheshire turned to Hannibal. It seemed that the cat had a short attention span, and needed another ball of string. "Been doing much work? That's quite the bounty you've got there. You certainly earned it."

A glance at the analyzer confirmed the chemical test was about three-quarters complete.

Hannibal seemed far more concerned with continuing his tirade towards the monk. "You speak of freedom," he said. "But why? Everything you say relates to death. My bounty is created by what you could only guess my activities were, the KSP as a threat, your... bipolar behavior... all leads to subconscious expression of PTSD."

"Did you swallow a psyche book there, Hannibal?" Said Polo. Probably not the best idea to quip at the lizard, but Polo was slowly getting more annoyed. This entire affair was turning into a waste of time, especially since Laraxis had already given them a target.

The lizard continued, ignoring Polo for the moment. He would not be deterred from his reverie. "The fact that you've taken the time to go through what little there was left of the agency to find out about our existence... The way you concocted this whole plan to dupe the military and want a weapon to give you the power to force the world into submission for us... The amount of homework you've done on reports about me and undoubtedly others..." Hannibal seemed lost in thought for a moment.

"You've done this before, haven't you Laxaris." Hannibal, it seems, had made his deduction. "And you lost something or someone... then failed." He stared hard into Laraxis' eyes for another few seconds, before he turned away to look at the rest of the operatives over his shoulder. He then turned back to look at Laraxis again, his arms falling behind his back and clasping each other, his fingers interlacing. "Have I ever told you the definition... of insanity?"

You would be the expert, I'd assume, thought Polo mirthfully.

Hannibal, for his part, didn't wait for a response, but instead turned his attention finally to the cat. "It has been a long time since I have heard anyone say anything besides garbled pleading for their life or screaming upon seeing me."

Polo stopped listening at that point. This was a creature that loved to hear himself talk, and looked for any opportunity to do so. Polo was just getting annoyed, but at least the beast had moved on to batter another target into verbal unconsciousness.

He turned his attention back to Laraxis, and looked over the specs of the building that the monk had displayed. A CIA facility wouldn't be too difficult, exactly. It'd just be a matter of hitting the right switches - Gaining the right access. More difficult would be the response. Without a suitable distraction, the Operatives would be looking at an army facing them down.

This would take some work.

At that point, the display on his glasses blinked in completion. 100%

Upon noticing the H30 compound at the top of the display, Polo immediately removed the glove from his left hand, and tossed it to the floor, checking his hand for any burn exposure. He scanned the skin quickly with his specs, but it looked as if he'd escaped any damage, barring the light smoke coming off of his glove.

Hydrofluoric Acid. Polo couldn't help a glance. He'd heard Hannibal mention the three molar solution was running through his veins, but thought it was just showboating.

How in the world is he even still alive?

The computer had prepared an extensive biological makeup. This would take some time.

Alright, Hannibal. Let's see what you're made of.

Laraxis Valco

Laraxis almost smiled as Cheshire pledged herself, cocking a brow at her question. "I'm just confused in one fashion: why threaten us with the Killy Thingy? You'd think that maybe one of us might y'know want your head for such a threat." She said.

"That's quite possible, yes," He said, deviously narrowing his eyes. "You don't think I've prepared for such an outcome? Come now, I'm a genius. And my tactics certainly forced your undivided attention." 

"You've done this before, haven't you Laxaris. And you lost something or someone... then failed." Hannibal said, a look of victory in his eyes. His eyes swept the room before he concluded his profiling. It was strange watching a lizard assume a very human posture. "Have I ever told you the definition... of insanity?"

Laraxis flinched, curling his lip in a look of disgust. Oooh, Hannibal hit a nerve. It flashed so vividly behind his crystal eyes, his darkened, bloody past in another world. And her, the woman. His everything, his life. He did it for her. 

Everything he did, it was for her. Just to see the tears dry.

"...You're right." His chuckle sounded hollow. "I have done this before. And it would have worked if we hadn't been betrayed for a few extra coins. Really, it was quite pitiful. You should have seen everyone falling with their heads fresh blown off. Rather messy, I'll admit..." He clenched his teeth, refusing to unblock the entire memory. There were some things he simply couldn't live through again. 

Anger sparked behind his eyes, flushing whatever sentiments he entertained before. "Hannibal..." He hissed. "You are dismissed. Get the hell out of my sight."

Citrine eventually brought up a question he was simply waiting in anticipation for. "How long will this Operative puppet show last?"

Laraxis lost the anger, merely smiling with metallic eyes. "Puppet show? Please, dear, give yourself more credit. I like to think of it more as a... Hm, a league of 'super terrorists', as your government so eloquently puts. We will work together only as long as it takes to place you on the pedestal of the world." 

With a flourish he spun around, hands flying across the keys of the main console. A synthetic note sounded, and a blue line lit up on the shiny floor. It snaked away in 90 degree angles, turning down the hallway to the right of the console. 

He gestured to the line. "This leads to my private armory. You will find everything you need for your mission therein. Walk it, would you? I'm tired of talking." 

Citrine

Hannibal had the option to leave.

That motherfucker. What did she have? Well, not the option. The elevator, it almost glittered behind her, looking so enticing to run back into. However, her own thread of gold stopped short if she pursued her escape. She could see it; He'd press the button on her, and she would become the second example. Case closed. 

Laraxis was a crazy man, hands down. The last thing she wanted to do was help him help himself. Hannibal seemed to strike a nerve as he disrobed Laraxis for all to see. It amused a twisted part of her, listening to him breathe live into his darkest memories. As he told Hannibal to leave, a bubble of laughter fought its way up Citrine's throat, which she disguised as a polite cough. 

Jealousy. Jealousy was the source of her laughter. Damn, what a strange creature she was. But a part of her resented Hannibal for his lack of an Obsidian noose. Operatives weren't very vocal about whether or not they still had the switch. To her knowledge only Hannibal had rid himself of it, naturally. Damn him.

As the blue light lit up along the white floors, Cheshire caught Citrine's eye. She was the single meta who dared to keep her infallible enthusiasm about her, though Citrine recalled she was always like that. She was likely the only one who'd respond with kindness first, suspicion later. Even with death threatened over her head. 

"Cheshire," She cooed, holding her hand out to the petite Operative. Yes, it was high time they departed. She might have no choice in the matter, but no one said she had to walk alone. "Come with me, honey. Let's admire the shiny new toys waiting for us down the hall."

The armory was less than a minute walk through white corridors, the blue light leading the way down the maze of halls. A great, circular steel door wheeled to the side as they approached the end of the line, revealing a bright and spacious room. Lockers lined the far wall and long, steel tables were spaced evenly on the floor. Guns and swords supported in soft velvet covered the tables, riffles and assault weapons decorated the walls. Oooh, it definitely glittered. The armory was a beautiful sight to take in.

Citrine instantly felt at home, running her hands over the many katanas the armory housed. The metal felt like it could sing to her; she remembered the last time she held a sword, and that was exactly two years and a day ago. The blades winked at her, gleaming and sharp. How she wanted to sate their hunger, their thirst.

Now that doesn't sound so bad, does it? Citrine licked her lips, gently holding a hopeful smile.

Eventually her steps graced the back of the room, taking in the lockers. They were seamless, no locks or buttons to open them. Each stated a single codename in elegant design, and she found her own locker a little left of the middle. Curious, she placed her hand on the metal, wondering what contents it held. It gave a sudden beep at her touch, flashing green before slowly opening. 

A bright, beautifully crafted outfit faced her, and she instantly recognized the jacket. Bright yellow, genuine leather. Ribbed at the elbows with stripes of black. Even the smell gave away how divinely expensive the jacket's design was. Yes, it was an excellent replica of the infamous jacket in Kill Bill. The pants she noticed Laraxis took the liberty of switching up. They were black with a little strip of yellow down the sides which she preferred over the whole thing being yellow. Black leather boots up to her knee replaced the traditional yellow shoes. 

"Look at this, Cheshire." Citrine called to her, pulling out the jacket. "Do you recognize this, by chance?"

Laraxis' humor wasn't lost on her. Oh yes, this was a play on her codename. Honestly, she usually went on mission in full-black. But this outfit seemed to embrace her, identify her. Her name, her vision, and even her clothing, all in different shades of gold. Shimmering, trans-dimensional gold. 

Hannibal

Hannibal gave a bow to Laxaris, his arm pretending to take off a hat he didn't have on, and the other swooping underneath his core as he backed a few steps away from his seat. "Your wish is my command." he said, standing up, a wicked, toothy smile plastered to his wicked face. He turned and walked away, his finger deftly getting placed on the elevator's buttons as he did so, as it came up and opened, Hannibal hesitated for a moment. "Oh, and one last thing," he said, turning to look over his shoulder at Laxaris. His yellow and blue eyes and their slitted pupils dancing over the group of operatives and madmen. "Love the suit." And with that, Hannibal stepped inside the elevator, and seemed to shimmer out of the eye's detection one last time, his eyes being the last to disappear, looking over those in the room until the doors closed.

---

Hannibal had returned to his safe-house in the sewers after his endeavor with Laxaris and the other operatives. He was hungry, and he didn't want to spend energy hunting. Not today, no. He had food stored anyways. If was a little too quiet when he entered. He sensed no presence though, but he felt uneasy. Things weren't as they were when he had woken up that morning. He lifted his nose and took a deep whiff of the air. He smelt human flesh, but he smelt something else. It wasn't old, but it had been within the past hour or so. He moved to his appliances, and opened them up. There it was. There was the issue.

With the city on high alert, the NYPD had checked nearly everywhere where they hadn't before. He, luckily, wasn't home at the time of the area's discovery, but they now knew something that consumed human flesh did. He had moved from state to state over the past two years, so they most likely didn't know it was him, but regardless he couldn't stay here anymore. He had to run, to find a new place to hide away. He slammed the fridge door in a flurry of anger, causing the whole thing to shake from the force, and turned away. His disturbance alerted something. He heard faintly from a little ways away int he sewers someone say "What was that." His hissed to himself in frustration, an intruder in his territory that he couldn't do anything about. In his haste, a small leather object fell from his pants. He looked down at it. The wallet he had received from Laxaris' agent. He hadn't paid much mind to it yet, but it was odd. He had overheard other agents, they had received cash and an ID. He had only a picture of Wally Gator and a slip of paper that had been the address. Now that it was on the floor, and the picture of Wally gator had fallen out. There was writing on the back. Sharp cursive. Most likely written by the woman that wasn't there before. Written most likely in invisible ink, and activated by a substance in the sewer's air. It was genius, and excellent use of chemistry and psychology. Whomever wrote this had to have known that he wouldn't have returned to the sewers if he was under Laxaris.

It was another address. Telling him to go to the UN, and signed by a man named Cyrus, promising protection, and other operatives.

He wasn't stupid. But something didn't match up. Whoever this was had to have known he was here and chosen not to go after him. But he still wasn't sure. He would show up, and check it out, and find this... Cyrus person. If other operatives were there, maybe he'd stick around and see what was going on. See why they were there themselves. And if not, lunch would be nice. He was reminded of his time, as he could hear several men's footsteps heading in his direction. He needed to move. He shifted into camouflage, and grabbed the wallet, stuffing it into his coat's pocket. His guns were in a suitcase, which was inside a backpack. He'd have to assemble them later. He threw off his coat and threw on the backpack, and then put his coat on again to keep his camouflage up. He needed to move.

---

United Nations, New York City
11:02 A.M.

The standoff had been quiet, no guns blazing, no action, simply several automatic military grade weapons trained on one woman. The men had already radioed in, requesting Cyrus' appearance, but so far they had been denied and told to keep the Operative under surveillance until Cyrus was available. When the second operative arrived on the scene no one knew about it, not yet. But it had drawn his attention at the Mexican standoff going on, on the bottom floor of the building. He personally didn't agree with this person's fashion sense, as they were supposed to be blending in or disappearing in his case. He was doing a better job than this one was.

Hannibal smelt the air. Sweat, and some fear, coupled with the hormones and pheromones produced from a sexually mature female in their prime reproductive stage of life. He had smelt it rolling off of Citrine and Chesire, but not off of that... 47 thing. It had smelt of metal and polyester, and electricity. Behind the oil and machinery and electronics of the person surrounded by guns, he smelt a woman. He smelt no fear. He liked that, she had control of the situation, and she knew it. He couldn't tell who it was though. He couldn't see her face. The ever so slight wave of his skin and clothes adapting to the world around it would no doubt be lost to her, should she see it. But he was in no position to help her, and he had no gain to do so yet.

But someone else knew better.

"Guns down." Came a swift and commanding reply. Immediately the men lowered their weapons and formed a line on either side of Eidyia, and saluted. A man entered the building, walking past Hannibal. He was tall, and dark skinned. Of African American decent. He wore black clothing that was concealing and long. The only part of his body that was exposed was his head. He was bald, and had a black eyepatch going over his eye, where a scar was semi-obviously placed. He was intimidating, even Hannibal would give him that despite not being intimidated. The way he carried himself in a way that demanded respect and had an aura of 'no bullshit' rolling off of him like thunder. A from was etched into his face. "Eidyia," he said, looking her over. How did he know this operative?

"Twenty three, orphan since birth, joined a gang, became an operative, been playing vigilante ever since. Teleporter with the ability to simply know things without being taught." he said, looking her over. "Hannibal. Born into a good home and schooled well in Japan. Lost everything to a tsunami. Mentally scared, became an operative and emotional capabilities dropped even farther. Reptilian and amphibian physiology with reflective camouflage and advanced remote adaptive abilities. Cannibal." he said. By this point Hannibal shifted into a regular human's line of sight. His size and terrifying appearance causing a sew of the soldiers to immediately grow nervous and shifty. He stared hard at the man for a moment. Looking him over for a few seconds. "Cyrus Locke." the man said. "You gave the woman I sent for you quite a scare." Hannibal made no sound, just continued to stare into Cyrus' eyes, trying to deduce how he had acquired a brief view of his history. "Operative Rook should be joining us soon. I sent someone after him. I assume you have information in regards to our little terrorist's plans. We will wait a little longer for Agent Rook to show before continuing. You will get your deal Hannibal." Hannibal looked at the man again. How had he know how he... It didn't matter. He would find out. Instead he tore his attention away from Cyrus to stare at Eidyia. He had briefly met this operative once, he recognized her scent and whatever it was the primates that surrounded him used to cover up their natural scent from each other's weak noses. He couldn't be fooled however. He could smell through them as easily as he could see through their transparent lies.

"You smell familiar." He stated simply, standing about five or six feet away from Eidyia. "And I don't smell metal in your blood. Not like last time."

“Ah, the notorious Arsenic and Ghost.”

Damn right notorious, Arsenic thought to herself, crossing her arms over her chest as she stood next to the others. Yet, here she was, slave to a man with tacky robes and a button that could end her life at any second. How many of the Operatives were dead already because of this Laraxis and his new possession? Oh well, it wasn’t like it mattered to Arsenic who died and who didn’t. To be honest, Operatives don’t live in the first place. They run and hide, run and hide, kill and run and hide. Arsenic’s whole situation was pathetic.

Arsenic didn’t bother to comment on the current discussion, because as it was, she was already thinking of slipping some hemlock into Laraxis’ precious teacup when he wasn’t looking. His cause made a lot of sense though; with her superior abilities, Arsenic should be able to do what she wants…or at least have the rights that normal humans do instead of running and hiding, running and hiding, killing and running and hiding. Arsenic breathed deeply to stop herself from throwing something again – she would never get that TV back again, and it was her first flat screen, too.

Without realizing it, Arsenic had tune out of Laraxis voice which had the effect of a droning history teacher to her. It was all so boring, why psychoanalyze Laraxis? Why can’t Hannibal just label him a homicidal-freak with control issues? It was that simple. Yeah, he may have a past; yeah, that past may affect him in some drastic, oh-my-life-sucks way, but Arsenic certainly didn’t care. Snorting, the blonde followed Cheshire and Citrine to the armory room.

It was impressive, the armory, and Arsenic grabbed a pistol from the wall and tested in her hand. Aiming it, she shot at the wall, though it didn’t make a mark, and put it back down.

“Woops.” She said, though it was definitely as unapologetic as it could be.

Deciding that she should check her locker, Arsenic pulled out the black leather jacket, black leather pants, and the black turtleneck sleeveless shirt and grinned. Sleek and unnoticeable, just as she liked it. Arsenic tested the jacket out, sliding it on, though it felt tight and odd with a hoodie underneath. The Operative yanked the hoodie off and slipped the leather jacket on again, this time over a white wifebeater. It fit perfectly and Arsenic smiled.

“Neh, Citrine, where have you been these past two years?” Arsenic asked while putting the clothes back into the locker.

Cheshire had she been capable, would have frowned at Hannibal's departure as she rather appreciated his existence. He was an excellent teammate even if he happened to be condescending. She waved with her Cheshire Cat grin with a cheery. "Bye. Good luck!" Then Citrine caught her attention with her lovely manners. "Oh I do like toys!" Her childish response was filled with glee as she clapped her hands three times with excitement.

She glanced over the armory with a curious smile. There were quite a bit of toys in here. Katana. Daggers. Guns of all types. Even some bulletproof armors. She stopped at a suit of plate armor and giggled. "What a silly thing. You belong in a museum." Then Citrine drew her attention to the Kill Bill outfit. Cheshire blinked stupidly. "Is that a costume? Are we going to kill them in cosplay? Sounds like fun." Again she was being serious.

Everything they needed. Well if they were to make an impression on the whole world costumes would be the way to go. "I think this is part of the whole message he was sending." Cheshire finally displayed that she could indeed think. She preferred to just do whatever, but sometimes she could display actual acts of intelligence, if she hadn't she certainly wouldn't have survived the last two years by herself. She wondered if Laraxis had prepared an appropriate costume for her and searched the lockers for her name.

She found it with curly elegant text and nodded with approval. She clicked it open and found a set of pants and a jacket with dark purple and electric blue horizontal stripes. There were a pair of boots of the same purple. She squeed with joy and hastily put on the outfit. She felt something inside the jacket and pulled out a set of purple cat ears and put them on. "Look! Look! I'm the Cheshire Cat!" She did a little dance and spun around jumping up and down a few times. She loved the outfit. She felt a great desire to just wear it all the time. This job, whatever happened, Cheshire knew would be great fun.

47

After Arsenic left with Citrine and Cheshire, the elevator doors opened. Petite little 47 walked in hefting her spoils, quickly making her way through the large white room. Laraxis eyed her with a narrow glare as she joined him at the console. 

"The stolen goods were recovered, Master Valco. The IDs in particular are still in excellent condition." She placed the duffle bag at his feet, a small smile programmed on her lips. 

Laraxis was not amused. "Your objective was to bring in my thief, Operative Rook. And where, by chance, did you put him?" 

"He refused to cooperate, not to mention his vulgarity on top of that. I let him go as he gave up what he stole. He would be very hard to convi--" Laraxis' palm smashed across 47's cheek, front-handing the girl with a slap. 

47's sensors caused her face to contort into a look of hurt; the Master's response was an incredibly negative one. She fell silent, touching the skin mesh and metal of her cheek. There was no pain, she had no concept for that. But she thought she completed her objective correctly. The goods were returned, were they not? What caused his burst of anger?

Laraxis swore under his breath, working the sting out of his searing hand. He almost forgot it was hard metal under that pretty face, not ideal to commit punishment upon. He sniffed dismissively, gesturing to the duffle bag with contempt. "Put this shit away. I have Operatives in the armory, be a dear and supervise them, would you?"

Without another word, 47 scooped up the bag and left, keeping her eyes from making contact with anyone else's. She ignored the blue line leading to the armory, instead heading to a room filled with specialized filing cabinets -- the Hardware Information Room. The duffle bag was placed on an empty table for someone else to sort and put away. 47 didn't enjoy this room all too much, there were lots of secrets hidden away in its locked vaults. Secrets that divulged her programmed trigger word to shut down, or self-destruct. Awful stuff. 

The armory brought a sense of satisfaction to the child hostess as 47 entered the open door. It was very lovely to see background objectives check out in the lower levels of her RAM capacity. The tools of this room were being placed in very capable hands, just as they were intended. And the Operatives seemed acceptive, almost enthused from their gifts in the locker. 

Arsenic spoke as 47 walked past the aisles of velveted steel tables. “Neh, Citrine, where have you been these past two years?”

Ah, her database was filled to the brim with this kind of intel. Courtesy of Master Valco, of course. In the case of emergencies (Operatives in need of restraining), it was better to know everything than steer blindly in the dark. She may have been a robot, but not even robots were indestructible. Her Master liked to pretend so, but she was acutely aware of how fragile her inner circuits were.

"Ms. Citrine abandoned her conning practices in the name of lying low after Obsidian's destruction. For the past while she's had a legitimate job working at a cafe in Portland with little to no government interference." She stated, pulling a small feather duster from her velvet sleeve. There was a noticeable bit of lint curled up in Cheshire's cat ears, which 47 brushed away. It satisfied the secondary cleanliness aim always running in her background, 

Citrine raised an eyebrow, tearing her eyes away from the yellow jacket. "You know an awful lot to be one of Laraxis' lackeys. 47, was it?"

47 blinked her rose eyes, her face expressionless. "I am not a lackey," Her synthetic voice played the word an entire octave lower. "My serial code is 4A185038W-47, but Master Valco shortened it to 47. He created me using ideas from borrowed NASA plans, but for the most part I am my own original. I am Master Valco's second-in-command, and have been my whole life."

For a supervillain, Laraxis seems awfully distracted by things that don't matter.

Polo made his way back into the armory, scanning the inventory as he went, mentally noting through available weapons and configurations as he tried to get his mind off his internal frustrations. Even though he had little intention of actually utilizing anything that Laraxis had provided, it would certainly be useful to see what the mastermind may have thought would be useful to the resident cyborg.

Walking past, Polo took note of the rather flamboyant session of dress-up currently being indulged by several of the operatives, and rolled his eyes so hard he might as well have flipped himself over.

This entire enterprise simply reeked of inefficiency, so much so that Polo could hardly stand it.

On the one hand, Laraxis had a state-of-the-art armory, the technical know-how to create a fully-functioning, albeit subservient artificial intelligence, and enough silicon running through this place to power a mission to mars.

On the other hand, this man was emotional, prone to outbursts, obsessive about tea sets, and apparently enjoyed thinking about color-coordinated operative costuming in his spare time.

This was a discrepancy which Polo just couldn't wrap his head around. Unlike Laraxis, everything in his life had a place. Everything had a spot. It needed to do more than simply work properly - It had to sing. When something was out of place, wasn't working quite right, Polo had an overwhelming need to fix it, to make it right. It was an inclination that he would have assumed another technologically-inclined individual to have.

Instead, there was little here but paradox, a random assemblage of pieces that simply looked like an organization.

While Polo never would have considered Laraxis to be the emblematic symbol of stability, he certainly would have expected more cunning and control from someone who Cyrus believed to be a considerable threat. Instead, this situation seemed more, to Polo, to just be the actions of a petulant child who had lost a loved one, and decided to enact his own vengeance against the rest of the world.

To Polo, Laraxis was little more than someone playing at superiority - And this, perhaps was the clue to Laraxis' interest in him.

When you are but pretending to be superior, nothing is more attractive to you than someone who embodies the genuine article.

Polo took note of a small side-room that the AI, "Forty-Seven," had quickly ducked into, carrying a duffel bag of unknown contents.

He ducked out of sight as the bot left the room, making its way back toward the armory lockers towards where Citrine and Cheshire had been changing. With the hostess gone, Polo made his way to the door.

It was a deceptively simple hack to open the lock, and with an infrared, night vision, and super-heat scan of the room, Polo didn't see any physical sensors or alarms.

Cocky son of a bitch, aren't you, Laraxis?

He entered into the room, and noticed what looked like dozens of filing cabinets, mostly unmarked. On a whim, he tried one of the drawers.

Locked.

It seemed that his curiosity would go unrewarded.

Still, he took a quick peek into the duffel bag, finding an obscene number of wallets within, each with a different ID badge and a few hundred dollars in cash.

How desperate have these operatives been, if this was all that would be needed to convince them to come along?

Polo scanned a few of the cards into his database for later, being sure to replace them into their wallets. He didn't take any of the cash, however.

He was certain that these cabinets held secrets that he would most definitely find interesting, but without the proper tools, he'd be at a disadvantage.

Which, of course, gave him an idea.

He left the room, locking the door, and made his way back to the armory. Looking past the hand weapons and firearms, the explosives and grapnel gear, he finally found the materials section in the back, filled with odds and ends.

Sweeping an open space, he began a quick "shopping session," picking up what looked like a random assemblage of parts, before piling the pieces at the table and setting his skills to work at a small scale.

In about ten minutes, he'd pieced together what looked like a thick pen, capped with a convincing pen cap. He slipped the device into his pocket, but wasn't about to rush back to the room.

Instead, he meandered back to his locker, finally looking inside to see what awaited him.

Opening the door, he found only a small piece of paper. A blank check. At the bottom was Laraxis' signature.

In the memo, it said only, "An Expression of Trust."

Polo smirked, and slipped the check into his pocket before closing the locker door. Though it was, of course, symbolic, the gesture was an interesting one.

And, thought Polo. A pretty big mistake.

"Ah, the notorious Arsenic and Ghost. Any complaints to add, or can I continue?" Ghost snorted at the description; he of all people would hopefully not be such a thing. For someone whose specialty was not being seen he shouldn't be very well known at all. He made a rolling motion with his hand to show he had nothing to say, which was not necessarily true but he had little to say that would actually add to the conversation. He looked up to the strangely-dressed man as the talking continued, many different voices adding more and more contributions both insightful and meaningless.

His memory dribbled back to him the more he observed his fellow former Operatives. Hannibal droned on toward their host and Ghost. He barely paid attention to him, instead looking around aimlessly. He was glad, at least, he had misinterpreted what the man had said and was not going to have to go to Russia. He did not like the idea of stealing from the American Government, as his kind was already their most wanted, but it seemed he had little choice. As the man went on, he wondered what the man would think to offer him. He cared little for money or personal possession, as he could get his hands on practically whatever he wanted on his own.

The quiet man was lost to his own musings as the conversation went in circles. He looked at each person in turn as they spook, each comment making him remember more about who spoke them. Hannibal's continued rambling reminded him that the beast was actually much more well-rounded than his appearance led them to believe. It was, however, just another dot on his ego chart, and his arrogant tone and swagger left a bitter taste in Ghost’s mouth. Citrine was an ambiguous figure to him. He knew she could sense him whenever he was invisible to due her empathetic abilities, and that kind of knowledge made him uneasy. Still, if he remembered correctly she was pretty agreeable. Cheshire was just an odd ball who Ghost had never understood. Arsenic was an angry one, but he couldn’t remember ever being the source of her ire. Altar had one of those techno abilities that he never trusted, and he seemed to accept being under this man’s thumb too easily for Ghost to like.

Hannibal's departure did not surprise him in the least. Ghost watched him go, hoping that that the beast didn’t take their only way of viable escape, but something told him he wouldn’t get out of this that easily. Laraxis might not be able to pull the trigger on Hannibal but that didn’t change his own situation. The group was dismissed, and Ghost trailed behind in a fashion befitting his code name.

The armory was just as he expected it; stocked to the brim. A multitude of guns graced the walls and glass cases, as well as more than a few martial weapons. Ghost himself had never specialized with any archaic weapons himself and he held the belief that they were useless for someone like him who fought enemies that wielded guns. At her seemed interest he remember that Citrine wielded such a weapon and that she knew how to use it. He was much more drawn to the case of small automatic weapons, which held a sinister looking uzi that caught his eye. His gaze lingered on the case before he shambled his way over to the locker that read his name.

After observing the others, Ghost placed his hand on the locker and it pinged open. “Look! Look! I'm the Cheshire Cat!” His head swiveled lazily to take in the sight of the woman in comically colored clothes. He saw Citrine’s coat, quite similar, and held back a groan as he wondered what was within his own locker. A large sheet with cut out holes, perhaps?

He swung the door open, and pulled out a clear rain poncho. He snorted as he realised it must have been a joke because there was more behind it. Most of the clothing given to him was, shockingly, white. He rolled his eyes, preferring the clothing he was already wearing over the ‘luxurious’ clothing being offered. He rolled his eyes, pawing passed the jacket and horrendously matching pants to see if there was anything useful inside. FInding nothing, he closed it and strolled to the case containing a few machine pistols. “Maybe you’re right, Cheshire, and were all going to be supervillains.” He said over his shoulders in reference to the outfits.

“Maybe you’re right, Cheshire," said Ghost over his shoulder. "And were all going to be super-villains.” Their transparent friend seemed particularly interested in a case of machine pistols.

"Or maybe we already are," said Polo, closing the locker door. He turned to the others.

"It's no coincidence that Laraxis up there is trying to round up a squad. I mean, the guy is even more transparent than you, Ghost. He wants to rule the world, and use us to do it. Whether we do that by choice or by force, the result is the same."

Polo leaned against the locker, but pulled his phone from his pocket. He started spinning it over and over in his hand. A strange habit, to be sure, but one he indulged in often, especially when he was thinking over something.

Or, when trying to avoid thinking about something.

These operatives were an interesting group. Each with extraordinary capabilities, but each with a painful past, difficult memories, suppressing past sins in an attempt at a normal life that had been robbed from them years ago. They each of them were broken, in a way, and the idea that they could be more than the hunted outcasts society told them they were was surely a welcome thought.

"I mean," said Polo. "You've got to admit that a part of Laraxis' plan sounds at least good on the surface, right? Bringing us into the fold, telling us that we're destined to rule over our lessers in some grand plan of the superiors finally being given the recognition we deserve? It all sounds so perversely romantic, don't you think?"

Arsenic scowled at 47 who had decided it was okay to answer a question that wasn’t meant for her. The angry blonde never liked robots, too…predictable. Technology is amazing nowadays, but you always know what robots will do, because they are programmed to do stuff a special way. Or at least the robots at the toothpaste factory that screw on caps are predictable. Arsenic could cringe at her inability to make a good argument.

“Maybe you’re right, Cheshire, and we’re all going to be supervillians.” Ghost said – Ghost, the invisible one that scared Arsenic as invisibility was a useful to the beholder and incredibly dangerous for the one being spied on.

The chemistry genius rolled the word on her tongue, swirling it around like spittle and tasting it. Arsenic, the super-villian. Nope, no spark, no desire; nothing. Arsenic shrugged, she didn’t want to be a supervillian or a superhero. She just wanted to be a freaking person.

Arsenic listened intently when Polo analyzed Laraxis’ goals and Arsenic knew what Laraxis’ aim was, but she didn’t care. It was tiring living this life; Arsenic wanted to run to her moms and just be held as she cried in their arms. Do they think of her sometimes? Did they move on or are they still hanging on every lead of her whereabouts? When Operatives are accepted, Arsenic can return home to her family and remember what it felt like to be loved.

“I don’t care about all this.” Arsenic said aloud, licking her lips and turning her eyes on Polo, “I just want to be with my family again. And if I have to help a psychopath to get there, I will.”

Though, in her mind, Arsenic was thinking of slipping hemlock in Laraxis’ precious teacup once he was no longer useful, but detrimental, to her.

Cheshire stopped her spinning the moment that Ghost agreed with her. It felt nice to have someone agree with her. She decided to sit down on the bench that wasn't far from the lockers. She leaned back dangerously as she listened to the others speak. The girl walked in and apparently wasn't even a girl, that was fascinating. "Super-villains focused on taking some doomsday device so we can take the world hostage and gain acceptance. That sounds like a movie I've seen. If I remember right it didn't end so happily for the bad guys."

She shook her head wildly dislodging the cat ears partially from her head. She took the time to adjust them properly. "We're too smart to let that happen though, right?" She looked cheerily at Citrine. "I wish Hannibal hadn't gone off and pissed off Laxxy. He was always a good guy to have on the team, and I'd rather not have to fight him. He's too tough. My electricity takes too long on him."

She then stood up and paced around 47. She was so cool. Cheshire poked her a few times to test her reaction and how she felt. "So cool. You even have kind of a personality. You feel real. If it weren't for your voice I'm sure you'd convince a random Joe off the street you were a real human. Forty-seven's kind of a boring name." She looked over the girl. "You look more like a Jenny to me. That's easier to say too, and what if the number forty-seven comes up in a conversation and you happen to be around it, but we aren't talking about you? At least Jenny identifies you. Forty-seven makes it sound like you're just the forty-seventh in a line of... of forty-seven."

"Is that a costume? Are we going to kill them in cosplay? Sounds like fun." Cheshire asked blankly, not understanding the humor Citrine found so evident.

Citrine discreetly rolled her eyes and examined the jacket using the criteria Cheshire offered. In a word, she supposed it was cosplay. But... She liked it. It wasn't the costume that attracted her but the iconic symbol behind it. A stone-cold killer. And with a katana, no less. Not that The Bride had intentionally become a goddess of worship to her, but being tossed on the the death row that was Obsidian she found solace in anything romanticizing her lifestyle. The only thing they forgot in the film was the irreversible degrading of the soul with each murder. Citrine rationalized hers died a long time ago, and never bothered herself with the question again.

The conversation taking place around the lockers was intriguing, to say the least. Citrine had mixed feeling about seeing everyone, but at least she could count herself among family. Brethren, maybe. If one Operative were to slice up the other it was to be expected, and moderately preventable. Citrine would take no hard feelings either way. Although 47 beat her to responding to Arsenic, she didn't seem to enjoy the lackey comment Citrine quipped back at her. The ex-con merely smirked, remembering that bit of trivia for later. The robot child was a fascinating work of technology, almost acting like it had it's own soul. But Citrine knew better, and knowing a little about Laraxis made her suspicious of the thing. She listened idly as 47 finished. "I am Master Valco's second-in-command, and have been my whole life."

"That's lovely, 47. I'm truly honored to be the in the presence of Laraxis' most esteemed... Mm, lackey." She smirked, a humorous tone to her voice. "But I'd prefer to answer my own questions. Arsenic needed a more exciting tale than that, and I was prepared to mention a dragon." She said, sarcasm lavishing her words.

The armory quickly filled with more Operatives, Ghost using his talent to glide in behind them. His nickname certainly suited him well. Alter stalked in as well, a purpose in his step. Citrine was honestly too fascinated by her gifts to notice Arsenic's bullet shot or Alter's mysterious assemblage of parts. Blame her ADHD. She looked further into her locker to see objects wrapped in tissue paper, disguising their true identity. She picked up one in her palm, tossing it in the air a few inches. It had a solid weight, definitely metallic. Citrine felt the grooves of the device through the layers of paper, enjoying the self-created mystery.

To Ghost's sarcasm Alter offered a comment that analyzed their situation quite nicely. "You've got to admit that a part of Laraxis' plan sounds at least good on the surface, right?" Citrine merely nodded, following the conversation closely. It was a relief to hear opinions cynical like hers.

While Arsenic mentioned a rather noble reason to comply with Laraxis, Cheshire gave her a look after depicting a likely demise. "We're too smart to let that happen though, right?" A wide grin flashed across her face.

Sweatdrop. "Of course." Citrine winked, casually playing off her true feelings. This would probably get them all killed, honestly.

Cheshire continued undeterred. "I wish Hannibal hadn't gone off and pissed off Laxxy. He was always a good guy to have on the team, and I'd rather not have to fight him. He's too tough. My electricity takes too long on him."

"You have a point, kitty." The blonde licked her lips hopefully. "But just think, we might have the sincere pleasure of facing a true monster in combat. A challenge. None of those boring bullet-armored humans." She wrinkled her nose.

She closed her locker with a click, planning to rifle through it's remaining contents later. Her gaze played across the room before settling on Alter, particularly his pocket. It was with casual fascination she eyed it, maybe with a dash of suspicion mixed in. He assembled it in record timing, one thing she'll never understand with the techy types. Curiosity almost spoke for her as she cocked a brow. "What, pray tell, is that device?"

"You have a point, kitty." Citrine licked her lips hopefully. "But just think, we might have the sincere pleasure of facing a true monster in combat. A challenge. None of those boring bullet-armored humans." She wrinkled her nose.

As one of the few "unpowered" operatives on the team, Polo took a mild offense to that. While he'd always been on the outskirts of the teams, he'd more than earned his stripes time and time again, despite lacking any more durability than any other so-called "boring human." His tech often did the work for him, and so he fought with his brain much more than with his brawn.

This also made the possibility of facing down Hannibal a rather withering concept.

What interested Polo more, though, was the concept that Citrine seemed to see herself as more than the "normal" humans out there, and that was cause for concern.

Polo knew that that was the biggest concern. As soon as Laraxis was able to play into those feelings of inferiority, able to pull those strings enough to create more friction between the operatives and the "normals" out there... He could tell that these kinds of feelings were sure to bubble to the surface.

But that kind of thinking was dangerous.

As soon as they started to actually believe that they were greater, different, and just plain better than the rest of humanity, it would be extremely difficult to keep that kind of thinking in check.

It's one thing to have a bigger stick than those around you. It's a different issue entirely when you feel justified in swinging it at someone else.

Polo noticed that Citrine seemed especially interested in him rather suddenly, but after an awkward moment of realization, he understood that she'd seen him slip his earlier assemblage into his pocket.

Missed opportunity for an awkward joke, it seemed.

"What, pray tell, is that device?" she asked brashly.

Polo drew the device from his pocket. To the layman, it simply looked like a a thick pen, a silver tube with a pen cap on the top. Polo removed the cap, revealing a thinner cylinder, which looked like it could be inserted into something.

"This," said Polo, trying not to sound smug. "Is a skeleton key."

He pointed at the smaller cylinder. "Insert this into any analog lock, and it will properly scan, and resize itself to fit." He pointed at a series of indentations along the top. "These adjustable teeth will alter themselves to the auto scan and automatically raise to fit the pins, which provides the ability to open any door automatically."

He spun the device in his hand before replacing the cap.

"Luckily for me," he said with a smirk. "The device is linked to my person. Anyone else is going to find it rather useless."