Interacting with: @Polyphemus@RumikoOhara

Settled in a seat over one of the wings Maeve was content to watch the engines of the jet work for a time. Everyone else who had showed seemed solemn and quiet and so she personally felt like chatting, could read her comrades well enough to know that silence was the best bet for the Succubus to not get labeled as callous and cold.

Oddie was missing so that would have been her only opportunity for normal conversation. He didn’t have reactions the way modern people did.

However as the topic was broached Maeve’s eyes flickered to the TV screens. The Skeleton appeared to be very strong. Slender fingers came up to cradle the Succubus’ face as she considered the problem at hand. Really she’d be doing very little in either situation. Unless she was close enough to influence Neddy she’d be in the back of the action.

Her powers MIGHT work on the skeleton, but then did she particularly WANT that feeling all hot and bothered for her?

Warm brown eyes flickered to Friction, a brow arching, her thoughts apparent on her face. The two women did have a bit of a competition going on about their powers of attraction. Did Friction want to attempt something with the skeleton man?

Maeve instantly broke into a smile (not the best time considering the circumstances) at the thought of the blonde being fondled by the skeleton and brought a hand up to cover her mouth to keep laughter from escaping.

Finally under control again the Succubus murmured “I’ll be happy going either way. The Skeleton looks interesting but he wasn’t the reason we were initially called in… I suppose we should stick to the plan as it were…”

Prototype 2

---

It was easy enough to stay unnoticed among the crowd in the airport, for the Champions were not looking for Prototype or even knew she existed. Planting what few bombs Maxwell smuggled in with her was easier still, for the security in the airpost was laughably weak. The plan was simple enough, wait for the Champions to come, and either blow up their plane or the airport itself. Blowing up the plane would be significantly harder to do, with a more immediate effect, but Maxwell was loathe to risk his only unit. So all he had to do was get Prototype to blow up the airport using some timed explosives, just a short time after the Champions left. Long enough so the Champions don't notice, but short enough so their jet leaving could feasibly be linked to the explosion. The best part about this plan was that they didn't even need to plan cold hard evidence implicating the Champions; the general public, in its blind hate after the Nagoya incident, would pin the blame almost immediately on the Champions. Once convinced they were right, not even facts and hard evidence could dissuade them.

Prototype however, had something much more important on her mind, though anyone passing by would think she was just spaced out. Having been told to buy a drink from a vending machine so she could blend in, she had initially balked at the thought of drinking something that fizzled when she opened it. After all, who in the right mind would drink something that hissed at them? After some angry words from her implanted earpiece, she braced herself for the taste, and took a sip. It was... far beyond anything she had ever tasted, even better than those delicious packed nutrients Maxwell gave her whenever she did well. It danced upon her tongue like a live thing, and yet tasted clear and sweet. It tasted clear. Those words kept looping in her mind whenever she took another sip of the ambrosial drink.

"All of the Champions should be in that jet now." Maxwell spoke, his voice slightly distorted through the earpiece. "You did plant all four of the explosives and staggered their countdown right?"

"Hmm."

"Press it... now."

The far end of the airport exploded, though only a slightly muffled sound and tremor reached the area she was in. Ten seconds later, another bomb exploded, nearer this time, exploding a small group of people into chunks of limb and flesh.

"Alright, now follow the crowd out, get the plane and I'll see about your next objective."

"Hmm."

With that she ran out with the frenzied crowd, running at their pace, careful not to accidentally show her abilities. There were more parts to his plans, but she was privy to none of them. Already she could hear anguished screams in Japanese, some wondering why this had to happen, some wondering why the Champions did not save them, and some wondering if this was some sort of revenge plot. A volatile crowd, needing only one spark to light them. Just one rumor, to rile them up. That was not her role, there were many among the public, especially now, that would gladly spread rumors and slander.

Now all she had to do, was ensure their efforts in Australia was thwarted.

The Jack sat rigidly in his seat, fully suited up but unable to do much for the moment. He tried to weigh times in his head, wondering weather the Champions could beat Ned to Andamooka. The pace was, by his reckoning, 14 hours drive from Melbourne. It was reasonable to expect the villain to get his hands on a car or truck, but probably not something faster. The uncertainty was how long it had taken him to evade pursuit and find himself some transport.

The Champions, on the other hand, could move much more quickly. A flight from Japan to central Australia took about nine hours, but could their private jet go faster? Then there was the question of how long it had been before they had been notified. Ned had slipped his bounds and disappeared before anyone had called the Champions. How much of a head start did he get while the local authorities tried to nab him themselves?

It would be a near thing, he thought. Maybe they could get there first, but it wouldn't be by much.

"I think you're right" Jackson asserted. "We came here to deal with Tinhead Ned. That's what we were asked to do, so that should be our first priority. It doesn't look good for the Champions if we leave that to go and chase after something else. We need to show the world that we can be relied upon and trusted, not rushing off after every shiny thing that crosses our vision."

The taxi left Mina in front of a large, new-looking building with walls of windows. Duffle bag in hand, she entered the airport and made her way to the private jets. A slight concern of being recognized lurked in the back of her mind, but she reminded herself that she had spent the most reputation-ruining parts of her superhero career in camouflage. The only reason for people to give her a second glance was to look at her long green hair, perfectly matching her eyes.

Mina didn't know Red Jack well, but she recognized his family helm on large red-and-white jet. She couldn't have ignored that beauty even if she'd tried. Her awe heightened with each step she took up and into the jet. The interior was even more lavish, with even the flight attendants meeting the apparent criteria of being eye candy. "Hey," she gave a slight nod at the other team members as she saw them, omitting their names because she couldn't remember all of them. She dumped her duffle bag near a wall and sank into a nearby leather couch, watching a pale dark-haired girl bringing Red Jack a drink. A handsome blonde man walked past her towards her bag, appearing to want to put it away. She asked him, "Could you get me a white wine please? Chardonnay if you have any, otherwise anything's fine." She needed to bring her mind back to earth a bit after spending a week out of the loop, camouflaging in and out of the stuffy hotel. Maybe some alcohol would help to quiet the residual feeling of doom.

She quickly finished the wine and began to close her eyes, listening to the ambient noise of the plane and the sounds of others settling in. She kept her eyes closed through Jack's speech, but opened them as the discussion unfolded. "I agree that we should act now, before the Champions can steal our thunder."

If travel had been undertaken with as much haste as his trip to Tokyo had back in his day then it never would have taken him ten years to get home from Troy. Then again he would have gladly traded a couple of those gained hours for a more sedate journey were he didn't have have to white-knuckle his way through a flight, consciously and consistently willing the plane to stay in the air. No matter how many trips by plane he undertook, he still couldn't shake the conviction that man wasn't meant to fly. If they were then what was Icarus's bleached bones doing at the bottom of the Aegean?

Still, the trip went without incident, and before he knew it he was delivered safely unto the bosom of the offices of the Prime Minister.

Straight into the belly of the beast.

He received several dark looks from security staff, no doubt concerning the sword that was belted around his waist, but he politely yet resolutely refused to relinquish the weapon. Not that he was particularly attached to the blade. In fact he preferred to stay at the polite distance of a bowshot when it came to battle, but a sword was a handy signifier of his – former - political office. The sword lent him a royal air, even while wearing the nondescript yet excellently tailored dark suit and tie he had chosen to don for the meeting.

He wasn't kept waiting outside the meeting room for longer than a minute, which was worrying. Usually committees like this would keep visitors like him waiting for an age, using the wasted time as a juvenile power-play, reminding everyone of just who held the most influence. The fact that they'd abandoned the tactic showed that they really meant business.

The meeting place was an elegant room, one long window displaying a quiet exquisite view of Tokyo's early evening skyline. Odysseus's could hardly spare a look for the lavish scenery however, as his attention was instead fixed upon the rooms occupants. Nineteen men and women, no doubt some of the most politically powerful members of Japan's government. He wished he had time to study them in more depth earlier, to have researched their strengths and weaknesses so as to give him some kind of advantage, but this meeting had been so rushed he'd hadn't the chance. He hated going in blind, but there was nothing else for it.

Sad fact, but life was just a series of doing things you hated.

Odysseus declined to return the ministers bows, instead gracing them the merest dip of his head. A king does not bow, the gesture said. Which was utter dung of course. Kings possessed the exact same capacity to bow as any other man. Agamemnon used to make him bow every time they passed each other in a hallway. It was all a ploy though. If their initial impression of him was one of a haughty cur, then any concessions he made them later would seem far more harder won.

He undid the buckle of his sword-belt before looping it over the back of the proffered chair, his movements slow and deliberate, before seating himself.

“Comfortable enough, Prime Minister, thank you. My apologies that I cam alone, but my comrades find themselves currently employed in tracking down and capturing the villain Tinhead Ned. I say capture, but re-capture seems more apt. After all, we already seized the cur once before, but it seems the Australian's misplaced him, and lack the capacity to apprehend him without our specialized help.” He smiled apologetically. Let that serve to remind them that, like it or not, there were still men and women out there that the government's conventional forces just couldn't match.

Like it or not, they still needed the Champions.

Refreshments were brought forward while the Prime Minister asked if he'd prepared a statement. Again Odysseus inwardly cursed how rushed all this had been. He could come out with any number of statements, but without knowing what the exact intention of this meeting was then the chances where high that he'd be addressing all the wrong points, which would be worse than addressing none of them. It would make him look like a fool, and potentially ruin whatever credential that the Champions had left. No, better to let them open. Surrendering the initiative went against everything he knew about both war and politics, but sometimes a man had to take a backwards step to give himself room to attack. There was nothing else for it.

"With respect, you invited me here, not the other way around. It seems only right that you begin Prime Minister."

@Sterling



When Maeve said I’ll be happy going either way." Cypress laughed sweetly then added

"The Tin Head was promised the first dance so I'm with Maeve all the way" Then the leggy leather clad blonde leaned back and pulled out her specialized phone and opened a channel to her fan Web site and asked for information on Tin Head Ned. Sure she could have looked up the information on her own but this allowed her fans to feel involved.

at would have taken time where this was often instant.

Her fan club was based online and world wide which meant there was always someone on and most times thirty or more. They ranged in age from 16 to 50+ years old an were metaphile having in depth knowledge of those gifted members of humanity.

Cypress used the research method often due to it's reliability an speed but also to allow her fans to feel helpful. She loved her fans and being among them and could care less how the media and outsiders interrupted it. She loved listening to them an reading their posts and like any performer loved the adulation.

She knew that 78% of her fans were male and how it ticked off feminist who wanted to clothe her in proper Victorian fashion or so it seemed. She could see how they thought she was too exposed because their fashion sense told them she was; and in her opinion too much competition.

Shaking off such thoughts about such annoying people Cy pulled up a packet of swimsuit photos she'd finished two weeks ago and prepped them to send as soon as she was engaged in combat.

Patrick's trip through the city had been quiet and simple. He had switched out of his "costume" and into his civilian clothes while he was making his way out of the building. Without his skin tight bodysuit he looked like an average tourist, and it was easy enough to hail a cab. The ride was surprisingly calm, though they had to take a few detours due to the destruction that had been wrought upon the city. Soon enough he was dropped off at the airport.

He hesitated for a moment as he entered, his eyes sliding from Jack's extravagant jet to the much more plain one under the control of the Champions. The hesitation passed quickly however, he had made his choice and he knew that it was the one that needed to be made. Focusing his eyes on the Splinter group's jet he made his way over and up the stairs. Upon entry he made brief eye contact with the various members and gave them all a slight nod before making his way to the very back of the jet.

As he settled into his seat he let his eyes roam the interior of the aircraft. He had never had the opportunity to enter it prior to this night and he found himself a bit overwhelmed. The seats were too comfortable, the colors too bright, everything was just too much for the man accustomed to maintaining a relatively low profile. However as he got used to the layout, and let his eyes linger on a few of the extravagant attendants on board, he felt his nerves calm a bit.

The last remnants of his worry were washed away as Jack began speaking. Patrick's lips formed into a tight line at the mention of a secondary concern that demanded their attention in Australia. He was not a man fond of unknowns, especially one that had already been proven to be resistent to bullet fire even if his were a much higher caliber. Tinhead on the other hand was a known advesary, and one that he knew he could do damage to without a doubt. The entire reason for deciding to go to Australia, for him, and been the fact that they could show the Champions that just because they were no longer a single group it did not mean that they had to be opposing forces. With this thought in mind he spoke his peace.

"I know I may be a minority when I say this, but I think we should send at least one memba to backup tha others with ol' Tinhead. We all had our reasons for splitting off, but for maself it had nothing to do with an issue with the others and I would like them to know that just because we are no longer together that doesn't mean we aren't on tha same side anymore. It should either be Wilbur or maself who go, while tha other helps with tha skeleton."

His piece said Patrick fell silent once more, even waving off the attendant offering him refreshments.

Interacting with: @GreenGoat

The broadcast seemed to be intended for Japan, but ultimately it also covered the Korean Peninsula, Taiwan, and parts of China and Russia.

At exactly 1900 Tokyo time, all televisions in the affected area abruptly stopped displaying whatever they had been set to, instead showing a blank black screen. Music played softly- some recognized it as a piece from Wagner's Götterdämmerung. The funeral march played at the death of Siegfried, the greatest of all heroes.

WHO ARE THE CHAMPIONS? A block of text in both Japanese and English asked.

Photos and film of victims carried out of the rubble from both the hotel and more recently Chūbu Airport.

MURDERERS.

More photos and clips, of Champions refusing interviews. The funeral march climbed in volume.

LIARS.

Film of the splinter group announcing their seperation from the larger group.

HYPOCRITES.

Film of both the Champions jet and the Cochran family jet taking off, minutes before the explosions at the airport.

COWARDS.

Wagner's brass soared.

PEOPLE OF JAPAN, VICTIMS OF THE WORLD, YOU WILL BE AVENGED. THEY WILL PAY FOR THEIR CRIMES IN BLOOD.

THE PHALANX SWEARS IT.

With a final triumphant swell of brass and timpani, these words lingered on the screen a moment longer before the broadcast ended as abruptly as it began. Normal programming resumed immediately, leaving more than one person desperately confused- and others desperately concerned.

Attempts to trace the broadcast were immediately flummoxed. Someone had very cleverly manipulated satellite and internet systems to hide their tracks. It would take a true technological genius to pierce the morass and find exactly where this Phalanx broadcasted from. Someone like Maxwell Donovan.

OFFICE OF THE PRIME MINISTER
1901 LOCAL TIME

Interacting with: @BlackSam3091

The Prime Minister nodded sagely, before rubbing at his temples. "Thank you for coming to speak, Your Highness. We had hoped more of you might attend, to make a case against what we might do. We find their absence disheartening, to say the least. They have no interest in defending themselves from criticism. Simply put, we had hoped to understand your side of the tragic events that occurred last week. We are government officials, we cannot pretend that we are familiar with the duties or responsibilities of the superhero community. It was our hope that you might perhaps enlighten us, to make us understand why so many lives were lost. . ."

The PM gave a prolonged sigh. "Your Highness, our duty is first and foremost to the people of Japan. All of us in this room have sworn an oath to work towards the welfare of this country, to preserve the peace and prosperity that has made us a model among nations. We deeply respect your commitment to justice, but unfortunately that commitment has run counter to our duty to preserve public safety. Our citizens have voiced their displeasure, and it is our duty to listen. Accordingly, it is by joint decree of both this Cabinet and the Diet that the organization known as the Champions, as well as all offshoot and successor groups, are declared illegal. No Japanese may join you. You have 24 hours to leave the country or face arrest."

The PM sighed heavily, and regret was plain on the man's face. "You led a country at one point. You understand why this is necessary," he said flatly, speaking to Odysseus man to man. "Please, try to see it from our perspective."

RIMBAUD BUILDING
OMAHA, NEBRASKA, USA
815 LOCAL TIME

Interacting with: @Renny

At Mach 10 it took less than an hour of flight to reach Omaha, Nebraska, flying back into morning. It was the beginning of the day in the Midwestern city.

In years past, several big companies had chosen to move out of New York, Los Angeles, and other larger American cities. Supervillains always seemed to be targeting those cities, destroying good real estate as part of whatever fiendish plan they had, and that drove up the insurance and property values. More and more companies were finding it better to build their fancy and expensive skyscraper in Wichita or Mobile or, in this case, Omaha.

The Rimbaud Building was one such new addition to the cityscape of the city, a black glass and marble monolith rising above the flat prairie towards the Midwestern sky. The building, like the street below, was bright and bustling with workers just arriving at their job.

Closer examination revealed several polished black marble balconies adorning the penthouse office, and one door in particular open and welcoming. This door led into a spacious office suite, taking up much of the top floor and decorated in tasteful dark colors- more glass and black marble, with the rare splash of color.

Reynard was waiting for God Fist inside, in his same stylish black suit and designer sunglasses. "Good, you've arrived," he said pleasantly, the needlelike points of his teeth briefly visible as a smile crossed his face. "Ms. Hobs will see you now."

He led God Fist through a door labelled „Office of the CEO“ without knocking. Inside, a fortyish woman was bent over a chess set made of the same black marble and clear glass that seemed to dominate this entire building. Her face was furrowed in concentration, she hardly seemed to notice God Fist and Reynard's entrance. She was beautiful in that careful, elegant way that requires intense preparation and forethought. Her pale skin was a sharp contrast to her uniformly dark clothing. It seemed the only color on her entire person was her intense green eyes, which seemed to glow in the early morning light.

"Do you play chess?" she asked quietly, still looking down at the board. "I find it wakes me up better than a cup of coffee in the morning. It's stimulating to look at something, consider and control every possible outcome. It teaches you to avoid surprises in life." She looked up at God Fist and smiled pleasantly. "Here's an example. Let's say you're this knight." She reached down and made one simple, innocent move with the black knight on the board. "Seems simple enough. But look at this," she said with an excited wave to the rest of the board. The knight was now threatened by several of the white pawns. "Exposed to the enemy with no friends for protection. Free to be destroyed at White's whim."

She laughed abruptly, before shaking God Fist's hands. "I'm sorry, you must think I'm an old idiot. I invited you here all the way from Japan and I'm talking about my hobbies before I even introduce myself. I must be star-struck, I babble like a teenage girl every time I meet a celebrity. Lilith Hobs. Can we get you anything? Coffee? Tea?" She looked over God Fist's youthful features. "Soda, maybe? Reynard will get it for you. C'mon, let's chat." Lilith sat down in one of the comfortable black leather armchairs that littered the office, waved for God Fist to join her. Reynard stood at attention, looking more like a watchful guard than any kind of assistant.

"When I bought this company, it was nothing. Just a handful of guys working out of a garage in Council Bluffs. Now Milton Aeronautics is one of the biggest aircraft manufacturers and defense contractors in the world," Lilith said. "I'm not trying to brag. Just stating facts. I have money and power, sure. But in a moment, a flash of light or a bite from a spider or whatever it was that happened to you, you were given the capacity to change the world, to be a force for evil and good. In a second, you gained what took me twenty years to build. In the snap of a finger, I seemed irrelevant. That was new to me. Intimidating. And to be honest, a little exciting." Lilith leaned forwards, her brilliant green eyes open wide in honest wonder. "What a truly, truly incredible thing. I mean it. It really is wonderful. 'How many goodly creatures are there here! How beauteous mankind is! O brave new world, that has such people in ’t!' I have followed your career and that of your comrades with great interest. Trying to think of ways you might be of service to a higher power, a higher goal than just fighting purse snatchers. Superheroes such as yourselves are the best path to utopia- a planet of happy and prosperous people. No war, no strife, no hunger, no misery.”

Lilith leaned forwards and very gently touched the back of God Fist's hand. “So imagine just how much it hurts me to see you and your friends under attack and at each other's throats. Small minds who don't see your potential, your capacity for good. Jealous and fearful minds who distrust your power. And worst of all, those who profit from misery.” She shook her head.

“I know you have made mistakes. I can't pretend otherwise, and I can't imagine the guilt you feel. But there are still people who need God Fist, and the rest of the Champions. I can help you. I have friends all over, more money than I can spend. I can put them at your disposal.” She smiled effusively. “I might ask a favor once in a while in return, but nothing big. Nothing illegal, of course. Things for the good of everyone.”

“What do you say?”

LANDING STRIP
ANDAMOOKA, SOUTH AUSTRALIA, AUSTRALIA
120 LOCAL TIME

Interacting with: @Sterling@Iktomi@RumikoOhara@arca9@DFTBA@MrDidact@TheHangedMan@dragonmancer@EkkoRhodes

“That landing went better than I thought it would,” Gant d'Argent commented lightly, checking his heavy gloves and boots. In truth, the landing had been a near disaster- landing in pitch darkness on a dirt field with a large jet was not a recipe for success. It had been thanks to the skill of their pilot that they had got there in one piece.

“Well, let's review. It's a small town, around 500 people. Most of them work in the same opal mine, so it's close-knit. This means any outsiders will stand out immediately, so all we have to do is ask around. If anyone's even awake, that is,” Silver Glove mused to the team. “I'm mostly worried about the Splinter, it's more than possible they've gotten here at the same time as us. And whoever else might be trying to get their hands on Tinhead. Or us, for that matter. I don't think those explosions at the airport made us too many fans.”

With that, Gant d'Argent climbed down the stairway out of the plane to the packed dirt runway and immediately assumed a fighting stance. It might be paranoid, but in this business it was wise to be prepared for anything.

He was immediately blinded by dozens of headlights clicking to life, as well as the sound of numerous shotguns being pumped threateningly.

“Good one, Ulysse,” he muttered to himself. As his eyes adjusted to the light, he could make out a few more limited details of his immediate surroundings. Not enough to tell if the Cochran jet was also on the runway, or any other details about the town around him. But he could definitely see the motorcycles, and the armed men in leather vests pointing guns at him. Around forty of them. A motorcycle gang. He squinted through the headlights at their patches. Hellhounds MC. Of course. One of the Melbourne gangs Tinhead Ned had victimized back in his heyday. They had learned about Andamooka and had come here to exact their own vengeance. Of course, it seemed they would settle for fighting superheroes.

Gant d'Argent looked at the forty muscular men holding shotguns on him. “Put down your guns before I get angry,” he said.

“We have you surrounded,” one of the Hellhounds yelled back.

“You poor bastards,” Gant d'Argent said calmly. He rolled his shoulders, shook his fists before assuming his boxing stance. He didn't bother to look if the rest of his team was backing him up. “Any volunteers to go first?”

The standoff between the superheroes and the Hellhounds seemed ready to erupt into violence, but the opportunity never arrived. Instead Tinhead Ned arrived.

“Well, well, well,” an electronically distorted and amplified voice boomed out over the airfield. Everyone looked up to see the figure standing about fifty feet away from the bikies. Tinhead Ned's armor was clunky and graceless, a flat gunmetal gray and a cylindrical helmet that reminded people of a bucket. But there was no mistaking the vast arsenal of weapons the armor contained. Somehow, Ned Dryden had slipped past the police, bikies, and superheroes and dug up his armor.

“So what do we have here?” Tinhead Ned bellowed, clearly enjoying himself. “On one side, a bunch of maladjusted murdering larrikins. On the other, a motorcycle gang. All out here beyond the black stump and just begging for a beating. Strewth, it must be Christmas already.”

Tinhead Ned reached out, grabbed underneath the bumper of a parked panel van he had been standing besides. The servo motors of his armor groaned slightly as Tinhead Ned lifted the vehicle over his head without apparent effort. “C'mon mates, let's have a catch,” he cackled evilly as he hurled the van at the assembled group of Champions. Not even bothering to see where it landed, blue flames erupted beneath Tinhead Ned's boots, lifting him into the air. Speakers built into his armor began to broadcast a song. “Joker and the Thief”, by the Australian band Wolfmother.

“Come and get it, ya fuckin' drongos!” Tinhead Ned called. His wrist and shoulder mounted weapons began to take aim.

Michigan State Bank
Detroit, Michigan, U.S.A
11:45 P.M.

They were late. Eight men, five handguns, and twenty-three pounds of tannerite, supposedly hitting the local state bank at eleven o'clock, and like ever other true evildoer, they wasted time and were late. Gabriel let a slight sigh of annoyance slip past his lips and into the black cloth over his face, eyes staring at the wall with a bored gaze. He looked down at his arm, rolling the sleeve up to see the face and hands of the plastic watch, and with a glance up, allowed his muscles to sag. He'd gone through so much effort to make this perfect; this was now comparable to getting all spiffy for prom only to have your date not show. Hours had been spent rifling through his collection to find the perfect song, the pièce de résistance, and he had the disc sitting patiently in the portable player beside him. Now, they were a no sh-

Gabriel paused his train of thought, holding perfectly still as he strained to listen. He thought he'd heard them, muffled sounds hovering just at the edge of his hearing. Sure enough, there it was: the soft thud of someone, something, hitting the wall in front of him. A smile crept across his features, twisting the cloth over his face into a strange shape. He stood quickly unfolding from his cross legged position, and with barely contained excitement, he bent over to move the disc player, placing it on one of the large blocks of cash. Now dead center of the state bank's vault, the Phantom took over, and with a hand hovering lightly on the hand button, he waited patiently for the drop.

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOM!!!!!!!!!

Rubble flew, and a cloud of dust filled the vault's space as sirens wailed in the background. The Phantom, however, was unphased, a chunk of concrete flying through him as he waited for just the briefest of moments. Shrapnel fell to the floor, and as the coast seemed clear of flying rock, the vigilante phased back, pushing play as dust began to settle on his black hoodie and mask. Then, the fun truly began.

To say the robbers were confused was an understatement. One moment, a wall stood between them and immeasurable wealth; now, Rick Astley's hit song from the 80's was blasting at them while a black figure emerged from the white cloud of dust they had created. Guns were aimed, triggers were pulled, but the figure kept moving forward, reaching down and drawing the kukri at its hips as it closed in on the criminals. As the Phantom reached the first, the ski-masked man had already turn to run, finding his comrades in the way only briefly as the flat of a blade slapped the back side of his head, causing him to stoop as a swift kick was delivered to his rear. The man fell forward, and chaos ensued as he stumbled into another robber. A movement to the left, and the Phantom brought his left weapon back up to strike the pistol that had been aimed at him, knocking it away as he stepped in on the one man, bringing his right hand pommel down for multiple blows to the head. The poor sod crumpled quickly, and his friends had been too preoccupied and surprised to help him. His fall seemed to snap the others awake though, or maybe give them a clean shot, because in moments, two guns were again aimed at the Phantom.

He couldn't help it. As the bullets passed through the space he stood, his flesh untouched by the ballistics, he turned his head in the slowest, most dramatic way he could, staring at the two men who had made their brave attempt. With Rick still blasting in the background, he allowed his head the slightest tilt, shaking it in a disappointed way as he turned to face them. Their expressions were worth it, and doing his best to suppress the urge to bust out laughing, the Phantom moved towards them with purpose, Rick accompanying him with every step.

The rest had already turned and ran, and in a brief moment of quick judgement, they decided to do the same, one throwing his gun at the Phantom before spinning and making a full sprint into the night. The Phantom felt an urge to chase them, yes, but as he stood there, his clothes now a powdery white, the sirens wailing, and Rick singing, he finally gave in to the comedy if what had just happened. Stooped over and unconcerned with the unconcious man on the ground behind him, Gabriel began to laugh. He had just Rick-rolled a group of robbers during their bank heist, and the results had been priceless. Waiting enough for the chuckling to die down, he sheathed his weapons and walked over to the player, pausing his recording as he picked it up and tucked the device under his arm. One last satisfactory survey of his work, a quick nod, and he turned away, police sirens growing louder as he Phaedra through a wall and into the night.
__________________________

Mitch's Repairs & Oil Changes
Detroit, Michigan, U.S.A.
8:26 A.M.

"Yo, Gabe, get over here and get to work! We got a lady over here who needs her oil changed!"

Sitting up from his reading spot on one of the roller boards, Gabriel threw a glance in the direction of his boss, sitting his newspaper down with a begrudging groan as he stood up from his resting place. He was getting tired of this job. But he wasn't getting paid to be a vigilante, and something needed to pay the bills.

If only it wasn't oil.

Just Outside Perth, Australia. 8:36 am

“Hello?”

The Womb stood, unresponsive.

“Hello?” The shop clerk asked again.

The Womb remained unresponsive. Staring deeply into the television screens.

“Look mate, I checked the CCTV, you’ve been here all night. You haven’t moved a muscle. I don’t know what you want but I’m gonna have to ask you to leave. If you won’t leave, I’m callin’ the cops. It’s unsettling is what it is,”

“You’ll do no such thing, worm,” shot back The Womb, his eyes darting to the shop clerk. The shop clerk visibly jumped at the response. He had not expected The Womb to speak, let alone turn his attention to him. He had written the figure off as a looney yobbo. The Womb turned his whole body towards the shop clerk, his tall frame overpowering and coupled with the leather outfit, intimidating to boot.

“This is yer last chance,” said the clerk, shaking now from adrenaline and the thought of fighting or flight, “get outa here or I’m callin the cops, don’t even think about coming in cause I’ve got a shotgun in the back and so help me you fackin cu--” the clerk had been moving backwards towards the shop door as he spoke, but just as he had reached the knob The Womb sprang forwards and gripped him by the scruff of the neck, yanking him towards The Womb’s fleshless visage.

“What do you know about these, Champions?” asked The Womb forcefully.

“I-I dunno sir, I swear to god I dunno,” stammered the clerk.

“Tell me,” ordered The Womb.

“They’re a bunch of whack jobs, some of them are just regular joes, the others have got mad powers, some of em can fly, some can turn into dragons and all sorts. They’re a new thing, scientists are still figuring them out, I don’t know any more than that, please let me go, I won’t call the cops I was just bluffin fella, please” the clerk pleaded as his crotch became wet with urine.

“Their are others, no? Villains? They clashed in Japan. There are even some here. Tin Head Ned, yes? I saw it on the screens. Why do they fight?” asked The Womb.

“I dunno, they want power I guess. They don’t like the status quo, they want to see the world burn, I dunno man! I dunno, please!” the clerk was begging now.
“And what do you think about them? These heroes? These villains?” asked The Womb.

“I hate them those bloody bastards, they’re scary! They wreck towns, they’re callous. The Heroes are trying to help, but all they’re doing is enforcing state laws. Some of them even work for corporations. They’re unregulated. The villains are just as bad, exploiting people and extorting them. Enforcing for mafiosos. I’ve even heard some of the biker gangs in Oz and New Zealand have got some in the mix. They seem to be popping up more rapidly as time goes on. There’s no helping it, they’re here now, but I don’t like it. As far as I’m concerned they can rot in hell,” the clerk seemed to have forgotten himself for a moment, and had given a slightly impassioned speech, one that he had no doubt given before in his local pub.

The Womb was aghast. The closest thing he had ever encountered to another being like himself were some of the demons of old. Werewolves, vampires, Succubus, Elves, Dragons and the like. Some he had not directly encountered, but their marks on the earth he had seen for himself. Were these people the descendants of those mysterious folk? Could the children of The Womb finally be showing their true potential? Would he now face some real obstacles on his journey toward freedom for his children? Or would he find allies for his cause?

The Womb released the clerk who fell to the ground, his legs trembling so much they could no longer support him.

“Thank you child for your insights. I must ponder your words and all that I have learnt,” said The Womb, turning to his stolen motorcycle and reaching for the helmet.

Unknown to The Womb, across the road another shop owner had seen the encounter between The Womb and the shop clerk and had immediately called the police. Fearing a biker gang rampage in the area, the shop owner had thought to nip this problem in the bud. Just as The Womb looked as though he was leaving, two squad cars rounded the corner, making good use of the clear roads. They pulled up near The Womb and hopped out of the vehicles.

“Sir, stop there, you are under arrest for intimidation, harassment and assault. You are under suspicion for an altercation on Perth beach yesterday afternoon as well as first degree murder. Anything you say will be held against you you have the right to remain si--” The policemen were stopped mid sentence as The Womb held up his hands to halt them.

“Stop!” bellowed The Womb. The four policemen stopped in their tracks nervously, hands on guns and handcuffs, “you dare to call me, murderer? I, who gave you life? You, who wantonly destroy all that I created? So much so that you would even destroy yourselves? Hypocrites!” Yelled The Womb, his demeanor turning to rage, “Who then, polices you?” he pointed at them aggressively as they stood silent, waiting for the right moment, “Who better than the parent?”

The Womb charged forwards, tackling one of the officers. He was quick, far faster than the officers had banked on. They spun around to find The Womb clutching an officer from behind, and the officer's gun firmly gripped in The Womb’s hand. The officer struggled but The Womb’s grip was absolute.

“What are you to do now?” bartered The Womb, “Choose wisely. Your actions here will be used against you in your final judgement.”

@Polyphemus@RumikoOhara

Having easily and comfortably fallen asleep Maeve was startled when the landing gears of the jet were coming out. They were already in Australia? ! Sitting up in her seat she blearily pushed her hair out of her eyes and buckled her seat belt for what was not her most favorite landing.

Still making it to the ground in one piece the Succubus felt relieved. She didn’t think she’d die from a fall of this height, but certainly it would not be pleasant to experience. Oh …yeah. And some of her fellow Champions would most likely die. That would matter too.

Listening to Silver Glove review the details Maeve fiddled with the tray latched to the back of the seat in front of her. Small town having 500 people! Her village growing up was so much smaller… But then with modern medicine populations were more likely to grow and survive than they had in the Succubus’ childhood. But their ‘leader’ was right, strangers were immediately spotted and known in small communities like this.

A smile moved over her soft mouth. Not that she disliked being noticed.

With a sigh Maeve stood and stretched, letting a few of her companions take the stairs after Uly before going down herself.

Only to be completely taken aback by a pack of aggressive looking men. The Succubus smiled all the more and tried to look through the blearing lights to see who her new admirers were.

They were surrounded apparently. Maeve smirked, glancing to Friction who was nearby. “I haven’t been to a good orgy in SO long. Probably the 1970’s…” She commented, apparently unconcerned by the threat.

This train of thought was sadly cut off by static infused voice.

The reason they were in Australia at all sauntered into her line of sight. Apparently he had successfully found his suit. Maeve marveled at his ingenuity before wondering how close she’d have to be for him to feel all warm and fuzzy for the Succubus. Would the suit effect that?

“Maladjusted murdering larrikins?” Did she know the word Larrikin? But it didn’t matter because she had to run. No way she could catch the flying van and while it seemed likely that someone else would, it wasn’t really worth losing one’s legs over.

@Sterling@Polyphemus



Cypress laughed at Maeve's mention of an Orgy.

"You can keep the smelly lot of them I prefer my groups no larger than four at a time and of a softer persuasion on such occasions."

Then as she's prepping an area denial attack of the Bikers Tinhead pops up shooting off his mouth spewing insult at everyone around the site. Then for a brief moment she begins increasing the surface friction concentrating on all mobile joints so that he'd quickly find himself trapped in a hollow statue like shell; till he chucked the truck.

A smooth sidestep an fade back put Friction in the direct flight path of the vehicle turned missile. She timed her foot plant, torso twist and deflection slap with all her skill in Akido and her Inertia Manipulation to steal all but a fraction of it's velocity slamming it on the tarmac gently. But she doesn't stop there as she tracks Ned across the sky and reapplied the Van's former Inertial potential in a line intersecting his flight path.

She doesn't remain stationary as she uses her Inertia control to instantly accelerate into a pattern of maneuver akin to a pinball in an active bumper section. As she moves she begins to once more focus her Friction control on the flying bad guy.

Luckily for her the Bikers were preoccupied with too many targets to concentrate on her which helped her to focus on her primary target and taking him down. And though she appeared unconcerned the platinum blonde would have preferred Bikers over an armor jock any day of the week.

"YOU HAVE GOT TO BE KIDDING ME!!!!" Jack was on the phone with Damien, his father's steward. Damien's family had been vassals to House Cochran for thousands of years, and Damien had faithfully served Dad since before Jack was even born. With Dad and Jack out of the Manor so often, it was usually up to Damien and his brother Danny to actually run everything most of the time. The old winter elf replied, "It's all over the aether and the internet. There was an explosion right after you and the Champions left the airport. And now this Phalanx put out the word against you. They want your blood. Plus the Japanese have outlawed the presence of you and your comrades in their country." Jack fumed. Someone was trying to set them up. Someone was trying to challenge them. Well, if they wanted to play, Jack would play. They would regret the day they ever squared up against him.

Jack downed another beer, trying to calm himself while Cynthia rubbed his back, "Well if that's the case, they'll have blood. Oh you can be sure of that. Put out feelers to every tech genius, agency, and corporation we have our fingers in. Tell them if they can track that broadcast we'll make it worth their while. I think they have something to do with this airport bombing but I'm not sure. Put out the word to the local Youkai, they'll earn a good reward and the favor of Duke Cochran if they help us find out who did the bombing. Canvas the local cops too, I don't care how you do it, bribing, beating, or bedding just do it. I want to know everything there is to know about that bombing. I also want to issue a statement immediately, condemning the bombing and vowing to bring the perpetrators to justice. Have Theresa do it, she's good with public appearances. Also put in our strident objection to the Prime Minister's decision and forward our assertion that the government was responsible for Nagoya. It was their faulty intel and their shitty officers who ruined the whole deal. Have the publicity people put the hit pieces out on the internet through our friends in the press and have the politicians we own start making noise. Make sure the Foundation makes a donation to help repair for the airport, as well as pay for healthcare and funeral costs. Not for Nagoya, we'll admit to no responsibility for that. We've been getting hit in the media, it's time to fire back."

Jack's family had been vassals to Queen Mab of Winter since mankind lived in straw huts. They had been fighting wars and performing assassinations for millennia. They had money, power, influence, and plenty of it. The family had been taking their cut and applying pressure to human endeavors since the invention of the wheel. Their fingers were deep and the mortals didn't even know it. Jack might not be Duke Cochran, or even the heir, but he could pull strings of his own. He had let the whole affair get to him too much, distract him from his options, that had been a mistake. It was time to get his head on right and remember what he did to his enemies. Time to fight fire with fire. Damien had been writing everything down and replied, "Got it. We'll get to work on it right away. Your Dad has been friends with this local Oni chief for years, they worked together on some tough jobs, fought in some good battles. I'll see if he'd be willing to use his connections to help us out. Your Dad might not be pleased by all this though. He always said your involvement with these superheroes would bring trouble." Jack said, "Well remind Dad this a golden opportunity for us. If we're the first of the Families to break into the superhero craze and help set everything down, we'll have a huge advantage over the other Dukes. Besides, I'm his favorite." Damien laughed, "You remind me so much of him at your age. Very well, I'll sell it to the Duke. Anything else?" Jack thought on that. Was he missing anything?

He replied, "Yeah, put in a call to our knights, our sworn swords, our troubleshooters. Make sure everyone in the family is protected. Double the guard on all our houses. Pull all our heirs out of their schools, have them be privately tutored for the foreseeable future. Everyone who's on vacation, get them to a Keep immediately. Nobody in the family walks around without bodyguards. Call my Mom and invite her to stay at the Estate. If anyone so much as looks at one of my kin wrong, you make sure they get what's coming to them." This Phalanx seemed to have quite a bit of power themselves. He had to assume they knew all about his heritage and had the means to get to his family. He had to keep them safe.

Jack added, "Have another company sent through a Nether Gate to protect my sisters in Japan, with as many knights as can be spared. And call my sisters. Tell them to seduce all those ministers as soon as possible. I don't care if they do it or sic their handmaidens and squires on them. Just get it done. Most of them are older than those mortals but they look like high schoolers or coeds and those officials will be married, so get the pictures and video and post them all over the web. They have one day, so they can be as trashy and kinky as they want. Then, I want them all through that gate and back home by this time tomorrow. Mobilize my fans, quietly get them to start protesting the government. I want as much egg on their collective faces as possible."

Damien replied, "Acknowledged. And here I am missing the days when all you asked of me were keys to the cars." Jack laughed, "Just one more thing old friend. Put the word out in the hero and vigilante community. My team is looking for recruits. Thank you, I don't deserve you Damien." Damien dryly said, "No you do not sir. Good luck on your travels." Jack said goodbye and hung up the phone.

He turned to his team, "It's decided. I'll lead an away team to take care of this Skull guy, while Patrick helps the Champions against Tinhead Ned. We can engender some good will and we still have enough firepower to take this guy on between the rest of us. We land soon, get ready." The jet landed just before the Champions did so Jack and his team missed all the excitement with Tinhead Ned as he led them to find the new villain. Patrick was left behind at the airport to wait for the Champions to arrive.

Jack had managed to secure a car from the rental agency and he drove the team in a nice sturdy jeep to look for the skeleton. Not his usual style but in this case, functioned ruled over form. Checking his phone, he found the App that let him tap into the police band and listened in. Looked like the cops had stumbled onto Dem Bones already. Jack smiled at the team, "We got a lead, let's go save their bacon." It was a small town and they found the scene of the crime easily. Jack parked the jeep a block down and loaded his pistol with incendiary ammunition. This threat seemed magical in nature and it was an arcane truism that fire was often an effective weapon against Supernatural beasts. He got out of the car, "I'm gonna try and talk him down. You guys circle around and cut him off from all sides. If it comes to a fight, we got him caught in between us. See you on the other side."

Jack jogged down the street in his leather and steel, hand on his pistol. With his far-sighted eyes, he saw the Skeleton attacking a cop. The big guy seemed preoccupied so he jumped up onto a roof and quickly and quietly maneuvered behind him. Jack was lighter on his feet than any normal human so he silently stepped across the rooftops and landed behind the assailant with nary a sound. Then he drew his sword in one hand and shouted, "Put the officer down! This is your first and only warning. You are assaulting an agent of the law, and you have already murdered innocents. Do not put yourself in further jeopardy. I am Red Jack, scion of the Duke of Red and sworn sword to the Queen of Winter. You have my word that if you put the man down and yield peacefully, you will not be harmed and will face fair justice. Resist, and I will be forced to protect these officers at any means necessary, including destroying you. Resistance is futile, you are already a monster in the eyes of the human law. Even if you escape you will be hunted down until you are captured or destroyed forever. But yield now and there will be no further bloodshed. Make your choice quickly." Jack readied his sword and drew his pistol, ready to slash and burn the Skeleton into oblivion.

As he heard Jack chattering away nearby, Wilbur felt a thick sense of regret surge within him. The Japanese outright outlawing them... he was starting to wonder if he should have stayed behind to speak on behalf of the Splinter group. He had hoped someone else from their group would stand up to testify and that he wouldn't have to. After all, he was arguably one of the strongest parts of their splinter group, losing him would put them at a combatative disadvantage regarding this skeleton... no, he couldn't go and lose his focus now. For now, he just had to work with the team and act as their handyman for the upcoming job.

Once the jet landed, Wilbur hobbled off and looked toward the sky.
"And 3... 2... 1..." he murmured as his mighty mechanical vessel came soaring down from the sky and landed on the runway, just a few metres in front of him. He smiled as he approached the underbelly, it opening up to reveal the interior of the shell. Such a familiarity to him at this point, the steam that rose from the interior whenever it opened, the hiss of the shell's door opening to him and the small seat inside. He stepped inward and settled in, the door sealing behind him as the shell became operational. Once inside, the seat rose a bit so his head could get a clear view from the glass dome on its top, his main for of getting a visual on the fight. It was well protected at least, so he didn't have to worry about it breaking.

He set the shell into hover mode, two of its pulse engines activating on either side of the suit and allowing it to float comfortably in the air, a short distance off of it. He ran a quick diagnostic on the shell's system. It'd taken a bit of a toll in Nagoya, but he'd fixed her up good and proper. Ammo count was on point, his battery was at 97% charge rate, everything was running smoothly. A fine tuned and well oiled machine was always the key to victory, wherever Wilbur was concerned anyway. For now, they had a job to do and he made quick headway above his fellow heroes to spot where the incident was going on, refusing to take the car and insisting his mechanical shell would be faster. And it was, taking a path over the buildings beat the road, after all. He at least had Jack tell him his plan beforehand as he touched down at the scene.

"Listen to what he's saying, you're outnumbered and outgunned." Tortoise added to Jack's words as he took one point of exit to cover. He se his shell's trackers on the skeleton and did a little analysis on him, also getting a lock on should he need to attack him. He was picking up something strange in him, in his biology specifically. His molecular structure's movement was insanely high, to the point of ludicrousness. Of course, Wilbur had to account for magic, something his systems wouldn't be able to anaylyse too well. How DO you analyse magic, anyhow? In any case, his best bet was to use fire against him, one of the fastest methods of breaking down a molecular structure, particularly on a human. Of course, using the flamethrower whilst the area was crowded wasn't the best of strategies... no, he'd need to wait for the right moment and use his shell's large durable form to absorb any other kind of blows this guy might swing at them.

Just outside Perth, 9:10am

As The Womb had delivered his deadly ultimatum, a voice rang out behind him. With officers in front, and an assailant behind, The Womb thought it best to twist around to the left so that both parties were now facing his front, and he could see both threats clearly. Of course he dragged the officer with him, who was choked by the sudden movement.

This new arrival was walking forwards toward The Womb, glimmering sword in hand. “Halt!" he bellowed, "Any more movement and this lawman dies. If you are truly a hero, you would not risk such a thing, no?” The other officers looked nervous. All three had their guns drawn, yet were hesitant to fire against a comrade. One of them was already calling for backup and alerting the station of the situation and the Heroes that had made it to the scene. Another Hero waltzed up, this one clad in tortoise styled armour. It was plainly futuristic, and held tricks and wonders far beyond the standard weaponry of the average lawmen.

“You are here to uphold the Law? You must be one of these Heroes? Yes?” As The Womb spoke, the whirring of helicopter blades could be heard overhead. It seemed the local news had gotten wind of the situation, “welcome. It is a pleasure to meet you all. These men attacked me, and continue to assail me, I assume you would arrest them? Ah wait. You seek to uphold their laws. You do not seek moral justice. You seek to continue the status quo of this world. You must benefit from it in some way, yes? What if I told you all of their systems were an illusion? That you are simply propping up a system of suffering and pain? What if I told you there was another way? A higher strata of truth? Or, do you already know this? Are you villains in disguise? Manipulating their system for your own gain? Which is it, Heroes?”

The officers seemed unsettled by what The Womb was saying, their eyes darting towards the approaching Heroes. It was known to them their had been dissent in The Champions after the fallout from Nagoya. They began to question exactly what kind of situation they were really in.

Rimbaud Building
Omaha, Nebraska, USA. . . . @Polyphemus

Maxwell Donovan,
Location Unknown, Russia.

The tip of the cigar glowed brightly for a moment. There was no one there but him, the large man wearing a fancy three piece suit, running his fingers through his hair, staring intently at the multiple monitors in front of him. The only living man for miles around, he'd wager.

He blew out a large puff of smoke, tapping his fingers on his rather baroque looking chair. It seemed horribly out of place in this dimly lit room, surrounded by equipments, wires and monitors. Merely one room amongst many of its kind in this place. This was where his Hlidskjalf was, his Huginn and Muminn the equipments around him. Or was the raven Prototype? Or would he be the raven considering all the information he fed her?

One of his monitors, or more specifically, the monitors catching TV signals from Japan, switched suddenly to some... rather bland looking feed. Granted it took some skill to hijack an entire nation's signals to broadcast that. It was some unknown group, declaring war upon all of the supers, a very unwelcome addition to the chaos at hand. At the very least, he felt slightly gratified watching the footage of the airport exploding. It was no small feat to get his hands on some plastic explosives, much less actually smuggling it in Japan.

Maxwell chuckled.

What a lie. He had simply made another type of explosive, and the interceptor jet he cooked up got past everything without even a blip on their radar. The very same one Prototype was using right now to follow through with another part of his plans. A plan that could very well be jeopardized by this sudden appearance of a third party, one that was unknown and unaccounted for in his grand scheme. He could not cancel Prototype's mission, because he had no information on them. He could not continue with the mission, because he had no information on them. Both decisions risky, so he took a third option.

Tracking someone who jacked a signal strong enough to spill off the nation they targeted would no doubt be almost impossible for anyone. But he wasn't just anyone, and he had the vodka and time to waste, so why not just ask them directly for information?

Just minutes later, and a whole lot of strings sent out, he jacked directly into one of their communication node and left a message. A short message pertaining to their mutual interests, and how to contact him.

He extinguished his cigar, standing up to get another bottle of water. So much more he didn't understand, so much more he needed to learn, so much more he needed to do.

Maxwell could wait. He could wait until they contacted him, or until it was time to destroy that organization.

---

Prototype 2

The aircraft she piloted was ridiculously small, only a meter longer than she was if she was to stretch her hands out above her head. The wing span was only twice that. For most, it would resemble a fat black shiny triangle. Perhaps precisely because of that it could bolt straight up to almost hypersonic speed in around ten seconds with the dual ion thrusters Maxwell designed. Of course, going at that speed would be impractical when trying to dogfight someone, or even in any sort of flying conditions that doesn't involve being at high altitudes. A sharp turn would literally tear both the pilot and the plane apart. Instead it had multiple verniers on it to maximize its maneuverability in the air. That also meant it had barely any weapons on board, but that was hardly a problem when it could literally outfly even a missile if threatened.

Prototype was in a prone position, her hands on two vertical control sticks in front of her. The cockpit did not have a glass canopy like most aircraft would at this time, simply because Maxwell was loathe to have a structural weakness in the design that could blow apart once it hit top speed. The lack of a canopy for vision was simply compensated by making the entire cockpit a screen taking feeds from outside the craft, making it seem like she was flying by herself with the company of several odd floating analog toggles and meters.

Its been a few hours now and she was trying hard not to go to standby mode.

Beep.

Almost immediately, she gripped the control sticks tighter, going into manual piloting. The aircraft slowed down, the verniers firing off in clusters, before finally coming to a dead stop further away from where Ned, the biker gang and the Champions were facing off. Hopefully the noise of them fighting, as well as them actually trying to concentrate on fighting each other would distract them from the noise of the aircraft.

"Boss."

"You're there? Good. Drop in further away and give Ned support fire."

"Okay."

She dropped off in the town itself, as the craft zoomed away to the skies. Prototype was clad in experimental white armor now, carrying a rifle that looked a little large for her. Her face was obscured by the helmet, though her vision remained clear due to the inside being a screen with a view to the outside. Technology Maxwell was really fond of.

Prototype sought out the high ground almost immediately. An obvious move, but for good reason. She crawled the last few meters towards a good vantage point on the roof, and aimed her rifle towards the group. All were perfectly visible, albeit far away. None was out of her range. Stabilizing her aim, she pointed the muzzle towards the group of Champions, and squeezed off several rounds.

"Engaging."

The sound of frantic scribbling was the only thing that could be heard in her room, the silence only amplifying what would have been an otherwise inaudible sound. Papers were strewn around haphazardly, organized in a way only the writer could understand by instinct. Charlotte poured over lists of contacts, recently printed documents detailing Japan's foreign policies as well as local ones. Every so often, she would print a new document and add it to the ever growing pile.

Aida, for her part, helped her silently and with the efficiency of someone who'd done this job repetitively.

"Mistress, please, you must rest." Aida pleaded once more, though she made no effort to stop her.

Charlotte did little more than grunt in response. Her eyes were intense but unfocused, and evidence of drowsiness was shown unconcealed on her face. Cold sweat dripped down her forehead, and were wiped away before they fell any further.

"I will rest later."

If Aida had lips, she would have been biting on them hard enough to bleed. Instead, a bubble of frustration welled up inside her. Charlotte hadn't been able to go back to sleep, not while she was anxious for Red and the other's safety. Out of habit, she turned on the television sets again, much to Aida's regret; she would have been better off not having seen the news of the airports sudden bombing, the wild accusations coming from this new group "Phalanx" and the mass of public outcry.

Now her mistress was stemming the tide that was shoring up against the Champions. She could do nothing for the fact that it occurred, but she could lessen the impact, and spread rumors confusing people of who was truly to blame. To that end, she was working on a plan to shift the blame from the Champions to Phalanx.

It was rather impeccable timing after all. The Phalanx rapid response to the bombing of Nagoya airport was as suspect as it gets - they reacted almost immediately after the incident, and had enough to time to arrange a small presentation out of it. It made Charlotte suspect that something like this was planned for ahead of time. She had no concrete evidence, and there was a chance that she could be wrong, but even if she was, the concept was sound enough that it would make for an infectious rumor - exactly the kind she needed to remove the blame placed on the Champions and active heroes. If opportunity arose, she would try to shift the blame of the Nagoya incident to them as well.

So she began writing several articles under assumed names. Some of them would be posted online using an anonymous network to prevent tracing, while she would have others published as news articles in Japan itself. For that, she needed to take advantage of some old contacts. Finally, in order to spread the rumors more effectively . . .

"We're ready to leave, Purr-incess~!"

Dinah, along with Hatter on her head, and twenty rats assembled across her floor. Dinah, as usual, kept had a cavalier air about her, even while making puns. For his part, Hatter was as jittery as ever; she couldn't see an expression on him, him being a hat and all, but she could feel out how he generally felt. She liked to say it was "a mother thing", when asked by the others.

As for the mice, same as usual.

"Gogogogogo"
"Wheeeeheeheeheeee~!"
"WHYCAN'TISTOPCRAWLING?!"
"Oh my god you look like a cat!"

Dinah shot a flat look at the mouse.

"I am a cat."

"Really? I'm sorry, I kinda though you were a pig and all. You're so big . . ." Somehow, the completely innocent and frank manner this line was delivered in made it all the more insulting.

Snatching the poor mice up by the tail, Dinah glared at it with piercing, green eyes.

"What was that you little-?"

She stooped as she caught Aida staring at her over Charlotte's shoulder. It was a stare that told her she was wasting her time, and more importantly, wasting Charlotte's time. It was a stare that promised nothing good would come if she continued. It was a stare that promised nothing good even if she stopped. It was also a stare that made her drop the rat, and slink back into line.

"Mrr . . ." she purred, mollified.

"There's been an incident in Japan," began Charlotte as everyone settled down. She passed on notes to her children wheeled back to her desk. "A recent bombing of an airport followed by a sudden anti-hero propaganda has occurred, and public opinion is sure to shift into even more unfavorable light. We're going to keep that from happening. To that end, you will serve as my Intelligence and Counter-Intelligence in Japan. The duration of your operation will be four months, or until I recall you, understood."

Nodding - or in Hatters case, spinning in place - in agreement, the group accepted the papers handed to them and browsed through it. Or, at least Dinah and Hatter did; the rats began chewing on them experimentally. Aida sighed in the background.

"A'ight, I get the game now. We'll be back with results Lil' Mistress," said Hatter after a moments pause.

They left at dawn on a boat transporting goods to a toy shops in Japan, secured only an hour earlier.

Once again, Charlotte was alone with Aida, and once again, too worried to sleep. She wheeled over to the T.V. and attempted to turn it on, before a hand stopped her.

"Aida?"

The normally expressionless mannequin seemed oddly . . . annoyed, with her, a feeling that was rarely on display. There was, however, another emotion she was feeling, and that was worry, and anxiety.

"Please, Mistress, it's honestly time for you to rest," she stressed the word, clapsing Charlotte's hands in between her own. Aida knelt down imploringly, and Charlotte realized how tired she felt all of a sudden. It was five in the morning already; she hadn't slept the whole day . . .

"Very well, if you insist . . ." she said, feeling the full, sudden weight of her drowsiness come over her. She was asleep only a second later.

Rather than wheel her back to her bed, Aida opted to carry her there instead, leaving the wheelchair behind. The mannequin tucked the waif of a girl back in, and lingered on, as if making sure that her dreams were pleasant. After arranging the scattered papers on her desk, Aida flicked off the lights, and closed the door gently, leaving without a sound.

She mentally contacted all the members of her family that were away. Her message was short, simple, and by themselves held no malice, but the undercurrent of absolute rage in her voice was something that would given even the most hardened criminals a pause. In fact, the ones to receive her message did; it was a tone they very much disliked hearing. It was a tone filled with absolute loathing at the world, of someone who was content to watch it burn were it not for the one thing holding her back . . .


"Wew, that lady is something else. You know, she terrifies me tons more than Jabberwocky. Really."

Red nodded in agreement. Unlike Vorpal and the others, he was used to Aida's rage, no matter how well hidden it was, and though she never displayed it in full around Charlotte, it was impossible that she wasn't aware of it as well, even if she never brought it up. Aida was the first among them, as well as the most devoted. He was sure, that when push came to shove, she wouldn't hesitate to sacrifice the entire human race if it meant Charlotte would be happy. In the end, that was all they really wanted, her happiness, but it was ironic that the most major blockade to that from happening was Charlotte herself.

The girl was too stubborn, and her sense of justice too strong, to simply leave heroism to die and attempt to find happiness in a normal life. It was a paradox that caused them no end of suffering - for Charlotte to find happiness, she must abandon heroism, but if she were to abandon heroes, she would never be happy.

It was in this way that both he and Aida had developed a deep rage inside of them, however, whereas he was content to direct that rage towards heroes, Aida had more then enough to consume the whole world.

So yes, she was frightening. He had no idea how she could hold that much hatred and still remain as silent as she was.

Right now, he and Vorpal were alone in a rented apartment. It had been difficult to get past them while hiding his face, but they had managed. Her mistress informed them of the Champion's most likely destination, and immediately after touching down on a private runway, they booked a ride to Andamooka, hours ahead of their marks.

"In any case, Cheshire, what's your status?"

"Green and clean, O Great Red One, the information the Missee relayed to us was on point, as always," replied the cat. Right now, he was invisible and right across him was a good old Mexican standoff: The Champions on one side, a gang of motor riding hoodlums and Tinhead Ned on the others. For all that he could easily get caught in the crossfire, the cat was entirely nonchalant, and even seemed amused by the turn of affairs.

"What kind of a name is Tinhead anyway," he muttered under his breath. "Utterly classless, truly and utterly classless. Why, if I didn't know any better I'd say-"

"Chesire, focus."

"Yes yes. Anyway, from what I can see . . . we have the venerable Gant d'Argent, the absolutely succulent Eve, and the ever smooth-skinned Friction representing the Champions in this sordid affair. Not a bad turn out I'd say - among the Champion's they're fairly level-headed. Friction is in charge of their PR as well, so she should be more than open to discussion."

Red nodded in agreement. "And their opponents?"

"A gang of thugs and Tinhead Ned. They aren't allied though, and there's even a rather high degree of animosity between them open for display, I reckon that we have ourselves a good old three-way punch out- Wait, incoming!"

Cheshire's connection with Red cut at that moment as the Cat avoided a hail of bullets. Battle had begun, and soon it devovled into a chaotic royal rumble. Soon after, a fourth party entered the fray and began targeting the Champions clear as day. Cheshire narrowed his eyes. He see extra gunfire, but not the source. Which meant whoever they were, they were nowhere close by.

"Sorry about that Red," said Cheshire, reestablishing contact immediately. "Fight's broke out, and a new player's just slotted a coin and issued the Champions a challenge. I don't know who this one is, but they've got to be using some long ranged balistics here, since I can't see them. I'm looking at the trajectory of the bullets though, and their coming from the town!"

Back in his apartment, Red nodded silently. They were here to observe, and as much as possible, they should avoid contact until they were deemed worthy, but as things stood, the Champions were outgunned. As capable as the Silver Glove and his companions were, Red was also acutely aware of their weaknesses. Their time in public had been damaging in more ways than one: Several notes were compiled on them by fans and detractors alike, enough that their opponents could feasibly get creative with them and cook up something truly nasty against them.

Avoiding direct contact was important, but secondary. Their main goal was to assess the Champions and see if they were still worthy of the name; and they couldn't do that if they were overwhelmed and dead. They would be speaking with them either way, so while it was bit early . . .

"I'm setting out. Cheshire, retreat to a safe distance and keep observing. Let's go Vorpal."

The sword flew to his side at once. Donning his heavy red armor, Red opened the window and jumped out, rising into the air into the direction of the battle. He rose higher and higher until he got a full vantage point. Still, Vorpal found their target first.

"Seven o'clock, on the roof!"

It was just as he said. On the roof of a tall building, a sniper lay prone, and in their hands was an absolutely humongous rifle. Their face was obscured by a helmet, but apparently that did nothing to limit their accuracy.

In an attempt to disable them right away, Red and Vorpal dropped down at subsonic speeds, aiming to slam their feet into the shooters legs. The weight of his armor plus the velocity from his fall would have been more than enough to cripple a normal human.

The moment Jack confirmed that Patrick would be the one going to aid the Champions he slipt away from the main sitting area of the jet to the nearest restroom. He knew that he wouldn't have much time to find a nest so he wanted to get as much prep work done as possible. His first, and arguably most time consuming, task was to switch back out of his civilian clothing into the suit he wore on missions.While he knew that he would have had a much more difficult time getting to the jet in the first place he still regretted changing out of it after his freelance contracts. With that out of the way he assembled his rifle with practiced ease, it was action he had done hundreds of times after all. Finally he checked his special ammunitions case double counting the amount of explosive rounds he had, which to his disappointment was still only six. Preparations completed he returned to the main area with the others, though he did not interact with any of them save the occasional nod when appropriate.

Soon enough they landed at his destination, and knowing that both him and the rest of the team were on a tight schedule he exited the aircraft with haste. As soon as his feet touched the ground he took off running in the direct opposite direction of the town. He had no intention of being anywhere near there by the time the Champions arrived. There were no obvious places for cover, the area was mostly flat and void of life, but given the oppressive darkness of the night that did not concern him in the slightest his suit would allow him to blend right in no matter where he decided to nest.

He finally reached a place he deemed suitable after several minutes of running, he could feel his legs burning and his lungs begging for rest but he pushed aside these base reactions for the time with pure willpower. He made quick work of getting set up, which really only involved flicking his bipod down and getting his head in a comfortable position in which to stare through the scope, after which all he had left to do was wait. He waited as he saw the bikers ride into the airport, he waited when he spotted Tinhead, and he waited when he saw the Champions jet land.

Patrick watched through his scope the brief standoff that ensued after the bikers and Tinhead had revealed themselves, getting ready for the perfect shot. He knew that he could have tried to eliminate Tinhead when he first saw him, but he had not wanted to risk missing and causing the villain to begin searching for him. Now though he could wait until an opening presented itself, with the Champions distracting him and the suppressor on Patrick's rifle he wouldn't have the time to search him out no matter the result of the shot.

Suddenly his focus is shifted as he hears the retort of several sniper shots ring out, all of the bullets speeding towards the Champions. For the time being he swiveled his scope away from the three way battle that had just started in order to search out the enemy sniper. It did not take him long to find them, however before he could decide whether or not to waste one of his explosive rounds on them he saw something dropping down from the sky towards the opposing sniper. Not wanting to risk whatever was attempting to aid the Champions he brought his scope back to them, and more importantly Tinhead.

Despite the fact that the man was flying Patrick's aim stuck firmly the the chestplate of his Tinhead's armor. He knew there was a good chance that the armor could survive the explosion his bullet could deliver, all he hoped was that it would disorientate the man enough to give the Champions a chance to either recuperate or take advantage of it.

Keeping his crosshair on the direct center of Tinhead's armored torso he counted down to zero, pulling the trigger and firing off one of his explosive rounds. 'Five left.'