Arlo, A.K.A. 'Halo' : Metropolis
Arlo had been pouring jasmine tea when he'd first felt the ground rock from the break-out at Stryker's Island - and now, the pot spooled steam into the warm, dingy air as he craned his neck to catch a glimpse of the carnage from the one window of his river-side apartment. The ceramic shook with the walls at each new blast, every convict making their splash upon acquiring their fresh, ill-gotten freedom. God knows what kind of havoc was being wrought within the now-fragile walls of that compound; while, like many of Metropolis' citizens, Arlo hadn't actively kept up with the city's resident Superhero's escapades, he was also unable to remain oblivious. Stryker's Island was a dangerous prison for dangerous prisoners, and though Arlo knew only a few of their capabilities, that knowledge alone was enough to cement the island's fearsome reputation. It was surely a time of need, and while he could see from here that it was being attended to, it was clear they wouldn't turn away extra help.
A single bead of sweat ran across Arlo's forehead, stopping at his brow before running down his cheekbone. He wasn't hot, despite the swamp-like atmosphere of his kitchenette, nor was he scared, despite the crisis occurring only a few miles from his neighborhood. No, something far more dangerous was brewing within Arlo, something that would propel him, without a hint of uncertainty, into an entirely new and irrevocable chapter in his life. A feverish, anxious eagerness budded within Arlo, a feeling that quite literally emanated from his palms in a soft, golden glow. He turned from the window, carefully suppressing a nervous smile, and looked at the outfit that hung from his bedroom door handle. Switching his gaze from his impromptu costume to his hands, the gold fading under his will but still present, Arlo made a quick, but perhaps foolish, decision. It took him 20 minutes to 'suit up', and then Arlo was climbing out of his window, carefully scaling his way down the building and into the alleyway below.
-
Moving through the city toward his destination proved more difficult that he had anticipated; while many streets were clear due to the fear of the citizens, many more were full from their curiosity - and the absence of Superman filled the air with a heavy silence. Eyes were equally drawn to and averted from Arlo, some of the public feeling a small swooping of relief as they thought him a force for good, but others flinching away, frightened that he may be one of the escapees. The mixed reactions were off-putting to Arlo, who otherwise shied away from scrutiny, but he did his best to put those vexations aside; this life, that he now found himself unquestionably unable to turn away from, was one that undeniably drew public attention from all quarters. Reactions subdued as this, he imagined, he would soon long for in weeks to come. Arlo kept moving, weaving through grid-lock traffic, pounding across empty squares. It was only a few blocks from his apartment complex to the coast closest to the island, and then all he had to do was cross the river. He supposed he'd cross that bridge when he came to it. Maybe literally.
He made it to the main street before the coast dropped off towards Stryker's Island and stopped in his tracks. A three-point police-block had been set up across the main road and its T-Junction, and it left Arlo without a single point of ingress; the main approach was his best hope without some kind of alternative transport. He leaned against a building and tapped his fingers on his leg as he pondered the predicament, thinking as fast as he could. Approach the officers? Optimistic at best; they were just as likely to apprehend him as they were aid him. Hijack an appropriate vehicle? Foolhardy - not only an actual crime, he also did not know how to pilot either a boat or a helicopter. Try and sneak past the authorities? Wouldn't be overly trying, but he was dressed in bright white clothing, and breaking through their ranks still wouldn't provide him with a way over the water to the island proper. It was clear Arlo hadn't thought this far ahead. The sounds of thudding rotor-blades drew his attention skyward, and looking up he could see a police 'copter circling the vicinity of the island - close enough to monitor, but out of range of any small-arms the inmates may have gotten access to. Arlo pondered for a moment more, and then decided. He didn't have anything to lose. Just ask for assistance. He inhaled deep, exhaled low, and fastened his bandana around his face.
He walked about halfway to the first officer attending the roadblock and began warming up his ability ready to flourish before a loud, angry scream was heard emanating from the island. There was a plume of smoke, and then another, and then several large chunks of concrete rubble erupted from inside the walls of the compound. The largest ones soared upwards and then nose-dived into the water, but several smaller - though still dangerous - chunks of debris managed to close the gap, and they began to bear down upon the police at the roadblock. Breaking into a sprint and spinning a large circle with his hands, Arlo managed to vault over the first barrier and tackle a frozen officer to the ground, dust pluming up as they hit the ground. Slightly dazed from the impact and the sudden action he'd taken without a second thought, Arlo barely registered the clack of a pistol cocking from behind him, and only just managed to push himself up onto a knee and spin around, bringing the circle of golden light up in front of him, before a second, more startled officer unloaded 9 rounds into the shield, each bullet sending ricochet's down Arlo's arm and causing him to grunt painfully as the circle absorbed each shot, the sound of each hit similar to a gong's chime.
"CEASE FIRE, ROOKIE." Beneath Arlo, the tackled officer gave a bellowing command, and the shots stopped immediately, followed by a clatter as the gun was quickly dropped. Arlo dismissed his shield and stood up to his full height - doing his best to look heroic and noble as he did, but also shaking his arm as the muscles ached and bones protested against the trauma. He'd probably be a bit more careful with what he shielded and what he dodged from this point forwards.
"I know we're all a little on edge today," the senior officer said brusquely as he picked himself up off the pavement and brushed his coat off, "but we generally arrest before we execute, and we still don't have any confirmed escapes from the bird." The officer looked from the rookie to Arlo, sweeping his gaze up and down, lingering on Arlo's hands that kept a faint golden glow. "And I doubt any of the creeps in that joint would bother to save my life. Though you're clearly new to the game, aren't ya kid?"
Arlo cleared his throat. He hadn't thought about how to speak; his normal voice, a slightly high pitch with lilting words that betrayed the accent he tried to talk around, would probably not put forth the image he was trying to cultivate. But neither did his outfit, at the point. He decided to speak slowly, being careful with his vernacular and affecting a slightly deeper tone.
"Something needed to be done." He sounded like a tool.
"Plenty's being done, kid, but as an officer I appreciate the sentiment." He replied, and Arlo half-smiled beneath his bandana. "Not much you can do over here, though - but I imagine you already know that?"
Arlo nodded, keeping his gaze fixed with the officer's.
"I need to join your air support." He said, a plan formulating in his mind. "If they fly low enough..."
The officer laughed. "You're a ballsy bastard, I'll give ya that. Alright. Give 'em 5 minutes...we cleared space for an LZ one block over. You'll see it."
Arlo nodded again, thanking both officers - the rookie still paralyzed with embarrassment - before he sprinted away.
-
"A little lower!" Arlo shouted through the pilot's headset, as he gripped the edge of his seat and leaned forwards to peer through the cockpit's front window. Stryker Island loomed below them, the chaos all too apparent despite the relative smallness of the figures fighting. Arlo patted the shoulder of the pilot to signal, and moved from the front of the chopper to the open side. The wind made his hair and bandana flap wildly, and a strange smile could be briefly glimpsed on Arlo's face as a mixture of stunned fear and electrifying eagerness bubbled up within him. The pilot raised a hand as he held the helicopter in a low hover, and Arlo span a large circle between his palms, drawing it out and reinforcing it before seizing it with both hands. He exhaled, closed his eyes, inhaled, and leaped.
The outer walls of Stryker Island were made for containment, with a platform for perimeter monitoring and guard patrols around the very outer edge of the compound. It was this platform that the chopper had been hovering over, and that Arlo now aimed for, falling gracefully before tucking his body in behind his shield and bracing for impact. He grunted loud in pain as they struck the metal grating of the walkway and transferred his momentum into a forward roll that took care of the rest. He ended up on a single knee, his body in some minor pain from the impact and his jaw aching from unconciously clenching his teeth on the way down. The shield had faint cracks along its surface and Arlo dispelled it - it wouldn't do him any more good - and he stood slowly, catching his breath and rolling his shoulders as he took in the tableau of what he'd just sky-dived into.
A staff-borne girl was chasing after another woman, made of blue and moving quickly. Livewire - one of the few villains Arlo knew about. A man without a face was piggybacking a man made of metal, and another woman was pulverizing a metal man. Had he time, Arlo might have paused to philosophize on the difference, but Arlo didn't have time; he had three seconds. Two convicts - non-meta's, but dangerous nonetheless - had taken notice of his rough landing, and figured he was a greenhorn on his first dip in the pool. An accurate estimation of Arlo, but he stood strong regardless. He would get to helping the others as soon as he could, but first he had to clear his own immediate area.
"And who's
this amateur about to find himself spread all over the yard?" The larger of the two inquired, half-sincere as he scooped up a piece of rebar that had loosed itself from some rubble. Arlo took a breath to calm his nerve, and then re-knotted his bandana, his hands glowing as they came back down. They flashed, and he was holding two discs: one hollow, the vicious sharpness of its edges almost visible, and the other a solid shield glowing blinding gold.
"Halo." He hissed, before he threw the disc at the convict who'd spoken, leaping forwards to bash the other with the shield. He needed to be careful. He might start having
fun.
