As Overlook backed into the backseat of the vehicle he arrived in, firing a bullet towards the clones trying to get him dead, the hero looked out of the windshield as he saw the group of Wards being assaulted relentlessly by the clones. Tiger Lily was out of commission, Messiah was freaking out, Tulpa wasn't doing great in this, Margrave and Epsilon were somewhere else entirely. It wasn't looking good.

And to make matters worse, Overlook getting involved made him no more than a liability. He was worse than being just a useless hero right now. He should've stayed behind in the PRT HQ, not running out here like a fucking fool and risking his life in this situation, but he felt like he had to do it. He had to find a way to help somehow, but this wasn't a good situation.

Leaning back against the opposite side of the vehicle, the Protectorate hero looked out into the scene developing around him before noticing something off to his side. One of the soldiers that arrived on the scene with the Wards, Private Skeetz, if he remembered correctly, was on the ground unconscious, with a pretty nasty wound on his body. There weren't a ton of clones around the body, probably because Skeetz looked dead, so the area was surprisingly clear. The wall behind the car was open, so the situation seemed pretty decent for Overlook to help out in the field right now. It was a stretch, but it was the best shot Overlook had at being useful.

"Here goes... everything," Overlook sighed as he popped open the door of the car, rushing towards the downed Private as a few clones began to converge onto Overlook. The hero grabbed the Private and began to drag him outside while dodging the punches thrown by the clones to the best of his ability. Every punch thrown either grazed him or missed him, save for a massive punch thrown by a rather beefy clone, smashing the hero in the helmet and cracking a hole directly where the eyes were. Despite the punch, Overlook kept moving backwards behind him, dragging the Private outside the building before watching the clone begin to melt slowly.

One final punch was thrown by the beefcake clone, knocking directly into the glass of Overlook's helmet and slamming right into his eye before melting entirely. The hero was knocked back into the ground, pulling the Private with him backwards. Looking back towards the event starting behind him through cracked glass and bloodied vision, the hero got onto his knees and pulled the Private just a bit further before finally collapsing, getting himself and the Private out of the way, even though both were unconscious.

Though satisfaction at a job well done coursed through the Margrave at a job well done, something else made an impression on him as he watched his hurled car's handiwork in action. The clones obliterated by his oh-so-clever projectile did not blink out of existence or dissolve into mist; instead, they burst. Bones crunched, blood splattered, and organs were jellified. For a fraction of an instant, every ounce of horror from a catastrophic car crash appeared before him, but the next instant they were gone. Flinching, the Margrave narrowed his eyebrows. He ducked behind cover as someone else he didn't recognize, likely one of the villains he'd been sent here to stop, proved himself a temporary ally and a rival all at once by turning his own massive strength on a train car, which he hurled at the enemy in short order. It, too, left in its wake a trail of stomach-turning carnage, leaving the Margrave queasy and thankful that the light in the warehouse wasn't too good.

That's...worse than lifelike...God, it's pure awful. Those people better not be real. I've got to trust in Decoy. He knows me, wouldn't tell me to go lethal on real people. He reassured himself over and over again, alternating between inner expressions of confidence that the individuals he'd reduced to smears in mere instants were not real, and that if they were Decoy could be blamed. When he saw the leftover chunks melt into unidentifiable mush after a couple handfuls of seconds, he shook with relief. His deathgrip on his MAC-10 relaxed somewhat as he scanned his surroundings. There seemed to be no end of the copies, but none were focused on him at the moment now that Jason stole the spotlight. Momentarily clones. Not real. Like clay dolls. Still, I don't know if I'd be able to do that again, even if I had another car. Going to retrieve his old one was an option, but before he could begin planning a route toward it in the chaos, the sound of a real gun firing jolted him into awareness.

He peeked above the crate he hid behind, trying to figure out the shooter and any victims. As much as he liked his MAC-10, he knew that engaging someone with a real weapon would be idiotic. Superpowers were all well and good, but a world of strange abilities had only marginally diminished the terrifying lethality of guns. Try as he might, however, the Margrave couldn't find a target. There were simply too man clones, both on their feet and on their backs, waiting to despawn like video game enemies. As he hunched back down, his communicator came to life with the voice of Messiah, calling for a retreat. For about two seconds, the Margrave thought about the current situation, what with the impossible odds and indiscriminate use of both powers and firearms; in the end, an antihero -unburdened by the brash courage of the zealous do-gooder- need not risk annihilation in a doomed standoff. He opened his mouth to ask where Messiah was, only to feel a sudden wave of heat as a stray beam of energy singed the loftiest portion of his 'do. “...My curiosity is satisfied.” Once again he popped above cover, his eyes on Tulpa's monstrous projection. To him, it posed as much of a threat as the villains and the clones, even if its master stood alongside him as an ally. Speaking of which, where is everyone? He'd been near Messiah when he entered, but have stayed by the main door when she went off, he'd been alone for some time now. How long had it been? Minutes? Seconds? With his dander up, the Margrave felt like every moment lasted a millennium.

The reverse held true for the entity he was observing. While he kept on eye on it as he sought a fellow Ward in the tempest of activity, it began to act strangely. Despite that, the Margrave found his attempt at focusing shattered by the sudden and startling scream of the one known as Troll. Her swearing got the gears in his head turning. That gunshot was only a few seconds ago. Did it hit one of her goons? No wait, she's not with the crooks we found here. The only one she's supposedly allies with is 'Overrun', that duplicating tryhard. Where'd he go? There came a crash as the train thrown by Thunderbolt was returned to center, more than likely by one of the power-exhibiting clones. It served to remind the Margrave of his original intent, and what inspired it: the dangerous unpredictability presented by these increasingly divergent clones.

He started to move, dashing along the warehouse walls toward what looked like an escape route. A shadowy man stood there alongside a smaller figure he recognized as Lillian, who was just getting up. Before the Margrave could get close, three clones approached him from the right. Without thinking he aimed at them and sprayed. One took a few rubber bullets to the face and went down, while the second received a couple to the torso and arms before jumping back, in pain. The third, however, took a bullet without flinching, and as the Margrave watched a change spread across him like a ripple in a pond. His exterior reconstituted into a shiny, gray-black substance, not at all unlike the rubber of what hit him. Material absorption? There was no time to ponder. The clone closed in, and the Margrave hopped forward to deliver a side-kick. He felt every ounce of power drain from his leg the moment it made contact, its force absorbed by his foe's body. ”Rogue!” He barely got his arm up in time to prevent a rubbery fist from clocking his temple and taking him down for the count. Spinning in place, he attempted to sweep the clone's leg, only to receive a sharp blow to the back of his head while his back was turned. ”Bah!” he mumbled, seeing stars. Not such a good trick.” There was no time to think of a counter to this clone's ability, so he simply dove at him. Not expecting the sudden onslaught, the clone toppled beneath his weight, and as it hit the ground the Margrave landed on top of him and, in a rather comical fashion, bounced right off.

With a crack he landed on a nearby crate, back-down. The sturdy construction did not buckle beneath him, but instead inflicted a fresh burst of agony all across his body upon impact. ”Guh!” Without even a moment's break, a new roar shook the warehouse—one that penetrated every fiber of his being, telling him to void his bowels, scream like a girl, and sprint out of the warehouse, in whichever order seemed convenient. By the time his vision cleared, Lillian had fully transformed, and in terrifying proximity to his person. As he scanned furiously for a way out, he noticed Evelyn not too far away. Finally, an ally! We've got to get her projection thingie under control. Yet again, however, he found himself interrupted when he went to yell to her, this time by Evelyn herself. When he followed her gaze, his eyes grew wide and his face grew white -well, whiter- to see her fearsome projection attacking Lillisaurus head-on. He began to struggle to get up, gritting his teeth against the array of aches all over his body, and accelerated his pace when he spotted Evelyn under attack by clones a few crates away. Wait, no—he was also under attack by clones. They'd worked together to scale the meager wooden heights that separated them from the Margrave and were now trying to yank him from his perch, including the pesky rubber one from before. When the Margrave went to shoot them, he noticed that his gun appeared to be missing from his hand. ”Even better!” He kicked one clone's head with all the force he could, stunning him into falling off, but before he could retract his foot a pair of mitts closed around him. ”Dammit!” With a final cry the indisputable badass tumbled from his perch.

For the second time in as many minutes he made a rough landing, though this time the pile of clones he fell upon provided a slightly more amenable option than solid wood. He might have even been able to turn it to his advantage had one clone with glowing eyes not immediately blasted off an explosive burst of force, sending a half-dozen bodies flying like bowling pins after a strike. Flailing wildly, the Margrave's hands closed around the lower bars of a catwalk guardrail, and there they clung with desperate strength. Not a moment later, beams of wrathful power scoured the warehouse interior, ripping through clones and crates alike. With eyebrows raised the Margrave stared at its source: Messiah. ”There you are. I'm glad as hell I ended up up here.” Apparently shocked out of his usual manner of speech, he continued to hold on to the catwalk's underside for dear life.

The roar of fire began to overtake the sounds of fighting, though thankfully not so loud that the Margrave couldn't here his next set of orders. ”Right, yeah, I'm coming.” Clamping his jaw shut, he let go with one arm, and hurriedly rummaged through his pockets until he found what he was looking for. A beanbag fell toward the ground, growing into a full-size cushion as it did, and a moment later the Margrave landed upon it. He rolled off it and jumped to his feet, a bruised but alive and functional mess. From there it was a quick jog to Alessa, Lillian, and the soldiers. He looked around for Evelyn but did not find her, and in his distraction didn't notice the clone who reached his fellow Wards before he did. He witnessed the clone shoot the equivalent of a shotgun blast into Lillian's back, and wordless cry of surprise and anger ejected from his gut. It was followed the next moment by, ”Hey, fucker!” as something snatched from his jacket grew to full size in his hand. The next moment a baseball bat cracked against the clone's head, its force splitting the wooden bat apart, and the clone dropped faster than a convict with cement shoes. A second later the bat clattered to the floor as well. "Ow, ow, ow, gaaaagh!" For a few moments the Margrave could scarcely think thanks to the pain in his hands and forearms, but he managed to compose himself and jog to his teammates' sides. Reaching out as gentle as he could, he attempted to put Lily over his shoulder from the other side and alleviate Alessa's burden. ”Keep it together. We're all getting out alive. We'll be okay.”

Anarchy? An understatement. Particularly when you were missing your ability to see. Noise erupted all around her, gunshots, burning flesh, roaring noises, and who knows what else. Normally, Sofia might be fine with this. However she had just been rudely informed that her protection was no longer adequate. As such Sofia was acutely aware of everything around her, waiting for that sickening tug that she couldn't protect herself from. Luckily Chatterhead didn't need to hang onto her very tightly, Sofia was clutching him tightly enough for the two of them. She whimpered a little at the sound of a Chatter-head that definitively wasn't her Chatterhead. Why was there an evil Chatterhead here? "I wanna go home..." She whispered pathetically to herself. This wasn't fun anymore. She didn't want to be here anymore. Sofia just wanted to run away. Sofia even went so far as to take a step away before stopping herself. Chatterhead told her not to let go. That's all she needed to do. Don't think about anything else. Don't let go.

Step... Step... Step... Step...

He's getting closer. His steps are careful, as if he's expecting trouble. His breathing is ragged. Clearly not in the best condition, it seems. Then again, it's not really necessary nowadays, with the rise of automobiles and everything.

Ten meters. Five meters. Two meters! One meter!

There. Across the street walked a black man in a striped suit, suitcase in his left hand, his right hidden within the confinements of his pocket. He was of no real importance, yet Floris observed him with unprecedented focus. He took in everything he could note. Facial expression; a frown, not one of frustration, but exhaustion. Conclusion; he's returning from work. His eyes dully stare ahead of him, and his shoes looked slightly worn. Conclusion; he has been taking the same route for a good while. His posture; slightly bent forward. Conclusion; he sits often, most likely due to his job. His suit; well maintained, but wrinkled. Conclusion; similar to his shoes, this suit has been worn for a while. The brand doesn't look cheap, either.
General conclusion; this man is an office worker of somewhat high-rank. Given the fact that he's walking, he must live nearby.

Floris continued to observe the man as he walked past him, around the corner, and out of sight. He didn't interest Floris in the slightest, but people watching was good practice.

Then, his eyes open slowly. Light floods in, temporarily blinding him. As his pupils shrunk again, Floris looked around himself. He was in his garden, seated on a rock between two patches of hyacinth and lavender, placed beneath an oak. In front of him was the entrance to his house. Though it was well maintained, it looked just as empty as it had been for the past four years. Ever since that damned storm in Yosemite that cost his parents their lives, Floris has been the only one to live here. Thinking back to it, Floris closed his eyes again, ready to let himself be lost to thought.

Mother... Father... I am well, as is your house. I am giving my best efforts to retain its condition. He thought to himself, thinking that maybe, maybe his parents were watching over him. He then took a deep breath and recounted the events. The freak storm, the fall, the fear, the trigger. It all seemed so lucid, even now. Following his daily routine, Floris once again asked himself: why? Why was I the only one who survived? Why did I develop parahumanistic abilities?

Suddenly, something caught his attention. His eyes shot open, quickly scanning the area for any sign of threats. Nothing. Curious... Floris thought. The tingling sensation had not dissipated in the slightest, but he could not see nor feel any nearby threats. Pins and needles, perhaps? He then asked himself, but even this answer didn't fully answer the oddity. Once again, he closed his eyes, trying to focus solely on the strange tingling. That's when it hit him: it was his senses. He turned to the large apple tree behind him and looked up. Sure enough, directly above him hung a green apple, ripe for the picking. Floris observed the apple, more so it's placement above him. Then, the apple snapped from the branch, and fell straight at Floris. However, before it could hit him, the tree itself caught it, its leaves wrapped around the fruit, as if it were desperately clinging on to the fruit of its labor.

At that moment, Floris came to a realization. For four years he had been telling himself that the forests had cursed him with his abilities, that he only served as a reminder of nature's wrath. But now, he began to doubt that idea. Whereas the forest had seemed to hunt him four years ago, it now provided him with comfort, shelter and food. Perhaps... Perhaps I was wrong? Looking down at the base of the tree, Floris pondered the situation. What if the forest hadn't hunted him at all, but had been trying to help him survive? It's fair to say that Floris possibly wouldn't have survived the Yosemite incident had it not been for his trigger. Did the forest actually protect me, instead of hunt me like I had presumed? But of course! That's it! With renewed vigor, Floris jumped up from his rock and walked into his house. The forest hadn't hunted him; it had chosen him! He wasn't a reminder, he was a champion! Grabbing his black vest, Floris exited the house through the front door, and stepped into the streets of Denver.

His purpose was clear now. No longer would he idly sit by and let his life waste away. He had been saved for a reason, and that reason could not be more clear. He was chosen to enforce the rules of nature. Even in this city, people were playing god, thinking they can decide who does and who lives. He would make sure that nature was the one who did the killing. With refined confidence in his goal, Floris turned to the street and began his quest, a coy smile plastered onto his face.

Alright friends, it's booping time!
@BCTheEntity@solokolos, it's been 8 days (nearly 9 in like 12 hours or something) since Pro's update for this round involving the Wards and the Jacks. If you can get Headhunter and Epsilon, respectively, updated soon, I'd greatly appreciate it.

@Gardevoiran, not technically a boop, but we discussed the Twins a... Bit ago? How many days was that?... And I'd like it if you could get an update for LF soon so we can find out if Whip will end up going with them or not. I believe @t2wave is waiting on the situation to progress to figure out how Angel will move?

Tha-th-that's all, folks! ^^

Farce looked over at Mantis and flashed the intel she had grabbed beforehand, but she shoved it into her bag as quickly as she had flashed it. The reason for that was how she heard a distant siren, likely approaching at a very hasty rate. "Are we gonna shit around here or are we gonna fuckin' run?!" Farce shouted as she stood back up from crouching over the carcass of Zach.

Shooting a glace towards Whip Stitch, Farce motioned for her to follow behind the group. "Stitches, come with us. It's for the best."

In an effort to make a sarcastic comment, Dunn piped up in Farce's head. "This is gonna be some shitty paperwork." "Shut up asshole."

Iron filled her throat, choking her, The smell had finally reached her, and now it was fight between the iron pushing down her throat, and the bile pushing up. Ira's eyes burned, the tears collecting on the goggle-like frames of her mask. A crisp voice cut through the noise, finally someone speaking a language she could understand. Decoy. He was sticking to his guns, defending his decision in a roundabout way. If her teammates hesitated in killing the clone-the people. If they didn't fight with full intention of winning, they would die.

After this though, did they deserve it? Was it okay to kill civilians who were mind controlled to save your own skin? It wasn't their fault, they were given a command from Martyr. She remembered that from their talk. The name; Martyr. Oh god. She reached up to pull her mask off, and was pulled suddenly by the soldier accompanying her. The sudden lurch tore a burning sob from her lips, the tears splattering against the hard concrete. Gunshots kept splitting the air, making her flinch. "My mask isn't in my hands anymore," the thought passed quickly, fleeting and forgotten soon after. She kept moving forward after Reynolds stopped, before the wall fell apart. Blinking, she pushed past some kid, and breathed air that wasn't suffocatingly stale. In English she said to her live transmitter "What the fuck Decoy?"

Eventually, Raymond found himself in a position to stop shooting as often, giving him the opportunity to reload his weapon a second time. Meat layered the ground around- well, everyone, both the molten puddles of dissolving clones, and the still-solid pseudo-corpses that had been left to rot, or possibly dissolve in their own right. It was interesting, actually - he had never smelt this much blood before now. He was more used to coldly picking people off from hundreds of meters away than performing an up-close mass shooting.

That said, whilst he’d tried to ignore Troll’s words after his only real kill today, she’d still annoyed him a bit. Even so, now he knew roughly where the warehouse’s speakers were located; once he got the chance, he took aim at them, scoping in where he needed to, and shot to take them out of commission. No use risking everyone’s sanity for the sake of a little girl’s blathering, though the car that drove through one of the walls actually did his work for him there.

Then again, Heartless’ actions might have driven him mad anyway, listening to what he said over the comms as he took out Troll’s speakers. He could not for the life of him believe what he was hearing; first he bullied a child into having a full-blown dinosaur freakout, then he tried to save the same girl?! He’d just wanted him to shock her unconscious or tie her up in the first place, damn it!

Not to mention Jason’s insistence on him taking out a specific clone of this Overrun. ‘Yeah, we need a lot of them dead,’ he pointed out, before begrudgingly scoping in and taking aim.

Target: Overrun, clone. Power: hurling of massive objects, similar function to Thunderbolt.

He took a moment to scope out and step round so he didn’t break his spine. Was that a roar- no, it didn’t matter. Scope in, take the shot.

Headshot, instant kill. Shoot.

By the time he’d scoped out, everything had gone insane. He could only watch as the giant metal monster smashed head-first into the dinosaur that suddenly existed again, causing it to stop existing again, only to burst into a flash of light and disappear entirely with a hole in its body, followed by a beam of burning light sweeping a large chunk of the warehouse.

And THEN Chatterbox contacted the team, suggesting that the real him needed to be identified by the phrase “Purple Venom” and the response “Green Fever”. Wait, the real Chatterbox?

It wasn’t often Headhunter got to say “what the fuck”, but...

‘What the fuck?’ he murmured to himself. Things were getting more ridiculous by the minute, more and more dangerous clones were popping up, and- oh yes, the warehouse was on fire.

To hell with this. They should have left a long time ago. ‘Headhunter to all Jacks: I don’t care how, but get out of the-’ he stated into the comms, pausing to shoot another clone before adding ‘out of the warehouse, now. And tell us once you’re outside, at that.’ And with that, he turned, and began to wander toward the back of the warehouse himself.

The soldier he’d shot earlier was gone. No, wait, not gone, just outside - along with some kid in a mask. Apparently, there were also a large number of clones there: most seemed normal, but one appeared to be rather muscular, and another was shrouded in some kind of glowing mist. No matter.

Targets: clones ahead. Headshot, instant kill. Target next viable clone one current is dead. Shoot. Shoot. Shoot.

By the time the misty one got up to him, all the others were dead. But that last clone was a real doozy: he couldn’t get a target on him. This realisation nearly cost him his heart, as they managed to claw through the armour at his chest like water before he started backpedalling. Shit, was that that clone’s power, some form of lethal intangibility? He needed... what he needed was a gun to shoot it with, that could...

That could what?, he asked himself, his gun falling to his waist as he, for the first time in a long time, panicked a little. This was an untenable situation for him. He was good at shooting things; what the hell could he hope to do against something that he couldn’t shoot?

Though he couldn’t, apparently someone else could. For whatever reason, the clone suddenly went down, felled by a wave of rubber bullets. A quick turn found Headhunter with a gun aimed at his face from a safe- for the firer- distance away, held by what appeared to be a female PRT soldier.

‘I’ll ask you, just in case you know: where is Skeetz?’ Corporal Johnson wasn’t in the mood for a fight, here. Whilst Margrave had apparently gone off to do his own thing again, she could at least see that he was with Lieutenant Reynolds and the rest of the Wards from here, and they all seemed to be moving out the front of the warehouse. Thank God for that. That still left one missing soldier, and since she’d been ordered to find him, find him she would.

Raymond took a moment to think about what she was asking, coming to the conclusion that she meant the guy he’d shot unconscious, then decided that he’d probably be best off complying. He could hit every one of her vital points if he wanted, but there was no way he’d get the scope up to his eye before she shot him. Besides, he realised, he and she both wanted to be in the same place at the end of the day.

‘Follow me,’ he uttered, turning to lead the soldier outside. Ten seconds later, he directed her to the bodies of her comrade, just starting to stir, and the masked kid who’d pulled him outside - and another clone of Overrun, sword raised dramatically to decapitate who he assumed was Skeetz.

Target: Overrun clone. Headshot, instant kill. Shoot.

Even before he’d fired, Johnson had reacted, pelleting the target with rubber bullets from the hip, forcing it to drop its blade before it died. After that, Johnson began reloading, muttering ‘God damn it,’ to herself as Skeetz finally started comprehending what was going on.

‘Wh- what? Where am I? Who are these...’

‘Skeetz, you’re concussed, but alive,’ Johnson explained bluntly. ‘Do you think you can help me carry Overlook round the front? We’ll be able to get you both medical assistance once we’re out of here.’ The fallen soldier muttered something about trying, then shakily stood, just about keeping his balance. Lifting Overlook under an arm each, they began wandering off round the warehouse, leaving Headhunter to pick off a few more clones from outside the building, then simply waiting for anyone else to show. Whilst he was technically obliged to wait for them, if that place came down on their heads, he wasn’t going to mourn their dumb asses, nor was he going to dig through the rubble to find them.

---

Come with us. Follow us. Do what I say.

She nearly impaled the man before the woman talked. Be safe. Come with me to avoid them. Away away away!

She nodded, giving a slight push on the girl. "For now."

Taking the rear, she made shooing noises at everyone to get moving. "Defense. I do. You two carry the meatbag, lead on."

With a flick of her wrist, all the string she'd made in the room dropped to the ground, limp.

There was no beating around the bush: shit was falling apart and fast. No matter the number of clones that were killed off, more kept coming to replace them in a neverending wave. Old ones that weren't shot, stabbed, baked, crunched, or otherwise killed off ended up melting into flesh goop, as new ones came in to replace them. By now the Wards and the Jacks had gone through at least four different waves of the things, and it was starting to show with the sheer amount of offal that had now been flooding the warehouse. The situation was taking its toll on the young parahumans too. Epsilon had discovered Dean's horrifying secret. Lillian's fragile self-esteem had been utterly crushed. Messiah couldn't even stop to think about what was going on or she wouldn't be able to finish the mission. Even the normally unflappable Margrave had been completely taken aback by the situation, and the Wards weren't the only ones affected by what was going on. Sofia dared not to even open her eyes in pure fear, her imagination undoubtedly inflating the very real and horrible danger around her. Chatterbox was face to face with a copy of himself, complete with the exact same power. It was troubling, to put it mildly. Heartless had to act contrary to his moniker and had almost been overwhelmed by clones for doing do, saved only by their short lifespan. And of course Overlook had made himself into a liability by abandoning his post to come to the field in person, and paid the price for such reckless behavior. At the very least, he had saved the life of Private Skeetz.

<"I understand the situation is... Pretty fucked up"> Decoy continued speaking exclusively to Epsilon. <"Just get through this and we can talk about it. In person. Face to face, no holograms. Now get yourself and the others out of there alive!">

Almost as soon as he finished speaking, a large explosion occurred in the middle of the warehouse. The fire from Messiah's wrath had spread and ignited something the Community had kept locked up in the crates and boxes. Nobody was close enough to get injured save for a few of the Dean duplicates, but it certainly did not bode well. Thankfully all of the Wards were already in the process of vacating the building. All of the Deans that were capable of stopping them had already been killed, or their time limit expired, leaving Heartless, Thunderbolt, Chatterbox, and Sofia alone in the raging inferno.

The duplicate Chatterbox stared lazily as the original killed off the Dean that had summoned him. Strangely enough, neither he nor the second Sofia were removed. Killing the source did not stop their persisting existence. "Well that was certainly a waste, but at least now I only have one person to compete with." Chatter could still feel this copycat's words digging deep into his skull. "Or perhaps not? My creator is kind of, you know, dead, and my greatest loyalty is to myself after all. Why don't we paint the town red together? Make this a two-person act? Regardless, come along Sofia. We needn't stay here in danger any longer. Perchance we can negotiate a partnership with these other Jacks?"

Eyes still closed, the duplicate Sofia nodded and the two began heading toward the exit, out of danger. If Chatterbox were perceptive enough, he might notice that they were heading directly for the nearest escape car he had setup by his "fans." Still, there wasn't enough time to mull the details over. Another explosion shook the very walls of the building, and an errant rocket shot upward into the ceiling, causing a collapse. The remaining Deans chased after who they could, but most were caught up in the flames, or struck by falling debris. In a matter of only a small handful of seconds the entire building came crashing down on itself, burying any who didn't make it out on time. Not a single Dean survived.

---

The child parahuman could barely react to the sudden onslaught, showing how despite his stupendous amount of raw power, he was incredibly out of his depth. Still, his natural defensive power worked wonders. As Swarm tossed a car his way, an opposing explosion canceled out the vehicle's momentum. Even so that prevented him from seeing what came next in the way of Kyoshi's assault. The earth itself attacked him, getting in at least one good hit before he came aware of the situation, and all further attacks were nullified by his automated explosion defense. Of course he was still thrown up in the air, and before he could propel himself elsewhere with an explosion he had been caught by surprise by none other than Outsider. Caught in a tendril, the two put up quite a back and forth until Blastmaster found himself lying down on the pavement.

"You're not playing right!" the kid shouted, getting up from a small crater in the ground. Those automatic defensive explosions were utterly ridiculous in protecting him. He prepared himself for a counterattack, but found himself cut off.

"We've got to stop meeting like this, Minutemen," bellowed a proud voice from off the side. It belonged to none other than Furnace, swooping in on his glider and rolling along the pavement right up to Masterblaster.

"Another one?" the kid complained. He didn't hesitate this time, unleashing an explosion centered on Furnace's body... Which was near instantly dissipated by the change in air pressures as the hero flicked on his body temperature change. His left hand glowed with a white hot intensity that everyone present could feel, while his right hand was near pitch black with an absolute cold. These two extremes in such close proximity was wreaking havoc with the air. Masterblaster looked between each fist, shocked beneath his mask.

"Sorry kid." The hero promptly clocked the boy in the face, the natural explosion defense neutralized just as his previous explosion had been. With that one strike the boy fell unconscious like a rag doll. Furnace promptly returned to normal, turned back round to everyone, and addressed them. "Good work. Sorry I jumped in, but I figured that wince my powers could cancel out his, it'd be better to cut things short and prevent any collateral damage. But he's your collar, Minutemen. You can call it in to the PRT. I'm just happy to help."

---

As Floris walked the sun was beginning it's descent, shadows growing across the city.

Where the Wards and Jacks dealt with the horror inducing effects of the events at their Warehouse....
Where The Protectorate dealt with goons in an attempt at gaining Intel...
Where the Minutemen were wrapping up their worst day ever...
Where countless others were wrapping up their business, Floris was just getting started.

The traffic in the area was light, as was the foot traffic, as lights began to flick on in houses and the streetlights started to buzz and brighten.

There was a loud crash across the street from where Floris was walking, as a young man dropped what seemed to be a rather large lamp. Looking at the debris blankly for a few moments, he shook his head before starting to pick up the pieces. He wore an odd steampunk looking belt and had what seemed to be a metal container shaped like a scroll strapped to his back.

---

---

As Lillian and the rest of the Wards and soldiers made it out of the building, the Deans behind them turned to goop. Shortly after, the building itself crashed down, a ruckus if she had ever heard one.

Sagging, Lillian slumped slowly to the ground, slipping out of the hands on her.

"This was... Bullshit..." she muttered, growing paler by the minute. Shaking slightly, she reached out for Alessa's hand as she looked into the flames. She used that touch as an anchor, holding the black tide that threatened to sink her at any moment at bay. A small realization wormed its way into her mind.
"Matter... Master pro - protocol. Troll... And that guy... Made me remember..." She sighed, breathing hard, as the thoughts swirled around in her head and she held onto that hand like her life depended on it.

---

---

Jason had seen Headhunter exit, lost sight of Heartless, and watched as one of the Chatterbox and Sofia duos had started leaving.

He shook his head, following after Headhunter to relay the situation.

Catching up, he saw his teammate as two soldiers started moving away with another body between them.

"We got a problem. Double trouble. CB and S. And, honestly, seem like perfect copies. Heading towards the exit strategy, I'll meet you there." he was brief, distracted, before setting off again.

Catching up to the soldiers, he whistled to get their attention before approaching. "I'm going to help," he said quietly, holding up both hands. "I'm strong, obviously yeah? Let me carry him and then I'll leave."

Corporal Johnson stared at him for a few moments before relenting. "Only because you guys helped already..."

Jason reached forward, activating his ability and carrying Overlook in a fireman lift.

They were quiet as they walked over to the rest of the Wards and soldier, Jason setting the crippled hero in the back of their transport.

"Your little one seems to be bleeding out. I would stop that before..." he stopped there, feeling like he was at the end of his welcome.

With a slight salute he turned his ability on himself, taking a giant leap back out of sight.

Approaching a set of clones, Jason landed with barely a sound before raising a hand. "I'm going to have to ask you to open your eyes and separate." Jason looked at the two, seeing the other pair not far away.

What a mess.

---

Curious as to the source of the noise, Floris turned his head just enough to he could observe the boy across the street from the corner of his eye. He didn't stop walking however. Instead, FLoris kept up his usual pace, gradually turning his head to keep the boy in his sights. He wasn't particularly eye-catching, save for the belt and scroll, and Floris would have certainly simply walked past him had it not been for that crash earlier. But now...not so much. This kid was unusual. Through his plant senses, Floris could hear his breathing; it was calm. Almost too calm, as if he didn't even notice anything that was happening. And then there was the matter of the lamp. It sure as hell didn't seem like an ordinary lamp, it was too large and weird shaped for that. Just what was this kid up to?
Thinking it best to draw as little attention to himself as possible, Floris turned his head away and returned his gaze to the street ahead of him. Slipping his hands into his pocket, Floris turned the corner and continued on his way.

"Excuse me." He said, passing a passersby on the street. Floris was focused, his mind was in two places at once, quickly switching between both as to not draw suspicion to himself. Part of him was careful of his surroundings, avoiding obstacles and interacting with the world immediately around him. The other was buried deep between the roots of the city, hopping from plant to plant, observing everything. Though he could not physically see him, Floris still knew exactly what the boy was doing. He was on his knees, picking up pieces from the broken lamp, carefully observing each piece as if they were still worth something. Were they?

Suddenly, Floris stopped dead in his tracks. The boy had gotten up. With all the pieces in his hand, he began to strut towards his destination. Floris quickly stepped away from the main sidewalk, instead taking a place against a building. He carefully focused his mind only on the boy and where he was going. His pace was strange, as if he wasn't in control of himself. Deciding that this wasn't normal behavior for anyone, Floris lifted up his collar, and began to follow the boy, careful to leave at least 800 meters between them.

Despite the fact that Mantis had been injured, Angel continued to pursue Bladedancer and Magna Carta. From her vantage point keeping up wasn't that difficult. A couple times they turned a corner the heroine had to make the turn quickly so as not to lose them. However they did eventually dart out out of sight into an apartment building. There was no way to get inside without drawing attention as Angel. The woman may have already caused a stir flying overhead. An angelic figure in the air had a way of spooking people. Despite not being as large it was rather unfortunate that she shared that resemblance with the Simurgh.

Landing softly in the alley she transformed back to her normal self. The blue glow from before covered her body and her wings dissolved. The bulk of her frame came back. Sarah still was unsure exactly what state she was in during the transition to and from Angel. But at least it seemed that the threat had passed and she had an idea of where the girl that had killed that boy went. Not that Sarah wanted to be bothered with this information. No telling their civilian appearance. That was one advantage of her breaker status, she looked nothing like her secret identity.

Smacking herself on the head the woman stepped out onto the streets. Had to get her mind out of hero mode and get back home. Taking a moment to get her bearings it looked like she'd traveled quite a ways following the other two. Walking back would be a pain. Guess that means making a bus to get closer. Unless she stayed and tried to identify the criminals. "Dammit Angel. You're more trouble than you're worth." There wasn't a reply. Taking the hint she went to a nearby restaurant, waiting and keeping an eye out. How long she would be there was anyone's guess.

Kyoshi's platform fell to the ground as she heard Furnace arrive, handling the situation completely. She tried to listen, but it wasn't working for her. She really didn't care enough at this point to care. She had the worst case scenario phone call happen two minutes ago, and she was just... just tired. Tired of explosions, tired of life, tired of the costume, she just wanted to... to...

The teen began to walk along the sidewalk as she attempted to wipe the dripping mascara away from her face. She needed to go home, her dad needed to talk to her. Tapping into her communicator once more, she spoke with a wavy tone as she held back more tears. "G-guys... I gotta go... K-Kirb has my number if you guys need me..."

Turning off her communicator for what seemed like the last time, Kyoshi wandered back home with the sadness on her face and the agony in her heart.

@Miakoda

---

Artificer continued walking, heading down side streets and alleys with little reason behind his path being obvious to the observer following him.

He stopped in a rather narrow alley, dropping the lamp pieces back into the ground as he looked around.

"What was I...?" he muttered, idly running a finger along the beads around his neck. "A housing unit, wasn't it? Or was it wire..."

Everything was fucked, the girl was gone, there was an explosion happening, the building was burning down, it's time to get gone. Heartless went sunk into the floor, escaping the building as it collapsed atop the gooey corpses of the clones. He made his way to where Jason was, rising from the floor only to see two different Chatterboxes and Sofias, his eyes widened as he cursed under his breath. "Clones are the bane of my fucking existence. If I never run into another clone again I think I can die a happy man." Another explosion rang through the area as the building completely collapsed, Heartless cringed unconsciously at the incredibly loud noise. After the debris settled he recomposed himself and sighed, pulling out a butterfly knife from inside his jacket and toying around with it to calm himself somewhat, making sure his eyes were on the Chatterboxes at all times. Suddenly he recalled the last thing he had heard Chatterbox say over the comms, a passcode to identify which was the real one. None of that had made sense at the time, but now would probably be a could time to figure stuff out.

"I still have the Purple Venom, so no need to worry about that at least. It's in a safe spot." He added nonchalantly, wondering where the hell Headhunter was as he eyed both Chatterboxes carefully. "Headhunter we need to go ASAP, this place has so much heat on it that I'm not sure I escaped the burning building." Heartless called over the comms as he took his eyes off the Chatterbox duo for a second to look for Headhunter.

It didn’t take too long after Lillian was shot with whatever it was that the Wards finally regrouped entirely. Margrave managed to smack one of the clones round the head with a wooden bat, hard enough to crack it in two, before offering his assistance with carrying the injured dino-girl. Messiah accepted with a nod - she’d tell him what a good job he’d done later, she reckoned.

First, make sure everyone got out without dying. Upset was fine, dead wasn’t.

They did, fortunately. Epsilon immediately rushed forward and took a few deep breaths, saying something foul to Decoy specifically. Right. They didn’t have enough intel. Decoy was probably at fault for that, she felt. Was that fair? Probably not.

A couple of moments later, something detonated in the building, and the entire thing collapsed, crushing whatever Deans remained within. Burying them. That was it. The original was dead, all the clones were dead. Nothing remained in this universe of poor Dean.

Fuck. She teared up. She should’ve done more to help him when she had the chance. Fuuuck.

And Lillian agreed, too. Was that the first time she’d been heard to curse? Either way, she did it, and even as she struggled to remain conscious on the ground - as Alessa kept a tight hold of her hand - she detailed what had caused... from the sound of it, what had first caused her to freak out. Master protocol? Damn. Damn damn damn. The Jacks really weren’t people to mess around with, then.

Speaking of whom, some unknown approached them with a teenager over his shoulder, placing the kid in the back of their transport before addressing Lieutenant Reynolds about Lillian’s condition and leaping away. She needed medical attention ASAP, and from the look of things, so did Private Skeetz.

...oh yeah. She’d gotten injured too. Huh.

That guy was a Jack, wasn’t he. Bastard. Or, maybe not, if he helped save somebody who probably shouldn’t have been there.

‘Messiah, are you okay? You’re injured,’ Lieutenant Reynolds said, somewhat concerned.

‘Oh, yeah, I’m fine.’

When had she collapsed to her hands and knees. Why did she do that.

Oh yeah. Dead Deans.

Dead Deans everywhere. Puddles of blood and liquid meat and the real Dean exploded by some impossibly loud shot.

When did she start shrieking at the top of her lungs for a few seconds. Stop that.

Oh yeah. Dead-

She stood up, coughing away the slight pain in her throat now. She still held Lillian’s hand. ‘J-just fine. W-why do you a-ask?’ No, stop your voice trembling. That’s not leaderly. It’s not.

---

For crying out loud, were they all idiots? Or was he just annoyed because they hadn’t immediately followed his orders as expected? Or, maybe Troll was having a lingering effect on him. In any case, he was somewhat upset, and short of slaying a couple more clones trying to make their escape, he could do nothing but wait for the other Jacks to show their faces.

Finally, somebody turned up before him: Jason, mentioning the presence of multiple clones of- really? Was he really under the impression Raymond hadn’t also heard Chatterbox mention his and Sofia’s new doppelgangers? And then, of course, he wandered off to help the two soldiers carry away the unconscious boy nearby. Why? Chances were, they were just going to come back later.

To hell with it. He had better things to be doing than waiting for the remaining two Jacks to get out of there. Following Jason’s one good bit of advice, he began to stroll toward the nearest car - only to see Chatterbox and Sofia on their way toward it. At least... some version of them. Quickly, and remaining as hidden as he could behind one of the external storage containers, he morphed his gun to its Desert Eagle form, then pointed it in their direction and scoped in.

Target: Chatterbox. Version currently in view-

No, not even a hint of targeting. Were they the clones? Most likely, otherwise why would they still be under cloaking? Then again, why wouldn’t the originals also remain under cloak? More importantly, it struck Raymond that Chatterbox’s advice would be utterly worthless; if they were the clones, the Chatterbox of the duo would have potentially no qualms about mind controlling any of the other Jacks around. Didn’t the original Overrun claim “This isn’t my universe, so why not screw it up a little”, or something to that end?

Unfortunately, then, there was nothing to be done with them other than let them go for now, and either meet up with them back at the safehouse, or wait for a better opportunity to take them out individually if they turned out to be the false copies. Sofia couldn’t keep her eyes closed forever, after all.

Quite suddenly, something in the warehouse exploded, and it began to collapse before him; Raymond found himself forced to scramble away from the debris cloud as the building came down, briefly blinding and choking him before the dust settled. Well, if the beings still inside weren’t dead before, they were now.

And yet, for some insane reason, Jason had decided it would be a good idea to approach the two unknowns. Not just him, but Heartless too - who at this point was just adding to a laundry list of idiocies in Raymond’s mind. Son of a... didn’t they realise how easily they could be turned to the copy Chatterbox’s will, if indeed that was a copy?

Speaking of copies, the other versions of he and Sofia found themselves visible at last. At least they’d gotten out of the warehouse before it collapsed. Though, would Sofia’s power have saved them from the building’s rubble? Admittedly, it probably would have, considering how that worked- why was he trying to figure it out? He needed to determine if they were the clones or not, because if they weren’t, Thunderbolt and Heartless were playing a very dangerous game.

Ignoring Heartless’ suggestion that they leave as soon as possible, and the loud scream of anguish that emerged from somewhere on the other side of the wrecked warehouse, Headhunter strolled casually over to the two unoccupied versions of his teammates, gun still drawn, and uttered to them ‘So what would you do if I said “purple venom” to you, Chatterbox?’

---

"The hell is he muttering about?"

The sound was faint; there wasn't much plant life in the area surrounding the strange kid, only just enough to hear him quietly talk to himself. The words weren't clear, but he definitely said something. Floris was still a good ways away from him, so there was no feasible way he had been spotted. On top of that, Floris highly doubted that someone would suspect he was tailing someone 800 meters away from him.

"Hmmmm..." Floris quietly hummed to himself. He slowly rubbed his left foot over the ground, trying to get some extra input from his senses. Sure enough, Floris felt something. Tiny stones on the ground in front of the boy, and only. Tons of them. "What the... Wait, these aren't stones." Floris whispered under his breath. And he was right. They were the shards from the lamp. Why would he so carefully pick all of the pieces up again, only to throw them on the ground in some random alleyway later? Unless, of course, the kid knew exactly what he was doing, and that wasn't some sort of random alleyway.

"Let's get a bit closer." With that, Floris flicked up the collar of his vest, put his hands in his pockets, and moved along the road, still closely listening to the boy.

@Miakoda

---

Leaving the useless lamp on the ground, Artificer moved towards some abandoned trash, poking through it carefully and sorting it.

The piles made little sense, as to an observer there really was no system.

But to him? Things that could be useful. Solid materials that he could maybe, possibly use when he entered that trance.

Something to help figure things out, maybe. Maybe this time it could be better. Better gig. Maybe he could sell it. Laying low had perks but... Well, it was complicated. And he couldn't just sell any of the work. He needed some pieces.

"Can't sell the Beads, too dangerous." he muttered absently to himself.

---

Escaping alongside Sofia as the building collapsed, he had to resist his reflex to protect himself from the rubble and airborne detritus of the collapse. Navigating into the sight of his teammates he saw their clones. His eyes narrowed before he forced himself to relax. As he did so he said words that he didn't want to, but felt were necessary.

"Sofia, open your eyes. We're safe enough for now," he said, though he kept her hand in his. She seemed shaken and admittedly so was he.

Looking away from the girl he noticed Thunderbolt confronting their clones even as Headhunter made a beeline for them, clearly on his guard.

Good, he should be. His power was dangerous and he could feel the disgusting mimicry of it worming its way through his skull. He hated it.

"Stay close Sofia. I'm going to let go of your hand now," he said before doing just that. After all, his clone would be as brilliant and conniving as he was so it made sense for him to make even more of a show of good will.

He trained his gaze on Headhunter and, lowering his tone, responded to the man's query.

"Green Fever," he said, expression serious, tone grim. He looked away from the sharpshooter, staring daggers at his clone. "Headhunter. It occurs to me that none of you have really felt what my power is like. Now that there is another me walking around. I think when we're back at base, I am going to turn it on for a moment, then back off. You need to know what it feels like so you can notice it when it happens. I will remove the influence afterwards." He met the man's eyes again.

"Furthermore, I think we need further verification and a proper passcode system for the future. I don't want us to be caught off guard if something goes wrong in the future. As to the verification..." he paused, trolling his memory. One of the things that only they ought to know were the likely fake names they'd told eachother on that recruiting walk.

"My real name isn't James," he said—too quietly for anyone but Headhunter and Sofia to hear. It would only mean anything to Headhunter though. That had been the name he'd told the former mercenary before they'd recruited Arsenal. With any luck it would be something that his clone wouldn't know. "...and yours was Jack Selser." That said he turned his gaze away once more and tapped out code.

"One of our ways out is headed this way now. We need to get Thunderbolt away from the clones. Unlike me, that fake is willing to use my power on the lot of you. Headhunter, if you'd tell Thunderbolt to retreat from them, that would be stellar. The more time they spend listening to his voice, the worse this will be for us in the long term." That said, he'd realized just how much time he had spent getting to that point and he cursed himself internally at just how fitting his damned cape name was sometimes.

This was not turning out to be their best day, that was for sure.

---

---

Making her way over to the others, her body feeling like lead, she found that she couldn't make eye contact with a single one of her teammates. She'd really fucked this one up. Punctuating the thought, the building buckled and then outright collapsed under its own weight.

That was her fault, not just Messiah's. Her projection had--.... The silver light flashed into her mind's eye, followed by an image of Lillian and—No! Her grip on her arms, crossed under her chest, tightened as she dug her nails into skin, trying to interrupt the thought and banish the images.

She felt even heavier, but she somehow managed to get into the vehicle and sit down.

God she was exhausted.

The mission had really taken a toll on her. Unfortunately, that toll appeared to have been far greater for others....

She would be largely silent for the entire ride back, unwilling to talk or respond with anything aside from nodding or shaking her head. The whole time she would fail to meet anyone's gaze.

Even that small failure. The lack of courage to own what she had done and still face her teammates.

It was crushing and it would be a miracle if she didn't break into tears on their way back.

---

---

Paying close attention, Outsider rushed into action the moment he sensed the cape start to move again. He wasn't having it. However, he quickly slowed as another cape made their presence known. As the electromagnetic field around their body began acting bizarrely in tangent with his sense of the individual becoming slightly fuzzy, he knew it wasn't necessary for him to attack. Instead he let his huge form drift down to the street before—rather suddenly—swapping out. He stumbled slightly, falling from several feet above the ground as he switched forms. The disorientation hit him a moment after, but it only lasted a few moments.

Once it had settled he ended up just...kind of standing there for a few moments with a big ole grin on his face. Not only were Furnace's words something positive after a series of rather unfortunate circumstances, but the feeling of being—both in body and mind—so totally...present was just...it filled him with joy.

Recovering he cleared his throat and approached the unconscious cape and Furnace. Shaking his head a bit, keeping an eye on the kid, he spoke. "Thanks for the help," and the words were genuine, more full of emotion and presence than his words usually were. Glancing elsewhere he noted one of his teammates heading away. The set of her shoulders and general body language didn't say good things about her emotional state.

He glanced up at the huge hole in the side of the apartment that had been their headquarters. "I think I'll do just that, Furnace...though with how things are looking I'm not sure if there is much of a we anymore," as he said it the joy started draining from him, replaced by frustration and sadness and worry. He didn't want to operate alone, even if he didn't really have to worry about harm to himself it was better to have teammates rather than having to fight and risk excessive damage to your surroundings all the time.

Swallowing some of those emotions he considered how he was to call the PRT. He didn't want to use his personal phone, that was...not smart. Was there a payphone nearby perhaps? Damn. He really should have gotten something to call with, but to be fair he figured one of his teammates could.

He glanced at Furnace and smiled awkwardly, "Um, actually...I realize that I don't have anything to call with. Any chance you carry something around or should I just find a nearby Payphone while you keep an eye on the kid?" Unsureness, man how long had it been since he'd felt like this.

It was so strange being this aware of his emotions, but he liked it. He liked it better than them being far away. This all of it, with the bad and the good it brought, was far better than feeling detached all the time. It was too bad that it wouldn't last....

It never did.