Location - Government Agency - Later

"You let him leave?"
The room was cold. Ziggy sat in the center of a small room, as a voice echoed out from a set of speakers. Interrogation Room B, he knew it well enough. This is where he went when Mr. E showed up. Mr. E was the supervisor, and thus the final say in 99% of the cases Ziggy was involved in. His creation, his training, his future all rested on the cold, unseen shoulders of Mr. E.
"I did it to minimize casualties." Ziggy said after a long pause, just to make sure he didn't interrupt his supervisor. "This machine managed to creep into the facility, and he had a weapon designed to kill humans, and me."
"So, you should have tried to stop him."
"But it was a heat weapon." Ziggy said, eyes narrowing at the glass window that hid Mr. E from his sight. "How could I stop that? All it would have resulted in is more people being injured, and he would have gotten out anyway."
"That's the mistake you made. Did you not consider that he'd use this stolen technology to hurt more people further down the line. While I commend you on your ability to consider the immediate loss of life, this machine creature you described clearly has no qualms about hurting people. Worse, civilians. The men in this facility should have been willing and ready to give their lives too keep this machine from escaping. You made a poor choice of judgement." Another long pause, before a sigh filled the air. "Either way, this will have to be handled discretely. Thankfully the press hasn't caught wind of this, so until then, you are to keep your eyes open for this robot."

------------------------------------------
But let me present this question to you. Why are you content being their little lapdog? Their little weapon? You could be so much more. You should be ruling them, not taking their orders. You are superior to the humans in every way.

Why did he say that? Ziggy was sitting alone in his room now. He was doing a lot of sitting. Because laying down seemed too relaxed, and standing was too hectic. And yet, the words Talos left him with. He left that out of the official debriefing, because he didn't want the humans to worry. And yet... Was Talos wrong? If Ziggy wanted, he probably could have broken down the glass wall and confronted Mr. E personally, instead of being chided at through a set of speakers. He could have killed any one of those bank robbers the night before. But he didn't. Because it just didn't... It just wasn't... It wasn't what he wanted to do. Right? He never really thought about it. In fact, he couldn't think of ever thinking that way. Being better than humans? Maybe he just never thought about it like that.
"I could." He whispered, and then clasped a hand over his mouth. As if he wanted to take back those words. But it was like a genie in a bottle. Once said, he couldn't help but think about it.

And it made him feel sick to the stomach.

Creep Bros
Location: The Creep Nest

It was eight o'clock when Black Mask arrived at the old dilapidated house. He walked down the basement stairs, being met by darkness, fought off barely by the orange shine of a street light outside, peeking through a small window at the top of one wall. He could just barely make out the still form of Mindraker laying on his shitty mattress, probably asleep.

Mask approached, none too quietly. He expected Raker to wake and look up at him, in that silent and unsettling way that he did. But he did not. The masked man knelt down by him, taking note of a used puke bucket sitting next to the bed. It looked like his partner in crime was fighting another bout of nausea. It happened from time to time. He reached down to shake the man awake, but his hand touched ice cold skin. Black Mask felt his stomach churn. Was he dead? He put his fingers on the man's neck to feel for a pulse. At that, Raker gave a slight stir. His eyes cracked open and he looked up at Black Mask, looking like absolute death. Well, at least he wasn't actually dead.

Black Mask picked up the crumpled blankets on the floor and put them back over the sickly man. He probably kicked them off as some point, thinking he was hot. He then turned and went in search of a bottle of Pedialyte, which they had learned to keep around for such situations. When he found a jug, the last one at that, he picked it up and cracked it open. Mask handed it over to Mindraker, who was slowly sitting up. While he sipped on the re-hydrating drink, Black Mask grimaced as he took the plastic bag out of the trash can and went to dispose of it. He teleported to the next door neighbor's yard, chucked it in their dumpster, and then popped back into the basement. He wondered if this partnership was really worth all this, not for the first time.

For the next hour, Mindraker recovered by drinking the fruity drink and munching on several saltine crackers. It was almost nine by the time they were ready to go. The wind farm was quite a ways from their hideout; they needed to get started if they wanted to make it there by ten.

Douglas Song

Centerville Community College

Getting into and about the dorms was no real issue, in fact it was no trouble at all. Students of the campus and otherwise went about their lives, yet all the talk of any importance was about how someone must be hiding something here. It was almost a celebration to them, not that they needed an excuse to party anymore. Having some sort of conspiracy about the college related to all this was just feeding their attention and drive for excitement. The usual drinking had only escalated in response to this, as had activity. What it created for the outsider in Song was an easy route in.

Having made it a point to focus in upon just which part of the building it was, the man continued wandering and inspecting the dorms. Fortunately he wasn't aging to the point he could no longer blend in; his discipline and lifestyle, internalizing his lessons and his qi, they gave him the liveliness and vibrancy he needed. So between sidestepping the few people hanging about in doorways and conversing, others playing about with any amount of booze one could imagine, he continued to the more quiet side of things and found what he was looking for. A set of rooms, but just which had any evidence to further explain the road Song needed to follow was lacking. Perhaps again inspecting the outside to then work in would point him to the way? Each shot was centered with purpose and the messengers delivering their message were decidedly clear in their precision.

Or, more likely unknown to him, the scarf-wearing man might well just encounter their former owner.

@Little Italy

Amber had just come home after getting off from work. Thankfully, she had an early off and got home around 4 pm. She kicked off her shoes and jumped on the bed. After taking a 3 hour nap, she saw that it was 7 and opened up her laptop. She booted up Goggle Silver and passed the time until her favorite show came on by watching some Crispyrail. Before she knew it, it was 10 and she turned on her TV. The channel was tuned to Mystery Channel from a couple of days ago when she had been binge watching some random show. She tuned it to Geek and Sundry and waited for her favorite show to come on. Just as it was starting, it was interrupted by some signal. ”Ah, come on! What the hell!” She lunged for her phone and managed to get a shaky video of the event. Amber looked over the video and noticed a string of numbers. She ran them through an a1z26 decrypter and left as soon as she figured out what the riddle meant.

Current form: Dr. Wattz

Amber drove up to near the wind farm and parked it. She got out, popped open the trunk, and grabbed her pipe and shotgun attachment. She slammed the truck shut and started walking toward the wind farm. ”This had better be fuckin’ worth interrupting my Critical Role…” As she approached the gate, she looked around. There was a sign that read, “Danger! High voltage!” and after inspection, it was, in fact, high voltage. Amber just climbed it anyway. ”Aight, I’m here! What the fuck was so important that you needed to hack the tv channels?”

Scorn / female / 29 / Villain
Location: On the move to 'Where the wind blows'

Having defaced one billboard with little to no results, Scorn gave up on her little adventure and returned to her tunnels. By the time she returned to homebase, one of her lackeys were scrambling over to her showing her some strange broadcast that had popped up on one of the televisions that were scattered about. She had shoved him aside to see what the chatter was about. Most of it she didn't care about. The image of Hotshot irritated her just reminding her of failed heist. She was about to leave when the television had a series of numbers appear on the screen.

Scorn got one of her lackeys to photograph the numbers with a pilfered old cellphone, good enough to record the series of numbers while she dug around for a stolen laptop. One of the tech freaks she kept would know something about decoding, or they would regret not knowing. Luckily enough one of them did seem to realize the type of decoding method that the numbers were using and found a means of decoding it online through a decoder.

"Well boys looks like your leader has to go make one more visit for the night. Don't wait up and play nice," Scorn cackled merrily rushing out of her lair to find what exactly waited at the place 'Where the wind blows'.

Douglas Song

Centerville Electric Corporation Windfarm

Answers may come from unexpected places and Song made no mistake in pursuing them where they came. The dorm room once belonged to a young girl, young at least in the sense she was straight from primary education and into college. Blonde, average in height and build, and pursuing a degree in science. What little more the man could gain was not worth recall, but Song took it as no mere coincidence that he had seen a woman by this very similar description not more than a day before. Perhaps coincidence, perhaps heavenly action, it all made no difference now. It constructed a narrative, one punctuated by the fact both women so described wore gloves, which the questioned party - a bit inebriated as he was - noted was really weird; like a weird quirk everyone eventually noticed.

For Song this confirmed his suspicions that something was afoot, but he did not end there. No, he bid his company goodbye with a simple smile and his thanks; it would have been more difficult and strange had the man not been slightly off as he was. To the outsider to the campus, it was evidence he needed and the direction came from there. Now to discern the coded messages they had sent and what better way to do that than the media itself? They had time to digest the information, now just to access it. On a college campus? A computer wasn't far, though the morality of using it without their owner's due attention was very, very grey to put it kindly. Song cared not for that either, the stakes were building higher after all; several "heroes", some seemingly antiheroes or villains at worst, a string of metaphors and secret messages, some of which were nods to other things.

Happenstance was eroding quickly and the man in scarf, hidden in plain sight here, noted the answer in short order. Tapping away slightly in his search, fingers deftly perusing the keyboard so as to not make any error in the process, the message was revealed. This created a number of problems, the most notable was that it was not too difficult to decipher and had seemingly multiple recipients intended, him apparently included. This was not just a meeting with the "me" mentioned and to assume otherwise would be folly. In fact, Song knew "me" to be "they". Pausing, coming to see his reflection in the dim screen of the room he so invited himself into, he deliberated with himself.

Was this worth it? Was finding out more, edging closer towards the truth and what darker leanings it had, worthwhile at all? The broadcaster, rather broadcasters, made it clear it was calling out others who had better time, resources, knowledge to answer this. They unquestionably would be falling in on it in short order. But if it were a trap, seemingly aimed at them, would it be wise to let them go into it alone? Song could... well, he could right some of his wrongs. That was what he had been trying to do for a time, wasn't it? It was not that they needed him, or that he needed them, but it was the right thing to do, to lend his aid in the face of a trap. Should it not be a trap, what issue would that even be then?

Sighing, closing his eyes, he set a hand upon the lid of the computer and closed it, having set it to sleep after clearing out his doings; the owner would be perhaps confused why things had so subtly changed, but none the wiser. Standing then, adjusting his clothes, he looked at himself once more in the confined room's mirror and its messy, disorganized life story strewn about.

"We will go then, together." He commented, disappearing out the door and to his concealed cache not far away, left hidden high above in scaffolding among the tools of construction workers who had secured their equipment with locks and chain.

Browsing through the bag not just for a change of clothes which he soon donned, but for a companion piece of equipment. A firearm was mostly for show, but on a windfarm and likely open terrain? He resigned himself that it might be the difference between him seeing another night or that of others. The choice however, was subtle and small, concealed among his dress, joined by a set of short and balanced blades for throwing and more sources of its ammunition. This all would suffice, Song would need it to. At that point, having shifted shapes again from nobody to his identity, he layered one last liberal use of his jacket over.

The drive there wasn't long, the cab fare not expensive, and the walk into the night the worst of it; the going into the unknown. The gate leading in was the most obvious route, perhaps the most dangerous, but it was the first place to start, especially with a sign as forward and as obvious as the "Centerville Electric Corporation Windfarm", followed by a shack, an arm-gate, and a lone, sad little light.

Creep Bros
Location: The Wind Farm Tags: Whoever else is there



The tall grass swayed gently in the wind, softly illuminated by the not so far off city lights. The fields were dark, save for the eerie red lights that sat atop the turbines. Almost silently, they spun in the cold night breeze. Only a slight hum could be heard from most of them, all but one. A single turbine seemed to have something just a little bit off, as it clicked each time it turned. Under the dark shadow that this white giant cast stood two figures. They watched as their company arrived, waiting to be noticed. Or perhaps waiting to pounce.

Not much time had passed before their little meet up was interrupted, however. The sound of blades chopping at the air approached. This wasn't a turbine, but a fan of a different sort. A helicopter. It was almost invisible in the night sky, black just like the tarry background behind it. Only the lights made it stand out, a spot light in particular. The light swooped over the grassy plain, clearly looking for something, or someone.

The two villains were quickly unsettled by the sight of it. They ducked behind the mast of the turbine they stood under, semi-crouched in the tall grass.

Scorn / female / 29 / Villain
Location: Arriving at 'Where the wind blows'

Borrowing one of her associates vehicles, Scorn had made her way to the coded meeting area from the television, at least what she presumed was the meeting area. She parked the vehicle a little out of site as a precaution and walked the rest of the way to the front of the fence where another vehicle was seemingly all ready parked."Guess I'm not the first to arrive," Scorn muttered to herself looking at the fence. She was about to make her way in when the sound of blades were heard. She disappeared into whatever shadows were available and waited to see where the helicopter was approaching from.


If this was all a ruse I'm going to blow something up, Scorn thought to herself waiting for the helicopter to go away before continuing onward into the wind farm. Before hiding she had noticed some form of movement in the field though whether they were others who were brought in by the message or the messenger themselves she had no clue.

Douglas Song

Centerville Electric Corporation Windfarm

The abandoned gatehouse offered Song some much needed reprieve, being one of the few places if any he could see that wasn't plainly in the open. Of course had it been occupied he would have had to contend with its keeper, but that would have been far, far easier for him than most. Rendering others unconscious without needing too much force? Something he could do and do quite well. Yet what Song could not do well was contend with a helicopter of all things. Having been inside the small office, looking through its contents and drawers, even down to just where the chair was placed, what tipped the man off was a light among darkness in the distance, then the beating of its blades that sent a hum through the shack.

For a moment Song laid low, clinging just below the profile of the windows and creeping along their base. Now and then he peaked, only to see the aircraft drift about, searching the field for someone or something. Thinking quickly, the man's amber eyes scanned the dim office until he noted an answer - a pair of binoculars. If they were good enough for the guards to the windfarm, they were good enough for him, so Song snatched the tool and brought them close to his eyes.

What was the helicopter after and just who did it belong to?

The drone surveyed the dark landscape as Talos watched through the screen. The noise of the wind turbines would have masked any noises from below that the drone could have picked up. So, it was relying on sight alone. But even the sight was obscured in the darkness, only the lights of the turbines themselves helping to illuminate anything. Talos made a mental note that he needed to upgrade the drone with some form of night vision capabilities, something that would have definitely come in handy here.

Then suddenly, a much larger sound filled the air. The drone spun to see a helicopter down below, fast approaching. The wind blew the drone
far off course and Talos had to work hard to right it once again. The vehicle then headed out over the grass as the drone sat on a flat surface on top of one of the turbines. When it had gone far enough, it took to the skies once again. The camera panned straight down for a moment, and Talos stopped it right there. He could see something down by the base of the turbine, faintly.

Talos lowered the drone quietly to get a better view. It was two figures, seemingly, crouching. Once it reached a reasonable distance, the drone stuck itself to the trunk of the wind turbine facing downwards. This would be a good vantage point to see where these figures would go.

Scorn / female / 29 / Villain
Location: Arriving at 'Where the wind blows'

Stuck in the shadows all Scorn could do was wait for the wretched helicopter to leave. Perhaps this endeavor would be fruitless but it seemed to be a lot of effort for someone to go through to just be nothing. She could be patient and wait but patience wasn't one of her strong traits and the longer the helicopter stayed the more impatient she got. To bide her time she made a few attempts to see if she could spot any other guests who had seen the broadcast but if they were there they had hid as well from the noise of the unwanted vehicle in the sky.

"Just when I'm about to make new friends, someone has to ruin the fun," she mumbled to herself arms crossed ",Should of brought a book."

Creep Bros
Location: The Wind Farm Tags: Whoever else is there

Mindraker, displeased by the helicopter interfering with his plans, entered the mind of the pilot. As with the helicopter from earlier that day, the bird began to careen out of control. This time, however, Raker didn't release control to let the pilot take back over. This time, he held on until the chopper plummeted into the ground.

The explosion was quick and hot. Anyone on board would have to have been dead. However, right before the crash, a single figure managed to bail out. His parachute barely deployed before he landed, but he seemed fine. Dressed in black combat gear, he hauled ass towards the scene, gun up and ready. Mindraker sought to reach into his mind as well, but...couldn't. Luckily, Black Mask moved quickly to fill in. The two vanished from their spot. Funny enough, on the ground where they had stood, in the clearing just under the turbine, was a little red flash drive.

The two villains reappeared a little ways away, and Black Mask disappeared again, by himself this time. He reappeared right in front of the man, and a struggle began. Mask grabbed the gun and pointed it upwards, bullets spraying into the air. He was trying to wrestle it away.

Douglas Song

Centerville Electric Corporation Windfarm

Song was not the most intelligent of men, wise for his age maybe, but uninitiated to the deeper mysteries of life and the way certainly. Yet one thing was clear, that the sudden crash of the low flying aircraft was anything but natural. Its nose dipped and suddenly the entire airframe shuddered as it pivoted into an uncontrolled spin, ending in a hard stop against the ground with a globe of flame erupting from it. Setting the binoculars down for a moment, thinking hastily, Song gave the phone in the shack a stare. He could call the police, they would know soon enough as it were, but they could be told sooner. But what good would that do?

Thinking against it, the man snapped the binoculars up again until the shadows of the ground swept and moved, joined by a third which sprinted with unchecked resolve toward the others; the fight breaking out convinced Song enough was enough. Setting the binoculars down upon the window's ledge again, he in one swift motion unlatched the pane at the bottom, and with a forward roll as the window flew up and open, leapt out and allowed the momentum to carry him to his feet. A series of flashes and loud echoes from the struggle ahead came through the night as a burst of gunfire tore into the air.

Sprinting as he was, Song's breathing barely rose no matter how much speed his feet carried in building momentum, and his stability waned none as he reached down and snatched a small stone, no larger than a fist, from the grass. The blades waving as his hands brushed their stalks, there was a slight moment of delay - a serenity and calm - that fell over the white jacketed interloper; gathering himself in one breath, he exhaled the next and imparted himself upon the stone just as it left his finger tips and skirted across the ground at furious speed. It bounced, skipped once, and evened out, not at all breaking its surreal pace. A missile of qi infused stone, surely over one-hundred miles per hour, shot right for the ankles of the all too familiar masked man.

Song didn't know who the gunman was, but he probably wasn't any worse than the two he knew for certain now to be the "bad men", and if all went well, the attacker would either vanish out of harm's way - the Golden Tiger unsure if it was a reactive thing the stranger did - or suddenly have a very painful, crippling blow distract him and slow him down; maybe even trip him. That should afford Song to pick up speed and enter the brawl himself, especially as he continued to close the gap.

@Metronome