^{Location: Gorbals, Glasgow, Scotland}

---

^{Initiating Communication_
//Frequency Loop: Good
//Self-Test: Good
//SVS: ERROR_ Unable To Locate GPS
Searching For Signal_}

For those that knew of 78's existence, they knew that the Cyborg had a routine. There were times and places that the 78 could be found in, though none knew why they were there nor what they were doing exactly. This was one of those times. More than a few people in the rations line turned their heads toward a small side-street when the time came, their expectant eyes scanning for motion, for they could hear the whirring and soft scraping already.

No, it wasn't the fact that it was loud that helped them hear it, more that it was familiar, distinctive, and just loud enough to pick out from the din of the crowd. When the triad of softly glowing lights appeared at the end of the shadowy side street, a few people began to shuffle about as if getting into formation. With a sigh, a pudgy pink man put an arm around his daughter, and gently moved her along, mumbling, "About that time again."
"Daddy, what do you think it's doing?" Asked the girl.
"Hell if you'll see me askin' it. Jus' stay out the way."

Guardian 78 marched toward the crowd purposefully with mechanical smoothness. A small divide had formed in the crowd, more or less a straight line, that led to something of a clear pocket in the group. 78 usually marched through the line, past the people, uncaring of who they bumped into or what they stepped on. But of course, this was another one of those days that 78 bumped into someone that didn't know the routine. This particular Someone stood in the fairly empty space the crowd had vacated, equal parts oblivious and defiant. He was a man of the light haired and sturdy variety, that looked to be more mass and muscle than common sense, and he did nothing to prove the assumption wrong. 78 came shoulder to shoulder with the man, nearly toppling him.

"What the--" shouted the startled man, "Useless hunk of trash-- hey!" 78 stopped where they stood as the man had moved to block their path. It seemed he was the type looking for any excuse to fight. Such a sentiment was understandable, due to the fact they were all caged like animals, most forced to labor, and people were generally too stressed to properly function. This man, in his "last straw" form of fury, decided to take his aggression out on 78, as an act of foolishness or perhaps bravery. With two hands forward, he gave 78 a shove and two things happened then. First, a few people in the crowd turned their attention toward the brewing conflict, then made sure to spread out further away from it. Second, the man only succeeded in pushing himself back and away from 78, making himself look rather silly, as 78 proved to be as unmovable as a wall in that moment.

^{Acquiring Target_ SYSTEM CONFLICT
//PACIFIST PROTOCOLS ENGAGED
#CODE 17 ::Hostility Requirements_ Not%Met::
Checking _}

78 beeped a low tone twice at the bewildered and suddenly red-faced gentleman. 78's head tilted slightly to the side and they played a recording of the man's voice back, "Useless hunk of trash." His eyes widened and once more he heard himself, through the Cyborg's audio, "Useless hunk of trash." As suddenly sweating man retreated a step, 78 played the audio more slowly, then louder, then a third time with a spliced in audio clip--
"Useless hunk of--SS%Z##Z&ZZT-- Meat."

"And then, the fuckin' old lass punched me in the gut! Hell, I just wanted her necklace..." aside the crowd and line in which multiple people were waiting for rations, a group of three men who already got their food in small and metallic boxes loudly talked and laughed, the group composed of a fit and lithe man that seemed to be near his 30's, although he was in reality much older than that: Roundabout as they called him, Óscar Guijarro.

The second person in there was a small person, obviously lightly overweight and that looked like some sort of failed experimentation...Globadier, more than likely a friend of the speedster who was already giving out a talk about his younger days. The third one looked like a mix between moss and human, covered by green-like body hair with penetrating yellow eyes, known as Green Eyes in reference to the legend written by the Spanish author Gustavo Adolfo Bécquer.

"So, you're telling me an old lady hit you? Even though you were able to dodge a taser from one of the cops?"

"Oh, come on, y' she caught me by surprise..."

"More like you didn't expect it." Green Eyes chuckled, his voice soft and slightly coarse as some of the moss fell onto his own metal tray, being sprinkled over the food. "Ugh."

"Ya, ya...anywho, what's all that ruckus over the'e? Seems like so-Aw shite, it's th' Cyborg again." Óscar mentioned, sticking a spoonful of ill-looking mashed potatoes into his mouth, silently munching away as he saw the crowd disperse whilst the half-machine man passed through, the intimidating figure that dared to speak back to him getting flung back by his own force.


"Hmph, if more problems arise, the Death Squads will undoubtedly come in again to teach everyone a lesson. But I am not gonna go there." Globadier idly commented, turning back to his own food tray and wobbling his little legs over one another, to sit up like on top of the bench as if he was about to meditate.

"Neither am I." the moss-man replied, idly picking away his food to try and avoid eating parts of himself. Some of the people near the bench started to mutter as the incident began to escalate, the rest of the people in the line turning towards what appeared to be an oncoming fight between the killer-bot and some poor bastard that thought he could be able to even stand up to said killer-bot. Óscar sighed audibly, slowly setting his tray down onto the bench and rolling his shoulders as if to stretch them out slightly. "Guess I'll have to stop him, then." he said, Globadier going to open his mouth to maybe warn the man about what he was about to do, but the speedster had already started to run towards the ruckus, leaving a sizeable amount of dust trail on the way there.

"Were you going to stop him?" "Fuck no, I just wanted to ask if I could eat his green peas. "I call dibs on them if he dies." "Aw." and as the two of them argued back and forth about who should possess the precious little green vegetables, Óscar planted himself between 78 and the other man, extending his hands outwards towards the Cyborg, his breathing still steady whilst the wind that he moved by the fast movement made some of the people to the side back up, due to the ground dust being blown towards them.

"Oi, oi, oi! Lad, cyborg-man, Guardian ain't it? Alright, boy, I need ya to calm down...the guy didn't mean it! Come on, if ya cause a ruckus ove' he'e you're gonna make the Bastard-Squads come in t' teach the rest a lesson: think about it logically, a'ight?" it was obvious Óscar was just trying to gain some time, tapping the man on the ground with his shoe in an attempt to make him get out of there as soon as possible, the Spanish speedster giving out a light smile towards the cybernetically enhanced individual.

_{"There's something charming about this city. Almost in spite of the circumstances, people manage to do stupid things."}

Frederick nodded to himself as he waited in line. It was a mutter. Doubtful that any would hear it, but who knows.

The man was thin and dense.
He came for rations only once every other week, and he seemed to have one set of clothing. For the most part he kept to the slums, moving with relative freedom. The gang bosses had tried time and again to exploit him, but it was expensive to throw bodies at the self-proclaimed fisherman. No matter how many were sent, they disappeared.

It was logistically better to let him walk and smile his broad, goatish smile at passerby.

His attention was rarely held for long, and it was easy enough to ask him out of the way or for his spot in line.
He became a sort of favorite for those who managed to lose track of rations, as he was always more than willing to provide his own. Several weeks back, in fact, he had broken his schedule and stood two weeks in a row. Someone had asked him to, and so he had. It was no skin off his back and any man, woman, or child quaint enough to proposition him over something so readily available as food would receive it.

Today though, the cyborg had piqued his curiosity. Say it was his gut, urging him to investigate and toy and learn. That was something that he appreciated about life in general. Its ability to be curious was critical.

When the first several computers were released onto the public market, he made a point of collecting them and toying with them. They had eventually lost his interest, but he knew enough to pass as his thirty-something facade in public come the decades. Every five years or so he drove into Atlanta and bought a phone and a computer.

That didn't matter quite so much now, though.

He had a question. Computers don't do things unless they've been fed a command, or have instructions to make them run something on their own. How different could this thing really be? Even if it was self-aware and had a sense of self, everything has nature, too.

Something completely and entirely valid that was surely worth answering. No question in the world forged by this ancient, critical mind could be useless. It would be ridiculous. Beyond reason, even, to suggest that it could ask an unimportant question.

"Machine. What are you doing?"

No. It was certainly feasible for him to steal a little girl's question, though. He moved himself gently towards the front of the encircled little distortion in the line, and repeated himself for clarity.

Tiara Mae sat upon a roof over looking the ruckus below, the cyborg called Gaurdian was thrashing a regular guy. She wasn't going to even come for rations this week, but those in her territory were complaining about the tax she imposed. She popped the last bit of green beans in her mouth and dusted off her hands. She turned and dropped off the side of the building and right before she hit the ground, Tiara Mae threw a hand out. Ice formed beneath her and she began sliding down the alleys. Those who saw her coming moved out of the information brokers way. She had enough information to sink most of the Glasgow camp.

She stepped off her ice slide and walked into the old library. Her people looked up and saw their leader with a box of food. They turned back to their various tasks set to them by the bosses. She dropped her box off to one of her lower members. Finally she turned to her second in command.

"Put this with the rest of the stash. Leanne, status report." She said bluntly to the young woman. Leanna was a young burnette who work in the American Special Forces as a liaison.

"Miss, most people have paid their taxes for our protection against the other factions. We have also finished this months routes of the squads. As well as the Cyborg known as Gaurdian 78's travel routes. We still cannot figure out it's motivation. I must apologize though, no one has yet to figure out anything about the occupiers. We have studied everything we have on the Seven Day War, and still cannot find a weakness." Leanna pushed her spectacles up on her nose as she watched her bosses reactions.

"Do you know what happened to the last person who brought me no useful information." She said her demeanor changing. "I froze every bone in his body, and shattered them one by one. Do not bring me nothing on the aliens again, understand??" Leanna shook her head curtly, knowing full well what happened to her ex-superior. As she turned to grab paperwork for Tiara Mae to look at, the door busted open. Several men came stampeding in looking angry.

"Freeze Frame!! We are tired of your taxing of the people!! Our families are starving, and you haven't given us an ounce of protection from the squads!!" A burly man said acting as the leader. The men behind him grumbled their agreements, Tiara Mae stood and slowly walked over to the men.

"Upset that I haven't dealt with the Invaders are you?? I don't remember when I took control if this area, ever promising to deal with them. I do remember telling you I would protect you from the other supers running around the city. Do you want the robot running things?? Or how bout that Shoggoth creature?? Do you think they would give you the freedom I do?? No, all I ask is for some of your provisions. My poor people here are so busy working all the time to protect your poor defenseless families that they don't always have time to go to the ration lines." Tiara Mae began steaming as her face took on a dangerous smirk. The men took a step back, no longer holding any conviction in their plan of action.

"I think I have been very fair, but I see my being nice as given you the thought that you have a voice in this. Maybe I should remind the rest of those I own, why I am not a hero, but a villain instead." Before the men could even scream, ice encased their bodies, silencing them forever. "Do the usual, break them up and dump them in the sewers." She said to Leanna as she walked away, grabbing an ear of corn.

^{Location: Gorbals, Glasgow, Scotland = = = Interacting with: @Parzivol + @MegaOscarPwn}

---

^{!ALERT! Incoming High Speed Object!}

When a man stood in front of Guardian-- instead of there being a motar round exploding-- the Guardian managed to find that a logical explanation for his presence was quite absent. 78 tilted their head to the side as Óscar began to speak. "Oi, oi, oi! Lad, cyborg-man, Guardian ain't it? Alright, boy, I need ya to calm down...the guy didn't mean it! Come on, if ya cause a ruckus ove' he'e you're gonna make the Bastard-Squads come in t' teach the rest a lesson: think about it logically, a'ight?"

^{Processing_
Bastard-Squads//:: Identify%NaN
Accessing_
Success!
//New Alias Approved for #SubPartyϴ_
H͟A HA HA̶ ͞H̸A̢ ͝}

The time for 78 to process the information was so rapid that, when they tilted their head at Óscar, it probably seemed as if there was no consideration of his words at all. Guardian was silent and unmoving in this conclusion, but they decided that Óscar was right, in a sense. Having the squads near would likely interfere with the necessary processes. All of these unidentified beings were in the way and needed to move, simple as that. Today, 78 decided that they were going to step around both of them. Just as 78 directed their attention away from Óscar, with a slight turn of the head, there stood another being in the way. The newcomer asked, "Machine. What are you doing?"

^{Reply_ !ERROR!
Vocal Processors Undergoing Maintenance_
//See Technician If Problem Persists_
!ALERT! Identified #SubParty_Δ Configuration 4
Approaching//HUD Positioning Overlay Active}

Without a word of warning to the others, 78 moved six paces past them, then halted. Priority elevated completing the daily task over answering questions or responding to "unknowns." As usual, 78 stood still and silent in this position-- a calculated position measured down to the centimeter. Even as the Mute squad came closer, 78 did not show any sign of acknowledging their presence or cooperating with them-- there were more important things to do. Priority shuffled the Mutes lower, despite the notable threat they posed.

^{/run Mc-Rav Call
//Program Active_
Contacting Satellite . . . .
Contacting Satellite . . . .}

Then shouted the Mute,
"Everyone down now!"

Unexpected Company

_{Interacting with @Parzivol and @Utrax}

The situation seemed to calm down almost immediately, something which made Óscar sigh in relief...but not for long, seeing as how the ration dispensers began to close as the sirens of the walls dictated that the patrols were coming in, due to the ruckus. "Oh, for the love of Buddha." the speedster idly mentioned to no one in particular, watching how the rest of the civilians and supers began to scurry away from the fray as the thumping noise indicating a Chicken Walker began to close in. "Hey, we're leaving, thanks for the food!" Green Eyes yelled to Mr.Guijarro as him and Globadier started to make their way back to, presumably, their own little apartment.

"Everyone down now!" the Mute patrols yelled out, making EVEN MORE civvies start to run back and away from the enhanced humans under the alien's orders. Óscar looked back at the fisherman, then at 78, exchanging his gaze between the two and sighing once again: but now, it wasn't one of relief or anything like that, he was visibly worried. The man started to step back away from the situation, trying to grab the man that offended 78 by the shoulder and starting to drag him away from the Cyborg as well as from the patrols. "Lads, we need t' get outta he'e aye? There'll be plenty 'o time to beat this guy down if ya want, but now, we need to move!

And just as he said that he looked to the newcomer, the seemingly-normal fisherman that tried to talk down 78, or at least gain information off of it. "I'm talking to ya too! Come on, I know a place!" Óscar desperately tried to call out to both of them: why'd he care about those two's lives? They didn't help him in anything, at least for now, and he clearly did not know them until today. But something told him to do so, maybe it was to try and make amends from his prior mistakes? He was not a bad man, not at all, and with this, he attempted to make that known. "Ugh, why did I have to go out today..." the speedster thought, still dragging the man.

In times like these, when faced with danger, the Guijarro's always had a plan as stupid as that may seem, but it got them out of trouble each time they used it. That plan, you ask? Running away, simple as that, retreat to fight again the next day.

Freddy ignored his surroundings rather single-mindedly, watching the machine with an intense lack of satisfaction. It was a thing, and he knew not what this thing's purpose was. "I'll make a point of finding the answer to my question through you. I want your purpose known." If it even had one (It most certainly had a purpose). The conclusion was simple, as far as Frederick was concerned: It didn't matter at the moment.

No, certainly not. Priority one was the avoidance of capture or death. The Mutes, for as long as they had lived, represented threats to those goals. So, he had given them his attention. When they had called for his getting down, he had obeyed. The Speedster had been ignored. Whether the man had a better sense for the situation than Freddy was uncertain, but at the moment our fisherman felt it best to do as he was told. It would be a simple matter to handle things afterwards. When the Mutes too had fallen to the ground, he remained, though his attention was towards the newcomer. Despite himself being of a more ancient cut of cloth, he had no extrasensory abilities at the moment. The only hinting towards the presence of a God-kith for Frederick was the speaking and the following suicides.

That was no small feat. Full biologicals were simple things, yes, but to have that much control over them was exceptional. It was no hallmark of humanity. That suggested enough for Frederick to become quickly disinterested in the situation. Nothing would disturb his old bones more than having to face something as old as himself, or older. So then, he pushed off the ground and moved with the Speedster. He caught up with a ghastly alacrity, and an off-putting speed of sprint. It was out of character for the otherwise reserved and set-back figure. Upon nearing the Speedster, Frederick extended his left hand down for the machine's offender.

"I'll take it. Focus on finding our way. He won't slow me down, with the flesh willing." The man's voice was warbley and cold, and reminded of the sound made by fish slapping against a cutting board or table, though sped up thousands of times and used to modulate something akin to a right proper voice. Perhaps it was the distance, or fear, because he had sounded fine enough only earlier. Matching his statement, he had moved to seize up the downed man by the chest. His left hand hovered about a foot over the man's chest, awaiting permission to pull the stranger up.

"And I'm Frederick. Freddy. Lead the way, yes? I've little interest in being around when more come and trounce those that remain." There it was. Normalized. Again that nondescript voice of a gentle American south-easterner.

Frederick felt again that certain draw to the machine. The idea intrigued him. He'd need to find it and toy with it given time. It had done more ill of the people in the penal colony that week through accident than most of the murderers had. With the rations closed, people would face pains not of their own wishing. What would drive something, apparently made in that clumsy human way. Perhaps it wasn't of human craft. That was always an option. The infinite horrors of the cosmos leaving a mechanical marvel in the middle of a worthless star in a worthless place.

Perhaps a hune was the answer. An escape. But this planet was so quaint wasn't it?

_{Interacting with @MegaOscarPwn, @Utrax, and to a lesser extent, @LordOfTheNight}

The chicken walker, still confused as to what had just happened, suddenly was staggered forward by an explosion that hit it from behind. Then another explosion sent it falling to the ground. An explosive entrance was not something uncommon for the being that had caused it, actually it was sort of a running gag for the likes of Zas. The demonic actress seemed to jump on the downed walker, madly laughing and brandishing what seemed to be a cartoonish rocket launcher. It was good to stir up some chaos again.

She looked down at the others, there were people running and screaming at this point and a bunch of dead mutes that she had no hand in killing. Her mouth hadn’t formed for her to form a frown but there was a look of disappointment on her face, saddened that she couldn’t kill more of the damned aliens that caused her so much inconvenience, having been in the public eye all the time, the number one villain. Now she was nothing in comparison to these aliens.

Her mind went back to reminisce about the times her and her favorite playmate would fight and cause so much chaos together. The Witch Hunter was so fun to be with, sending back to Hell more times than she could count. Now she didn’t know where he was or what he was doing, made her saddened that her favorite play thing was missing. However, that was the least of her concern at the present moment. This was her time to come back into the light of the world and stir up a chaos that the world has never seen.

So with her mouth splitting open, and her rocket launcher shooting itself into the air to create fireworks of her face, Zas gladly announced to the world with a literally booming voice, ”The one, the only, Zas the demon lord has returned!”

^{Location: Gorbals, Glasgow, Scotland = = = Interacting with: @MegaOscarPwn @Parzivol Mentions: @LordOfTheNight @Lauder}

---

^{Contacting Satellite . . . .
Contacting Satellite . . . .
!FAILED! Unable To Establish Contact
//Frequency Loop: Good
//Self-Test: Good
//Recommended: Ensure signal strength
Confirm Date Time Group set to proper Zulu Time
Attempt#1624 RecordedN̲̬̻̳̭̼̯̠͢o̠̼̱t̸̴͈̫̞͡ ̠̥̯̭̫̩̭̼a̢̫̹͍̹̳̞g̵̦̺͇̳̲̻̙͟͞a̞̗͙͕̳͕͎͍͢i̵͠͏̜̮͙͉̦̰̱ń̬̘̲̼̺̝̕ ̴̤̤̮̫̹W̷̪͙͉̻̰̙̪͍̖H̻͙̞Y̟̬͇͕̙͍̝͡Y̭̬͔̳̠̺͕͍͈Y̨͉̟̖̜͢Y̟̮̱̳̩̭̱͜Y̴͏̰̞̣̺Y̴̞̜̱̙͓͇͉̤}

78's attention snapped back to Óscar and Fredrick suddenly. They were positioned differently now and clearly meant to get away from the squad. Both of them were certainly moving beyond calculated speed for humans. Errors and warnings had flashed though Guardian's display numerous times since the two of them had come close. The most perplexing thing about them both was the lack of anything detectable to explain their speed. Were the sensors starting to degrade too? There were already too much "maintenance needed" notifications and error messages piling up in 78's system logs-- the memory capacity for them was taking up unnecessarily large amounts of space. Were these leftover superheroes, then? Cowards with enhanced abilities were somewhat common, but then the possibility these were villains could be likely too. 78 suddenly didn't want anything to do with them and their numerous variables. So much uncertainty was the main reason 78 tended to avoid speaking or interacting with people as a baseline, though there were records of encounters collected anyway. The records for these two beings would be filed with the rest.

^{/run Program 2889J
Initiating. . . Success!
Processing_}

With only a moment's delay, 78's program sorted through a series of pre-recorded audio files, then pieced together a response. First, there came the recorded voice of a male, that sounded as if it were from an old radio, "Go on ahead--" the next voice was female and echoed as if it were in a subway tunnel, "--next station." Satisfied with the response, 78 stayed behind to witness the arrival of, ”The one, the only, Zas the demon lord.” A moment passed where 78 stared at Zas and at the destroyed Chicken Walker. Another moment passed where 78 looked at the dead Mute squad and at the person presumably responsible for their deaths. All the while a timer silently counted down within 78's internal clocks. There were a few hours before 78 needed to move on and, in a moment of odd variation from routine, 78 decided to stay and see how this was going to turn out. Civilians ran past the Guardian, making them stand out all the more amidst the chaos.

_{Interacting with @Utrax, @Lauder, @LordOfTheNight and @Parzivol}

It was over. In less than a minute, the entire squad and even the chicken walker had been defeated. What? What even happened? How did these two total strangers defeat entire patrols of Mutes with such speed and precision? Óscar, of course, stopped, letting the guy who had insulted 78 in the ground and giving a nod towards the fisherman "Name's Óscar, but you can call me Roundabout lad." and after the introductions, instead of trying to escape, the Spaniard did something that someone with at least some sort of curiosity would do: yell out. "WHAT?! You're telling me you can fuckin' make people suicide and ya haven't tried to get out of here?! he sounded reasonably pissed yet impressed at Marcus' actions, dodging corpses as he tiptoed at a high speed towards the same man, standing beside him and putting both hands on his shoulders, almost picturing a kid asking his father for a treat.

"What kind of power is that, lad? What can ya do with it? Can you literally, like, make people fly? What if you tell someone to fly, will they attempt to fly?" meanwhile Óscar was asking all of that, the Chicken Walker advanced a single step towards them, enough to make the terrain tremble for a second as it crushed one of the deceased Mute's corpse, making Óscar turn around with a swift move and stare into the machine's...well, chassis. "Shite, forgot we had to deal with this." and as soon as the Speedster was about to work out a plan, already starting to move to the side in an attempt to surround the alien machinery, before it literally blew up. The radius of the explosion did not affect Óscar, who was able to back up fast enough to not get harmed by it before yet another explosion went off and a new individual appeared on top of the now destroyed Chicken Walker, yelling out. ”The one, the only, Zas the demon lord has returned!”, yet Roundabout had no idea who he was.

What he had an idea about, though, is that she literally had a rocket launcher. A rocket launcher. Yes. Óscar accelerated, creating quite a big trail on dust as he positioned himself behind Zas herself, clearly impressed more than he was cautious, going to use one of his hands to rub the back end of the rocket launcher itself with a laugh. "You're telling me you had a rocket launcher too!? Where the fuck do you come from, lads? One can kill people with a single command, and the other literally blows things up, what the bloody'ell is going on?" Óscar asked yet again in an attempt to make some sense out of the situation, before realizing this would not end well for anyone given the circumstances. "Shite..." he thought, getting back on track again and moving off from Zas' side with incredible speed, now instead putting himself in the middle of the group, shouting out for all of them to hear.



He then stopped the shouting, looking back to both 78 and Frederick. "I already know you're coming, I just yelled 'cause...shite, everyone here did a great entrance and I wanted some attention fo' myself, you know?"

Tiara Mae sat in her office pouring over the maps in front of her. There had to be a viable escape route out of the prison, she just had to find it. If she could get get her hands on a piece of the alien tech, she could have it and mess with their systems. Suddenly an explosion rang out through the city and dust fell on her maps.

"What the shit is happening out there!!" She yelled out. Leanna came running into her office short of breath.

"Miss, our scouts informed us there was a fire fight at the rations line, it seems several super powered people attacked and killed the mutes and a walker!! It seems they will be passing by our territory shortly."

"Give me a communicator, make sure the generators are fully running and boost our wireless signal, I am going out there to find out what happened." Leanna nodded her head as she bolted from the room, just before Tiara Mae could leave her number two was there with a cell phone and earpeace.

"Here you go miss, please be careful, the grid is unstable at best with that explosion, we are trying to repair it."

Tiara Mae put the phone her pocket and the earpeace on, she threw down ice and slid through the streets following the directions of her scouts to where she would eventually cross paths with the group of attackers. When she came upon them her eyes widened slightly at the group. She placed an ice wall in front of them, forcing their halt.

"If you guys what to see tomorrow, follow me, my base of operations is safe. The mutes won't look for you there." Her ice slide turned and she slipped off not waiting to see if they followed. She saw potential, maybe she could use these people to get her hands on the alien tech after all.

Frederick was unhappy with the situation. This was a hell, for him. Powerful creatures and machines of all various makes and models and purposes and builds. Most of them were significantly more powerful than he, and at least one of them could input direct control over him. The girl with the ice wasn't too troublesome, and the speedster could be managed, but the dark looking human-suit would be more than problematic if its operator thought to push its will hard enough against Freddy's own.

When the Speedster had left, he had grabbed the stranger by the shirt and chest, pulling them up over his shoulder. The man wasn't unconscious, though his confusion and daze were keeping him largely manageable. Didn't matter. As soon as the man was over the Fisherman's shoulder, the shoulder became bristled in small spines that pierced the clothing and skin gently, before shooting up and out. By the time the stranger even had the ability to consider protesting or reacting to the pain, his central nervous system had been mangled beyond function. The process of pumping air into the man's lungs to mimic panicked breathing while the man's insides were slowly torn apart and reabsorbed into their base chemicals was quick but being done on an insignificant scale.

Slow, of course, but it was a process still. He ignored the commotion and slowed.

Since the Speedster was making small talk with the maniacs that ruled the place, he dipped into an alley and lost form for a moment. While obscured in shadow, it consumed the stranger whole. It remained in its natural state for just a moment, letting the broiling surface of eyes and mouths and teeth and claws and protrusions feel around the alleyway. It was calming, for him, to return to his birthed state every so often.

Once it was done with enjoying its food, a process that in the end took less than twenty seconds, it returned to a more decent state. Frederick chewed his nails as he stepped out of the alleyway. An actual Demon and a pretender Demon were playing about while a robot and a fast man busied themselves with existing and feeling inferior to their compatriots (respectively). Great. He wouldn't risk the suspicion of leaving just yet, but he'd be careful. No need to risk throwing his established cover off.

"Perhaps we should actively consider not making a show of this and moving on with things. We should really split up and stop congregating in one central area where we're all easily destroyed by something as simple as an orbital laser or a well cast spell calling on a Great Old One or by some high-powered Death Squad beyond even our own instantly destructive abilities and what have you." The way he said instantly destructive abilities was certainly a mocking one. Either he was making fun of himself or making fun of the others. "Hell, one of us is easily defeated by earplugs and basic magical warding. Damn foreigners is what it is. How many of you are actually Americans in a proper sense anyhow? I hate Ireland. I really do." His grumbling drifted into the profuse whinings of someone who knows far too much for their position and understands all too well why their position is a bad one to be stuck in.

---

Interacting with generally everyone, specifically @Parzivol

---

By Lucifer’s horrendously handsome face these people were insistent on leaving, sure the speedy one may have complimented her on her perfect entrance but the others, specifically the one who smelled of Eldritch, didn’t necessarily like her entrance. Worst of all, she had just started her new rampage against the aliens who took over her favorite playpen. The mouth she had disappeared and her visible eye gave a dissatisfied look, before she let out a huff and haphazardly through the rocket to the side, no one would know where it went for it kind of just disappeared from sight.

”Everyone wants to leave, that’s no fun. I prefer the onslaught of chaos!” Zas jumped down from the down robot and walked up the Eldritch one, ”As for murderous death squads, I’d love the chance.” Her voice was unnaturally chilling as she spoke that last phrase, turning around to walk away. Nobody could really command Zas to do anything, she was quite literally a loose cannon and wanted for the aliens to respond to her madness in some form.

As she walked away she turned about once more, ”If any of you expect me to run it with people I don’t trust then think again. I’m a demon lord, I’ll do what I want you bunch of… I want to say idiotic buffoons but that’s being generous.” Zas opened up her best to pull out a dictionary that was far too large to have fit in there, much as a cartoon character would, and began to sift through it. Eventually she got bored and again, haphazardly threw it away, this time the item exploded.

”My point stands, besides the people at home prefer slapstick comedy over some plot which would probably lead all of us to driving off these aliens or something,” Zas chuckled before turning away once more and merrily skipping off, humming the tune of “Mr. Sandman” in an upbeat tone.

^{Location: Gorbals, Glasgow, Scotland = = = Mentions: @Cerces22 @MegaOscarPwn}

---

^{%Next Contact Location -- 02:39:49:01
//Routine_F8 Running. . .
#Overlay Set // SSE -- 880M To Target
// Routes Approximate NaN%GPS Not Found!
#Guidance_Override -- Active}

For the few moments that 78 stood there, several hundred observations were made, catalogued, and filed neatly into their mental hard drive. This only ever happened when 78 felt the need to remember certain variants from normal people. As soon as 78 made their quick observations of the "Ice Cubes"-- an ungraceful nickname 78 came up with for Tiara-- there were no further delays to be made. Not a word left 78 as they turned away from the others and began walking away. Within the web of programs and overlays 78 had created, there were various "panic route overlays", which lead away from this specific location. As planning was a part of 78's subroutines, they has numerous solutions on file if something inconvenient were to happen. It just so happened that a squad of Mutes and random Variants was exactly that type of inconvenience.

There was nothing left to do now but go through a series of turns and climbs, designed specifically for losing "tag-a-longs". After a few steps 78 picked up the pace slowly, accelerating past normal human speed, but not nearly as fast as "Quickman". At this point, it was probably obvious that 78 was not going to slow down, unless they were physically stopped-- not many were wild enough to stand in front of a running Cyborg, though. 78's dash lead them further into alleyways and streets, as opposite the assumed direction of travel the "others" were going to go as possible.

^{//Log Event As -- /#NotMyFriends_
/#NoFunAllowed_
/#RationsClosed_
/#BastardSquads_
Success! Event Logged!}

Dim cobblestone streets were always a cold reminder to the ever present nature of captivity in a foreign place. The people and the guards were cruel towards everyone and each other. Men and women from all walks of life displaced to a dreary and meek existence of servitude and imprisonment. Their new alien overlords rarely blessed this place with their presence. Instead, sending augmented and distorted versions of our brothers and sisters to do their bidding for them.

Victor wanted nothing more than to hijack one of their space craft and upgrade all of its systems. In his daydreams he would always envision himself leaving this planet and wreaking havoc across the outlander’s worlds. But that would be a hard climb and for now the good doctor needed food and a few more mutes for his research.

This tension around the distribution center was well, as some would say you could cut it with a knife. The tall man in his ragged leather trench coat and large Grey and green back pack was quick to grab the rations for himself. Picking up a few portions of rations here and there from the unwary civilian. The predatory nature of this place was strange but easy to get accustomed too if you lacked the morals.

Victor found himself alone towards a wall and a dark alley. He was waiting for the mutes to get here, waiting to see if the grenade he put together with his last plasma cell would be enough to wipe them out, so he could harvest one or two of them. For being a human, Victor wouldn’t be considered weak. However, he is wearing a few structural supports under his coat that help him move heavier objects. At least for a little while until something gives out. Good for getting experiments back to the good doctor without having to slow down too much.

However, a commotion in the crowd drew his attention. A man standing in the crowd seemed to be having an issue with the local cyborg. All the attention seemed to move to the duo while a few others stepped up towards the Frey. The distribution center immediately went into lock down as a squad of mutes and a chicken walker approached. The bipedal autonomous robot scanned the crowd menacingly while the mutes barked at everyone to get down.

The normal civilians and even Victor himself crouched down. Most tried to sneak away unwilling to meet their maker in random crossfire. Then something incredibly strange happened, something he would have to recount to the doctor when he got back to him. Another man spoke and commanded the Mutes to kill themselves. “What the hell is wrong with Scotland?” he mumbled under his breath. Before anyone else could react, another being took out the walker with some sort of rocket. “Zas the demon lord” she called herself.

Well now was his chance. The mutes were dead, the civilians were running for their lives, and the walker was down. Next the hunter killer squads would come in and raid the area. Without a second thought Victor ran toward the corpses of the mutes. Quickly going through their things and grabbing what plasma cartridges he could. He was also quick to pick up a rifle here and there taking it apart nearly immediately for parts and to disable the trackers on them. Not something one would expect but most of the weapons did have trackers on them of some kind. This was a prison after all.

At least the commotion and high volume of Civilians around was a good cover. The other supers were beginning to leave now but Victor just had to check one last place before picking up one of these dead mutes. As quickly as he could the mechanic rushed to the walker and started pulling it apart. Throwing handfuls of broken parts over his shoulder, sparks rained down below him as he used a plasma cartridge to power his ability’s. In only a few seconds he had found the two things he was looking for. A large and slightly damaged plasma core and the AI brain for the walker.

Stuffing his new treasures into his large back pack he started taking the gun off the mech when a tingle ran down his spine. A drop ship was on its way. He could feel the electricity from it. The ship was still ways off but Victor still didn’t have enough time to get the gun. But he did have enough time to lay a trap. Taking out the plasma grenade he fashioned earlier in the day he set it to go off when the mech would be moved. Grabbing one of the mutes and hefting it over his shoulder the man took a moment to look around at those who were still close by, “Drop ship incoming everyone scatter!”

He could very well be talking out his ass but it was a warning very few would stick around to find out about. With fears of questioning, capture, or execution as well as the risk of becoming a mute those who remained scattered. Victor himself ran as fast as he could with the dead mute over his shoulder into the dim alley ways and eventual sewers. Having no map and navigating by memory alone. Victor would make his way back to his friend as quickly as he could. The good doctor always likes them when they are fresh anyways.

@LordOfTheNight