The man in the dark suit advanced through the alleyway slowly, steadily, his boots splashing through puddles of melting snow as the morning drizzle petered off his umbrella. His features were strong, with the iron jaw of a man accustomed to power and the faded silver hair of old wisdom, and he wore no ornamentation save a silver and clearly expensive watch on his wrist. He whistled as he walked, a nameless tune he had probably picked up from some commercial or another.

He turned a corner deeper into the alleyway and paused in front of a bundle of wet rags on the ground, piled up on front of a piece of cardboard. He nudged the head with the toe of his boot, and a humanoid shape stirred beneath it. "Get up," he said, in a voice dripping with impatience.

The sound of servos whirring rang out as the figure in the rags sat up, a few fingers of stainless grey metal poking out and pulling the shawl around itself. "You shouldn't be here," it said in a hollow, mechanical voice, heavy with reverberation. "It isn't time."

"There's been an incident," the man in the dark suit said, glancing down at his watch. "We need to move the timetable up. I'll fill you in in the car."

"Does this mean we're going to Phase 2?" The figure in the rags spoke as it rose to its feet, robotic legs emerging from the heap. There was an air of obvious hope in its voice, and the man in the suit grinned.

"It does, and well-timed. The mayor is hosting a fundraising breakfast downtown. How soon can you mobilize your men?"

"It's done." The two figures turned and sauntered off the way the man in the suit had come, in the direction of the unmarked black limousine that awaited them. "Here's to the new world."

---

Fifteen minutes later, sixteen armed assailants burst into the dining room of the Marriot Marquis Hotel, where Mayor Lewis Stephens holds a campaign fundraiser. A gunfight with security forces is short-lived, as the attackers mow down all opposition with military efficiency. They are heavily armed and each one has some kind of advanced prosthetic enhancement, from a cybernetic arm to half a body composed of metal. Their leader, almost more machine than man, is identified by security forces as Adam Meadows, formed Navy Seal with a decorated and highly classified black ops record.

Two minutes after that, a warehouse on the harbor explodes. Nobody is hurt, but eyewitnesses report a massive cloud of smoke rising up from the scene, and though the doors are blown off by the blast, the structure of the building is suspiciously unharmed. First responders quickly contain the area, awaiting a bomb squad to inspect the incident.

At the exact same time, a nondescript older man in a bloodstained shirt staggers into a gastropub, begging the proprietors and patrons not to call the hospital before passing out.

---

He tries to speak, scream, say something to them but nothing comes out of his mouth. No words. No sound. They don’t speak as well but he can feel their intent. Their intent to experiment. Their intent to prod at him like a subject. Their intent to explore beyond what is sacred.

He remembers the word, metamorphosis. Change in form. Only this time, he’s the caterpillar. His body moves against his own will. Forced, violated, vivisected. Something seeps inside his torso and everything begins to burn like he’s standing inside the sun. His organs are pulled out of his body one by one, brain, spine, stomach, liver and intestines only to be reassembled once again like a puzzle piece, his own heart thudding and beating in front of him, every molecule and cell in his body reorganizing themselves, flesh rending apart, mind tearing at the seams, his soul -
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Arnold Newell, now legally known as Barney Sanchez, awakened blearily to find himself on the bottom of his bedroom floor, blanket coiled around his shoulder protectively. His three hearts skipped a beat once he became more aware of his surroundings, groaning in a half-baked mixture of fatigue and annoyance. Hopefully, the neighbours wouldn’t make any noise complaints. It’d been the third time it happened this month and already, he was starting to grow sick of it. Funny, really. His body could adapt to almost anything but it couldn’t adapt against dreams. Well, it was nothing that a quick shower couldn’t fix. Arnold walked towards the bathroom in a straight bee-line, closing and locking the door with a snap. Scalding water sprays over his back, cleansing away ache as his ears tune in on the multiple radios and televisions coming back to life in the early morning.

“ - “ Man, I ain’t fooling y’all. I saw her flaming, winging and knocking out those robbers like they were pinatas- “

“ NYU has declined any official relationship between the power outages in late February last year and the recent reports of the vigilante, Tensor - “

“ - Mayor Stephen’s campaign fundraiser expects to be - “

The doors of the stall opened, fog rolling out to disguise his body as he made his way towards the sink. He rubbed away the mist that clung in beads and crawled up like mites on the mirror’s surface. A reflection stared at him with curiosity from the other side, as if he was a total stranger. Barney was bugged by its gaze as he went through the motions of a daily morning routine. He didn’t bother to think about how his own puritanical immune system had completely removed the need for oral hygiene. Or basic hygiene at all for that matter. Dropping his toothbrush on the counter, he reaches for the white flaked towel behind him to dry himself with, smothering his face as if wanting to deprive himself of oxygen. His knuckles turn white as he continues to stare at his own form in the mirror. His glasgow smile that conceals row upon row of razor sharp teeth. His fractured irises that he took great effort to disguise. The nascent bony protrusions that arise in bumps against his ribs and shoulders.

It’s like meeting a new person everyday.

He escapes back into the shower stall to wash himself again, the mirror steaming over and hiding reality away from him.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
“ I can’t believe you declined my invitation to go to the fundraiser, Barney. I had a spot specifically reserved for you.”

Arnold signed as he walked out of an shabby grocery store carrying an armful of paper brown bags that had been stuffed in the crook of his left elbow towards the parking lot. Living on the most upper-north side of the Hudson River near Albany was a chore for him but it was necessary. He couldn’t stand the risks of walking on streets everyday where huge bustling crowds crossed and migrated from block to block like a herd of cows. Public transport was a big no as well. Unfortunately, that meant he had to cross over from Albany to the east side of the Hudson every weekend to get groceries. One of the new changes that he had to adapt to was his body’s rigorous metabolic needs. Pounds upon pounds of protein were needed to supplement his bodies new adaptations. Of course, his dietary needs were met on demand by Professor Simmons who he was currently conversing with.

“ I don’t think I’m the type of person to enjoy caviar and foie gras in Broadway Avenue.”

There was an audible verbal tic on the other side of the phone, a hybrid of a groan and a sign.

“ Please spare me your condescension, Barney. I’m trying to get you back into society.”

“ I’m grateful for that, Professor, but I’m busy right now -,” he just managed to get the last of the groceries inside his miniscule car boot before the Professor began to mutter out a string of anger and frustration.

“ With what? Building the world’s largest greenhouse? Doing home improvement projects? Applying for membership at gardening clubs?” He caught his breath before continuing on. “ When you contacted me all those years ago about a cure - “

“ You said you would still be working on it.” Arnold said, entering the front of the car and locking the door, his fingers grasped tightly around the handle.

“ I’m not going to beat around the bush, Barney when I say this. A cure is impossible, and any other cures are highly experimental and may be dangerous to your own health and being- “

He turned the key on the ignition, the old Ford heart sputtering and hissing like a coughing man.
“ Whatever it is, I can handle it.”

“ You can’t just - “ He suddenly paused on the phone. “ What in the goddamn hell-”

The sound of crackling gunfire erupted in the background along with a cacophony of screams. Barney held the phone close, jumbled bits of the Professor’s voice reaching him.

“ Professor, what’s happening?”

“ Can’t - Talking right now - Lay - SHUT THE FUCK UP! - Oh cra - “
“ Professor? Professor!”

The line became dead and Barney laid back in the seat of his car, one hand on the steering wheel trying to process the situation. He shook his head and turned on the ignition, reversing the car out of the lot and into the driveway. It wasn’t his responsibility. The police could handle it. Being a vigilante wasn’t going to help the situation at hand. Exposing himself ran the risk of being captured and would ultiamtely do more long-term harm than doing nothing at all. Doing nothing was his best shot at survival. Someone else would come along.
But Aldrich was his friend. A confidant that he’d trusted with his secrets. What was he afraid of? Dying? He couldn’t die. No, he was afraid of having publicity whilst Aldrich was afraid for his life. His fingers pressed deeper into the steering wheel while he looked at himself in the rear-view mirror. What to do? What to do?

“ This is New York Daily News, reporting live. There have been reported gunshots at the Marriot Marquis Hotel, where currently 50 hostages, including Mayor Lewis Stephens, are being held by a group of heavily armed individuals. No official police statement has come out yet regarding the intent of these - “

His eyes hardened with a steely expression before he began to turn towards Broadway Avenue, police cars and multiple SWAT vans passing by his own vehicle towards the hotel. He opened the front compartment of the car and shifted the car into forward gear, busily tying a bandana around his mouth his mouth to conceal himself whilst keeping an eye on the road ahead.

Just what was he getting himself into?

There was a noise in the air, a sound that grated against her ear, slithered into her brain, and rasped away at the comforting coccoon of sleep like a water running over soft sand. With little grace and almost no dignity, Indy clawed her way back to consciousness, an atavistic part of her protesting the whole time. Awake, and with a headache that seemed on the cusp of bursting out of her skull, Indy couldn't help but notice that the world seemed to be rocking gently from side to side, every movement accompanied by a quiet slap of water against wood. A moment later, when recent memory joined the flood of awakening sensations, Indy could do nothing but lay back and wonder if this had been a good idea.

She groaned, a whole lungful of sound. Moment by moment, realizations and certainties slid into place. This wasn't her bed, but she reached out for the battered clock radio and jammed her thumb its alarm-off button without even opening her eyes. There were scents on the pillowcase that were intensely, blushingly familiar, stirring the quiet parts of her brain. She guessed that the pillow itself had, at least, been replaced sometime in the last year - a small blessing. She made to roll over and suppressed a yelp, tingles crackling up her arm where she'd crooked it under her head all night.

With care, Indy wriggled and straightened her arm out, using her free hand to rub blood back into it. The tingling faded, and she opened her eyes at last. The ceiling above still had the same water stain, the walls were still the dark wood panels they had always been and probably would always be. Sunlight glowed behind a gauzy curtain, bathing the room in gentle light. She was alone, but there were smells floating down the short hallway. Indy scrubbed the sleep out of her eyes and sighed, then flicked the covers off herself with a rustle of fabric.

"Morning, beautiful," came a voice from another room, the edges of the words rounded by a Canontese accent.

"Not in the mood, Li," Indy said, her voice crackling. She swung her legs off the bed and sat up before immediately leaning over, elbows on her knees.

"Oh, gods." She held her head in her hands and tried to shove the headache back inside her skull, before looking down at herself.

"Mmnf," she managed after a moment, "Li, where are my clothes?"

"Hanging in the closet," Li said, "You slept through the dryer going off? You really must have been worn out." Li's voice turned playful, "Then again, I suppose I shouldn't be surprised."

With a wordless mumble, Indy managed to shove herself to her feet and shuffle across the old but still soft, memory guiding her more than anything else. She dressed, and if she was pulling on yesterday's outfit, at least everything was clean and, to her immense surprise, folded and pressed.

"You can take the woman out of the laundry," Li said, "But you can't...oh, whatever. Come on, breakfast is ready."

Unsteady steps brought Indira from the bedroom - small and close but cozy for all of that - to the tiny kitchen, an alcove to one side holding a table that was just barely large enough for two plates and round bamboo baskets clustered tight with small steamed bao. She ran her hand along the familiar wall, fingers bouncing against the old wood paneling in the same way she remembered. Carefully, she lowered herself into the chair closest to the window, the one where the old window-mounted air conditioner blew the coldest. Indy raised one hand, rubbed her eyes again, and let out a long, jaw-popping yawn.

"Can you believe we used to fit on that bed?" Li said, plopping down in the chair opposite. "Go on, eat. You're useless without something in your stomach." Without ceremony, she picked up a pair of bright red lacquired chopsticks and snatched a bun, popping it in her mouth with a sigh of pleasure.

Indira felt like moving her arm took much more effort than usual, but by the time she'd even thought up a complaint, muscle memory took over. She scooped up a small plate - something that Li, apparently, had no use for - and used another pair of red chopsticks to lift a trio of small buns onto it. Li watched with evident amusement, but let Indy finish chewing before she spoke again.

"So," Li said, "About last night, hm?"

Indy swallowed and looked over, "You're rather casual about this," she said.

"Life is made to take lightly," Li replied, "And you don't have to explain yourself to me, if you don't want to."

Indy put another bun in her mouth and chewed slowly, thoughts sluicing past one another in her mind.

"Tell me what you think happened," she said, carefully.

Li tossed another bun into her mouth, a grin spreading across her lips, "I saw you overpower five men with automatic rifles, dressed in a tweed jacket with elbow patches," she pointed her chopsticks at Indy, "Not someone who looks like you, not someone hiding in shadows, I saw you. Really good lighting around here, you know? And you were doing it using magic or some kind of space technology or some fucking thing."

"Not exactly a journalistic description," Indy said with a smirk.

"Yeah," she said, "That's what happens when you get fired. Oh, and then there was the part where you took a grenade to the chest and lived."

"It didn't actually hit me," Indy began, but then Li jumped out of her chair and pointed with the chopsticks, triumphant.

"Ha!" she said, "I knew it! So which one are you? Wait, no, forget about that - is that why we broke up? You said that was about your Ph.D program." One side of her mouth quirked into a lopsided grin.

"Li, I..." Indy trailed off, then sighed, "No, that was really the truth. I promise."

"Mm-hmmn," Li said, her voice half-dubious, "Not gonna say?"

"Look, this is kind of new, okay?" Indy said, "I-"

The boat rocked again, this time with heavier motion, enough to rattle the cups and saucers together on the table between them. Indy and Li both stood, Li with another bun in her chopsticks. The room's small window afforded a view further down the coastline, toward the port, and they both saw the column of thick, dark smoke pouring into the sky. The air was already filling with the wails of emergency responders, and they could both see flashing lights making their way through the service and frontage roads toward a warehouse district.

"You gotta go?" Li said, tossing the bun in her mouth.

Indy looked pained, and turned toward the other woman. She opened her mouth, but Li spoke first, around a mouthful of bun.

"Mm-mn." She swallowed, "I get how this relationship is gonna be. Go on." She waved a dismissal with her chopsticks.

"Wait, what time is...oh, no," Indy looked down at her watch, then back at the rising column of smoke, "I can't. I have a class at 11:00."

"Simple or advanced?" Li said, finally setting her chopsticks down.

Indy looked nonplussed, "It's a 201, why?"

Li just shook her head, "Lecture or a lab?"

"Lecture, but why-" Indy began.

"Not a problem," Li said and she stepped forward, reached into Indira's jacket in a way that could only be considered intimate, and pulled out her university ID badge. "I can fake a lecture. You think the faculty is really going to know the difference between one short brown woman and another? Besides, sometimes it's nice to get stared at by teenagers." She smirked, lips curving wickedly, "I'm charging you a kiss, though. A good, long one. But later."

"There might be a lab course if I'm not back by this afternoon," Indy said, her voice careful.

Li chuckled, low in her throat, "Mmn. Then it's not going to just be a kiss," she said.

---

"Alright, just like we practiced. One hand in front decreasing the density, and one behind increasing it. If my calculations are correct, then this should propel you forward correlating to the difference." That was Oscar. To anyone not really paying mind to the young adult, it would seem as if he was babbling out over the dock. However, there was an individual he was conversing with.

Down below Oscar within the water came a response. "If I thought your numbers were wrong, I wouldn't be doing this. Let's get this show on the road." The feeling of the water on Jake's skin was not something he expected this early in the morning. He and his friends had traveled to NYC to get away from all the chaos of their own city, and he had decided to try and avoid using his powers while here. But when his temporary roommate shook him awake babbling about some experiment he had come up with while sleeping, Jake just couldn't refuse. As Oscar's meta power is that in his dreams he has full lucidity and can think as fast as a supercomputer can compute, it is not unreasonable that he'd come up with all sorts of ideas. These experiments usually ended up allowing him to do some pretty impressive things.

Shaking out the butterflies, Jake finally got himself ready. Diving down under the water, Jake altered his own density to hold himself in place. Then putting his hands into position, Jake started changing the water around him when slowly the pressure of the water began altering as well. Jake didn't understand the science behind it and doubted he ever would, but by merely modifying the water Jake started getting pushed forward by a force of nature trying to achieve balance from the young adult's meddling. He wasn't moving very fast, but Jake could tell that as he got used to it, he'd be able to move pretty quickly through the water.

Deciding this was enough, for now, Jake made his way back to his brilliant companion. "Good work Oscar. Thanks to you I will soon be able to move like a dolphin in the water. But unless you have another reason for me being down in the water I'm getting out. I seriously am feeling like a shower right about now." Jake and Oscar quickly looked around making sure no one was watching, and then the density manipulator walked out of the water adjusting the air as he casually waltzed up to solid ground.

"Yeah, we should probably head back now. If Sam realizes we left she'll give us an earful."

"Don't worry, bud. She never wakes up this early. We'll make it back in time to make breakfast, and she won't realize a thing." However, the ground soon began shaking as a loud sound breached their ears. Not far from their location a dark cloud billowed from a distant warehouse. Not long after the pair heard sirens echoing from the same general location. "What was that?"

"I'm gonna go check it out."

"Wait, you can't. The government is still after you. If you use your powers in public, then people might start putting two and two together."

"Doesn't matter. If I don't do something and someone gets hurt or worse, then I'll be guilty."

"JAKE! How many times have we told you that doing nothing doesn't make you guilty? It just ensures your survival."

"I was given these powers for a reason. I can't just sit back knowing that I could have helped. Now go back to the hotel, and if Sam starts asking where I am, I need you to stall for me."

"And what if you get hurt again? Last time she had to save you it nearly drained her dry."

"I just won't get hurt again. Stall for me, and I promise I will be back before lunch." Before Oscar could respond, the young hero grabbed his bookbag and began running. He had to do something. If only to atone for his father's sins.

---

As he neared the location, the young man began surveying the scene in front of him. Not much was visible at first other than the many cops and bystanders. Jake decided he needed a closer look and took his costume out of his bag. Hopefully, no one recognized him and even more critical, he hoped no one was actually hurt. Jake donned his disguise and, as stealthily as one could in broad daylight, made his way to the warehouse.

---

Alex dropped another used glass into the sink and stretched, rolling his shoulders as he wiped off the counter and grabbed more empty glasses off of it. It was a slow morning at the Iron Throne pub, seeing as how in the morning he ran it more as a breakfast place than an actual bar. No alcohol on tap in the mornings, just juice, milkshakes, smoothies and all the pancakes and waffles people could eat. Just that barely anyone was in. The usual breakfast crowd would've been in earlier, had he opened up at 8 instead of 9 in the morning, but that was a sacrifice his night crowd made up for in spades. He watched idly as his waiters, only two of them for the morning, went around clearing plates and serving food from the kitchen as the late risers slowly poured in. The smell of freshly baked bread, bacon sizzling in pans and hot pancakes and waffles invaded his nose, one of the most comforting scents in the whole world.

It'd been a few months since he'd moved here with his sister, leaving his legacy behind in the UK to start fresh in the US. His powers were still a secret, mostly anyway. He helped his staff out with the heavy lifting once in a while and surprised them by being able to lift kegs of beer by the armful, something no regular person could do. His sister, Shirley, kept herself busy by tending to the kitchen. She'd gotten pretty good at cooking in the time they'd spent here, so she helped out in the bar when he was low on cooking staff. The fact that he'd actually managed to get a place like this set up in such a short period was luck in itself; he'd nabbed the place after the previous owner sold it on the cheap, spruced it up a bit and started bringing in customers. Mostly British expats at first, but as his business grew, so did his customer base. He expanded the menu to include American food and booze and he had a recipe for moderate and comfortable success.

The day was still young, which is why Alex was shocked when an older man barged into the pub, his slate gray shirt drenched in blood. He staggered to the bar and grabbed onto the edge, supporting his weight as he stared up at him.

"P-please...h-help me..."

The blood on his hands slackened his grip and the man slipped and fell onto the floor as Alex rushed out from behind the counter. The few patrons in the pub moved away as he kneeled at the man's side and gave him a once-over. The three bullet holes in his chest were the most obvious, prompting Alex to whip off his apron, bundle it into a ball and press it against the open wounds to stop the bleeding.

"Sir? Sir! Stay with me, help's coming!"

Alex looked up and locked eyes with one of his patrons, a younger man with his fiance sitting near the door.

"You! Call 911! Now!"

The young man scrabbled for his phone as Alex felt a tug on his apron. He looked down and saw the injured man glaring up at him, a bloody hand gripped tightly onto his front. Alex leaned down close, barely able to hear the man whispering to him.

"D-don't call an ambulance...please..."

And then the bloodied man fell to the floor, unconscious. Alex stared at him blankly, unable to quite process what was going on, even as he heard the same young man talking to the 911 operator on his phone.

What was he going to do?

"Listen up!" shouted the dull, metallic voice as Meadows addressed the assembled hostages. There were about fifty all told, huddled and shaking with pale, blanched faces and tears streaming from their eyes. They were seated between two buffet tables on the far side of the dining room, closer to the door and away from the massive windows on the opposite wall. Meadows cocked his gun for dramatic flair and leveled it at the hostages, his cold, metallic eyes scanning them for any sign of movement, any sign of resistance. "We're here for the mayor, but we won't hesitate to paint the walls with any of you gnats if we have to. Anyone makes a move, their head comes off." He bared a wolfish grin at a sobbing woman and kicked at her leg with a steel foot. "Welcome to the new world."

He stepped off, leaving the hostages in the care of five of his men as he moved to the center of the room. One of his men had put his weapon aside and was fiddling with a holographic console emerging from his arm, gritting his teeth with focus. In front of him knelt two figures, New York City Mayor Lewis Stephens and his wife, Mariah Stephens, their hands behind their heads. They both had guns leveled at their heads.

"Are we streaming?" Meadows asked the man with the console.

"I'm trying," he responded. "I can get my eyes recording just fine, but something's wrong with our live connection. I think it's down."

"You have fine minutes." Meadows turned and shouted so that all his men could hear, "Five minutes, and then we give up doing it live and just record it, orders or no orders." He could hear the sirens outside as police streamed to the scene - they had the building surrounded, but they wouldn't dare try to storm it, not with the hostages in such a precarious position. He almost wished they would; he and his boys hadn't seen action in some time, and the shootout with security forces had been disappointingly short.

"Whatever you're hoping to accomplish with this," the Mayor said, his face a mask of stoicism, "It won't work. This isn't the way."
"Shut up," Meadows snapped, and turned around. "Five minutes."

"Sickly, sinful, spectacles stand, shuffle, shamble and saunter shamelessly in mine scandalized sight.." was one of the first things that Fernando even thought about, sitting in the middle of the whole group of hostages with still his music band's attire: white tuxedos and black bowties, signalling that they were indeed staff and not necessarily guests to the party. Anywho, watching such a scandalous scene play before him made his blood boil! How could such men harm innocent people like this, specially ones that could not defend themselves! Even though he had kept his composture up until then, the sounds of the sobbing and crying of his music-comrades and other guests started to slowly awake his fighting spirit in him, although going to town with all of the guards may not prove as the best strategy.

But, as soon as their leader turned around, Green Eyes herself manifested! More than likely invisible to the rest of guards, and using the 10 meter range that the Stand itself had, it attempted to quickly convert any kind of light-source that was in the room to literally roses! Any lamps or lights would be turned into said flowers if they were within reach, of course. "No lights here, they shall take the mayor somewhere else..." the man thought, a drop of sweat slowly dripping off of the tip of his nose, given the concentration and stress that this situation was more than likely inflicting upon him "...leaving his men here, for Green Eyes to dispatch..." sure enough, after making the transformations happen (which would take less than a second given how small the lamps were), the Stand dissapeared into thin air as Fernnado himself called it off.


"We are just civilians, no need to have the Mayor here now, right?" the young artist thought, attempting to reassure himself that the plan was going to work. No guarantees. He wasn't an official hero and had never been in this kind of situation, but with great power comes great responsability!

As the lights flickered out, sixteen guns shot up and began scanning the room, looking for hostiles. Though much of the room was cast into shadow, including the area where the hostages sat, there was still enough natural light coming in through the window for a basic level of visibility.

"What the fuck was that?" Meadow demanded.

One of the soldiers crossed over to the nearest standing lamp and leaned into inspect it. "It's.. roses."

"What?"

The soldier stepped back to reveal a handful of roses clutched in his metallic hand. "The lightbulb is roses."

A few calls confirmed that every lamp or light in the room had somehow been transformed into a flowering bouquet of roses. Meadows may not have known what was going on, but he could smell trouble a mile off. "Get the mayor and his wife upstairs into one of the rooms and set up. Let me know when you're ready. The rest of you, fan out and look for trouble, something's up." His men rushed to comply, three of them dragging the mayoral couple out of a side door in the room and towards the staircase that led to the second floor of the hotel. The rest took up positions around the room, waiting for the mysterious flowering force to show itself again.

8 armed men. 8 dangerous, cybernetically enhanced men were now all that remained in the room. Fernando looked at each and ever single one of them: should he sneak and ensure that the Mayor was safe on the top floor? Or should he stay, maybe costing the life of said man but being able to save dozens of guests with it? Nevertheless, each of those plans needed the same action to start them up - something that would not be adequate in such a nice piece of clothing, yet what had to be done, had to be done. Attempting to use the now dim light of the room as a distraction, Green Eyes materialized yet again, now completely invisible to everyone except to Fernando...and then he dissapeared.

He did not dissapear, per-se, but Fernando did infact hide himself quite well. As a homogeneous mass of moss that now slipped down the chair he had been tied to. Of course someone would see that there wasn't a hostage in their respective seat, which would cause some ruckus for sure. "We can do this, you and I my dear spirit! Let us show them what we are capable of!" and without much hesitation, the moss started to slither through the ground of the hotel's lobby, moving almost as a snake would in such a situation.

The sound of something moving around the ground would more than likely alert a few guards, although something else would make their eardrums shiver even more: the nearing yelp of pain from one of their comrades. As Fernan-moss was now slithering across the ground, using whatever piece of furniture he may be able to use to hide himself, Green Eyes started up. First off, she sent one of her materialized open palms towards the back of one of the guards, attempting to instantly knock them out! Once that was done and, if that did work at all, she'd touch said scum's clothes, which would start to transform into yet more moss: covering the (hopefully) unconscious guard, in an attempt to just freak out the rest even more so.

"Fear of the unknown, humanity's greatest threat for itself shall be the downfall of these low-lifes villains! These honorless scums that break all codes of ethics and morals, yes, their curiosity is the catalyst of their impending defeat and later arrest!"

Eliza. You're falling asleep.

Eliza jerked her head back up, heavy-lidded eyes fluttering as they refocused on the Social Psych powerpoint at the bottom of the lecture hall. The professor's voice continued to drone on, a one-note dirge that was impossible to separate into any kind of words or information.

"No'm not," she muttered underneath her breath.

Yes, you are. Tharinoq's voice carried an obvious chord of amusement. Late night catching up with you?

"You're a dick."

Would you like me to give you a synopsis of what you've missed? Professor Foster has been in top form today.

Eliza groaned and tried to rub the sleep out of her eyes. All around her, her classmates were in similar states of catatonia, lulled into near-unconsciousness by the lullaby of boredom emanating from the front of the room. Of course, she'd probably be doing better at staying awake if she hadn't been flying around the city last night looking for trouble, but... what if trouble came about while she wasn't looking for it? Idly, her hand came up to her neck and brushed against the amulet she wore hidden underneath her floral pajama t-shirt. Some things were more important.

Her phone buzzed as if on cue, and like any good youth she pulled it out automatically. The text was from her roommate Josie, her best friend and the only person who knew about her double life as a winged crime-fighter, mainly because there was no keeping the secret after she'd saved her from being devoured by a giant toothy mass of horribleness.

yo E a guy just came into the throne

there's a lot of blood

he said not to call 911

i think you should get over here

The last text had barely arrived by the time Eliza was stuffing her books into her bag. The Throne was her friends' favorite bar in town - Josie and Eliza were still too young to drink (legally), of course, but the food was still nice. Nothing particularly exciting ever happened there, but this wasn't an improvement.

If we change in the alleyway, we can get there in six minutes.

"Five," she muttered, throwing her bag over her shoulder and marching out of the lecture hall.

Arnold was approaching lower Manhattan, swerving and cutting through conga lines of traffic, whilst gleaming towers of concrete and steel shadowed over his lone vehicle. He’d took a moment to admire drab grey and built-up metropolis of Inner Manhattan, even though he was more inclined towards a forest of trees rather than a forest of apartments. New York City was an urban jungle where the soil was replaced with tar and pavement, lamp-posts taking the position of uprooted trees, buildings that had been erected out of mountains, the rivers gutter streams and the air a sooty mixture of smoky exhaust and minty snow-melt. He looked towards the Google Map on his smartphone with his position marked out as a singular arrow in a labyrinth of streets, the interface constantly updating him of his ETA.

He turned on the radio again, keeping an eye on the map.

“ - Update on the recent hostage situation at the Marriot Marquis Hotel. 16 armed men have been identified by police squads-”

He swerved to the left, nearly clipping a motorcyclist.

“ 12 casualties composed of security officers in the hotel. Shots have not been fired yet - “

He screeched at the intersection, red light taunting him.

“ - ring-leader of the group has been identified as Adam Meadows, former Navy Seals captain and JSOC operator, who was thought to be KI-”

His feet were slamming on the pedals.

“ - SWAT and all available police units within the district have been relocated to - “

“ Finally!,” He screamed out loud as soon as he saw the Marriot Marquis Hotel in sight. To the businessmen and wealthy of New York, it probably seemed like some sort of majestic temple. To him, it looked like a building that had contracted a severe hernia.The building, normally bustling and hustling with New Yorkians, was eerily empty with a noticeable lack of cars streaming in or out of the multi-shopping complex that was located at the bottom of the hotel. It looked like if someone had stuck two thick grey slabs together with super-glue. He stopped his car into a nearby alleyway and parked it there, wincing as his car bowled over a garbage dumpster, rats scattering away out of its remains. He walked out of the alleyway, a block away from the hotel, and was mortified by what he saw.

Broadway was crawling with squadrons of SWAT teams, pouring out of their vans in unified formations, whilst several helicopters stood by in the air. Officers fanned out around the building, setting a perimeter whilst the hordes of angry hotel guests who were more concerned about the lack of a free breakfast buffet rather than the current hostage situation were slowly evacuated out of the hotel. Doubt struck him like a bad omen before he re-composed himself. He could do this. It wasn’t like he was out of his depth or that he was about to potentially face a group of ex-military mercenaries who had no compunction about drilling him full of lead. Right. He closed his eyes and concentrated in the air around him, a jumbled discordiant mess of muttering and loud voices. He felt a wet pop in his earlobes before his enhanced senses began to act as a filter, honing in on useful information.

“ - Snipers set up on roof - “

“ - Thermals show several hostiles. Eight - “

“ They’re all in the dining room - “

“ Can’t get a bead on them. They’re away from the windows - “

“ - Get a squad ready, ASAP! - “

“ - Dining rooms located on first floor-”

“ - Secure the mayor - “

“ - Shit, something’s happening down there! Lights just went off - “

Arnold open his eyes again and processed the information. 50 or so hostages currently in the dining room. Something was happening or rather, someone was interfering in the situation. Multiple scenarios ran through his mind about what could have been possibly happening, but he couldn’t just dwell on any of them. He had to secure Aldrich and get out of there. He couldn’t give a damn about the mayor any less. Arnold ran into the street, avoiding the mass of policemen and using the commotion and chaos of the crowds of the riled guests to sneak into the front of the hotel. The ground level was sparse, the counter empty and shattered ground sprinkled on the polished granite floor. Arnold had to stop himself from gaping at the opulent architecture around him and the massive square chasm of rooms. Behind the counter was a spire of clear glass elevators.

So, what to do? Arnold stood around awkwardly, looking for any visible staircases to the first floor. He walked towards the elevators, pressing the up button and entering into it. The doors closed with a metallic shut as with a slight jolt, he began moving upwards towards the first floor. As soon as the doors opened, Arnold barged out of the elevator, determined, following and running past the series of display boards that showed the directions to the dining room.

In hindsight, he probably should have approached the situation in a more covert manner. Perhaps, he should have been more patient. Aldrich’s life was on the line, however, and the more he waited, the higher chance that Aldrich was going to be put in harm’s way.
Adrenaline surging in his veins, Arnold slammed through the main door like a freight train, causing them to nearly fly off their hinges, as he leveled his eyes around the room. For some reason, some of the lamps in the room had been replaced with bouquets of flowers and the drab-black men, dressed in combat gear, were fanned out, searching for something. He searched through the crowd, looking for Aldrich before spotting him. He was in a state of shock, staring at Arnold with an open mouth before it transformed into fear.

He was confused at his expression before he heard the click of a rifle. Along with seven others in unison. With all the commotion that he’d created, he’d attracted the attention of the hostage-takers and they were all currently focusing on him. Great. The lead member of the eight-man pack, wearing a cap and a cybernetic leg, with something nasty in his right eye was aiming a bulky automatic assault rifle, scope in his left eye, towards his face.

“ Kneel down. Put your arms around his head or we won’t hesitate to shoot you.”

He probably shouldn’t have taken a step forward.

There was an errant shout, a few high-pitched screams from the crowd to his right. Arnold tried to duck to the right but once the hail of bullets arrived, he was suddenly stuck in place. There were few things that Arnold had survived in the past that could be considered downright deadly. A car crash, being stuck in a furnace, having his face imbedded in a concrete wall and drowning. A bullet was different, though. E.R.A had never used bullets on him, only non-lethals. Even Gomez, the monster he’d faced last year, was nothing more than an hyper-muscular gorilla. He’d only taken a few bullets before. This time, he was taking more than an accidental shot from a spooked sheriff and a revolver.

Arnold staggered backwards from the force of the heavy fire, hot agonising pain erupting from multiple points in his body. He could feel each and every bullet sink and cut through his flesh, denting his hardened bones and saw through his torso. It was like as if a rabid animal was mauling him. One of his eyes went black at one point and he began gurgling blood once his lungs had deflated. At some point, the firing had stopped and his back was pressed against the wall.
From the perspective of Aldrich Killian, the damage was grievous. His blood had been splattered on the wall in the pattern of a gruesome impressionistic abstract painting. Red paste oozed out of every wound in his body and he had been blown apart. At this point, the only thing recognisable about Arnold was that he was the remains of a person and not a butchered animal. The old professor waited and waited, hoping to whatever God was out there that Arnold could heal back from this. However, there didn’t seem to be any response. Arnold laid still, unmoving, lifeless.

Dead.

“ Hostile down.” One of the hostage takers muttered before they continued their patrol around the room.

Tears began to erupt out of Aldrich’s eyes in grief for his lost friend. He should have deserved better last words than a stern talking to from him. There was a loud gasp from one of the hostages and Aldrich looked up, dried salt on his face, and then, gawked.
It was small to the eye, but it was noticeable. There was a twitch, then a movement in Arnold’s body before he began to stand up. It reminded Aldrich of a video rewind, seeing his body in action. His body began to knit back together, some unknown tailor sewing back his joints and his ligaments. Pounds of flesh began to coat his ivory white bones, before a layer of skin was draped over it back again. Within a manner of several seconds, Arnold was standing back up again, looking no worse for the wear, and only suffering the issue of finding a good laundry for his soiled clothes. His bandana and sunglasses were completely destroyed and there was a look of surprise on his face, presumably from his near-death experience.

There was a sense of tension in the room as the scenario began to re-play out again. The hostage takers were pale with fear on their face at seeing a man rise back from the grave with ease. Aldrich had to admit their tenacity in the face of supernatural phenomena as they leveled their guns once more, albeit with uneasiness in their face.

They fired once more as Arnold approached them, Aldrich flinching and closing his eyes in expectation for what was to come. The firing suddenly ceased, much earlier than before. Killian opened his eyes in confusion before he looked at Arnold, dumbfounded. He was unharmed, not a single sign of blood on him, but with more holes in his jacket than before. His skin seemed to shine with a unnatural lustre as Arnold blinked his eyes before looking down. On the ground were dozens of flattened bullets, like chewed wads of gum, near his feet. Arnold reached for the ground and slowly picked up one, staring at it oddly, He then smirked and flicked it away like it was a pest.

“ Well, that’s useful.”

There was a giant death robot in the warehouse.

The emergency-services perimeter was still being assembled, and from the frantic sound of voices crossing through radios, there would be at least a few more minutes before anyone made a concerted effort to approach the warehouse. After all, the place had exploded, and might explode again - that plume of smoke was impressive, and who knows what else might be stored here? The professionals, with all due haste but also all due good sense, would probably not be hurrying to send people in. These happy thoughts flickered through Indira's mind when she stepped over what had once been the warehouse's door frame and into the gloomy, smoke-blackened interior. After that, the giant death robot had her rather preoccupied.

Although the machine bristled with weapons and its armored carapace seemed all but untouched by the blast, dangling hydraulic hoses and one leg missing from the shin down suggested that though it was impressive, it also wasn't finished. The missing leg, in fact, lay across several worktables to one side, leaving the whole machine to be supported by massive chains leading to support beams high overhead. With an effort, Indy pulled her attention away and took in the rest of the building, her eyes adjusting slowly to the semi-darkness. She made her way into the building with careful steps, both to keep quiet and to avoid disturbing anything that looked like it might become evidence.

She took a step further into the place, and the lights went out. There weren't that many left intact after the explosion to begin with, but she hadn't expected the sudden drop into near-total darkness. Another step and her foot brushed against something while she dug in her jacket for her penlight, and she knelt to take a closer look. A moment later, she stuck the light between her teeth and reached down, suddenly unconcerned about fingerprints.

"What the hell...?" Indy muttered to herself.

She scooped up a rounded, three-lobed object a little smaller than her palm, each lobe connected to a central body. She turned it upside down and ran a finger across the underside of each protrusion, face setting into an expression of deep concern.

Rustling and the sound of footsteps disturbed the quiet behind her. Indy sprang back to her feet and spun toward the noise, spring-coiled muscles pivoting and setting her weight in the skin of a second. She brought her free hand up into a ready position, fingers curled. Power surged in her body, and a cupped barrier field formed in the air half a meter in front of her. An instant later it flared into brilliance, a sudden spotlight lancing out where she thought the sound had come from.

-------------------
No one. Jake couldn’t tell if there was a single person inside this building as the whole room was dark except for a few stray lights. That wasn’t the strangest thing though. Large and odd machinery lay strewn across the entire building. He had no idea what any of it could be for but the inclusion of weaponry was fairly unsettling.

Slowly Jake made his way to what seemed to be the direction of the blast. Quietly he followed scorch marks eventually locating what he thought was some computer-esque object, but with the low lighting and the device being mostly destroyed he couldn’t really tell whether it was an accident or not.

The young cop wanna be couldn’t investigate any further as the lights decided to go out completely. ”Well, that’s just great.” Jake began digging though his backpack for some sort of light when he heard a very faint noise. Not really thinking, Jake began heading in the direction not concerned about keeping quiet. However, before he could reach his destination a bright light shone upon him causing Jake to reel back from the sudden glow.

------------------

Indira relaxed her hand, the light vanishing and leaving only her penlight on. She reached up and pulled it from between her teeth, keeping it pointed at the young man, but not directly.

"Right," she said, "Which one are you, then?"

Jake looked at the woman in front of him uncertain of what to say. He knew that New York had a lot of ‘supers’ but he hadn’t really planned on encountering one. Not knowing what to say he picked a random thing on the top of his mind to call himself for now, I don’t really have a name to give you. Just call me Rhoman, I guess. What am I to call you?”

One dark eyebrow rose over an eye, taking a second to look the young man over.

"Mmn. I admit that I don't recall hearing that name. New in town? That’s not important, I suppose." She waved the hand with the penlight, dismissing the thought.

"My name is Indira. Or Miss Bhatia, if you like. If you call me Tensor to my face, I may get irritated." The last came with the ghost of a smirk, "We don't all make good decisions under pressure."

She looked up and down the warehouse and sighed, "We aren't going to have much time, I think. Once the smoke clears, they'll start sending someone in to take a look around, and I’m certain I'd rather not have to explain myself to the bomb squad while standing in the middle of an explosion. But take a look at this-" She held the device she'd picked up off the ground up, flashing the penlight over it.

"I designed this. Well," she said hurriedly, "Not..this exactly. But these repulsor pads, this arrangement - what I built was supposed to be a camera drone for..." her voice trailed off, "...a client. This looks like my drone, but I'm pretty sure this center area here, you see? That looks like something explosive." She bobbled the thing in her hands, the repulsor pads clicking against the central body.

"I don't know what's going on here, but..." Noises came from outside, the sound of diesel power coming closer, "What have you seen in here? Where did you come in from, anyway?"

”Well, I walked through the walls. The only thing I’ve seen is the obvious machinery and I did locate a possible source of the blast. It was some sort of computer like device. I can’t be too sure though as the whole thing was mostly reduced to ash.”

From where he stood, Jake did a quick glance over the rest of the building as well as he could. Nothing that seemed to stick out. ”Do you have an idea of where this client could be right now? If we could find them then we might be able to figure out how that got here. I don’t think exiting through the door would be a good idea. I can phase you though the wall if you need me to.”

"Through the walls, hm?" Indy said, “That will be new.”

She regarded the drone in her hand, "Mmn. I don't usually keep track of my clients once I've finished something for them. Then again, I also try not to design flying, explosive, autonomous grenades."

Indy opened her mouth to say something else, but at the same moment, her jacket chirped. She tossed the penlight out of her hand and a pair of gently-glowing rings appeared, suspending the light midair. With her newly free hand, she reached into her jacket and pulled out her phone, taking a look at the screen. Her eyes widened.

"Someone just attacked the Mayor's fundraiser," she said, speaking quickly, her eyes flicking over her screen, "Soldiers with artificial enhancements, advanced weapons..." She lowered the phone and looked around.

"Start taking pictures," Indy said, "We have to get this documented."

She snatched the penlight out of the air, then kept her arm raised, fingers curling. Another brilliant light appeared a couple of meters overhead and bathed the warehouse in bright, even illumination. In the light, Indy saw another set of worktables, and even through the soot, she could see careful rows of transparent cases holding artificial limbs, eyes, and what looked suspiciously like some kind of neural interface equipment.

"That's...not good," she said.

Her phone, wrapped in its own field, hung in the air to her side. It slowly spun in place, taking in a panorama, the interface cheerful and bright with helpful tips. Indira's eyes flicked around the warehouse, her posture growing tense. Outside, there was the sound of tires on gravel, followed by the sound of muffled and distant voices.

"We should get...out...of..." Indy's voice trailed off at the sound of a heavy thunk and the sound of something slowly rising through pitches, like a turbine starting up.

She turned and looked behind her. The hulking machine, once dormant, now had bright illuminated accents, each glowing a baleful scarlet. While she watched, the thing came to life and balanced itself on its intact leg, the chains above going slack. It made a noise like a ship's horn in Hell, and parts of it began to articulate, exposing what could only be weapons, including something with a barrel the size of an oil drum that glowed with burning crimson light. Which, naturally, it turned to point at the warehouse's only other occupants.

Indira swallowed, but there really wasn't a choice here. Super-science, exploding drones, and killer robots weren't what the authorities were equipped to handle. If she left, there would be normal people paying that price. Not that she actually knew how to fight something that looked like it belonged in a science fiction movie, but if there was one thing the superhero life had shown her it was that there really was a first time for everything. She dropped the drone she'd been holding, grabbed her phone out of the air, and flicked at it with her thumb. Li should know what was going on.

About to fight a giant death robot, she thumbed, Stay safe. Love you.

Indy tucked the phone into her jacket again, straightened her spine and squared her shoulders.

"Hey," she said, looking at the young man. A grin spread across her face, fierce and wide, "Feel like fighting bad guys?"

Collab with @DJAtomika

The sound of sirens filled the air not a minute after the young man finished his call, a speedy response by anyone’s standards. From the floor, the injured man spluttered something, erupting back into consciousness and crawling away from the door. “No! They’re coming now!”

Dark-haired college student and bar regular Josephine approached the man slowly, putting her phone back in her pocket a moment after finishing her text. “Sir, you need to see a doctor, you’re hurt -”

He grabbed at her arm, pulling her down to his level. ‘“If they find what I have, everyone will die!”

Alex pushed the man’s arm down with one arm and kept the young lady away with the other.

”What is it? What do you have?! I swear, if you’re bringing trouble to my pub-”

He was interrupted by the man grabbing at him and pulling him down instead. The injured man’s other hand was groping at his chest - for a moment, it looked like he might be trying to cover a wound, but he pulled it out a moment later and pressed it into Alex’s chest. As he opened his hand, it was revealed as a small, bloodstained USB drive.

With a slam, the bar door was kicked open, and three men in dark suits filed in, pointing pistols around the place. “Everyone get on the ground! This doesn’t concern you!”

That’s about when the Dragoness showed up.

From outside, above the roof, all she could see was three men in suits getting out of an unmarked black van and bursting into the bar. I don’t know about you, but those don’t look like police to me.

“Agreed,” she said, and banked her wings into a dive. She landed just behind the doorway, cracking the sidewalk a little bit, and stretched her wings out. “Hey boys,” she said, “What do you say we put the guns down and talk this out?”

Without quite understanding why, Alex grabbed onto the man’s hand and held onto it. He felt the USB drive being pressed into his palm and, before he knew it, his hand fell away again. As the man fell into unconsciousness, he stuffed the drive into his pocket as three mysterious men in suits burst into the pub. He didn’t leave the injured man’s side, keeping his crumpled apron firmly pressed against the bullet holes in his chest.

”Oi! And who the bloody ‘ell gave you the authority to kick my door open and wave those guns around, eh? I’m the owner, and I’ll need to see some ID before-”

Alex was interrupted by the appearance of a winged lady slamming into the pavement outside his bar. He looked up to see what appeared to be some sort of cartoon character straight out of a comic book, asking the armed men to put away their weapons. Not wanting to expose himself as another super and show these men just how outclassed they were, he kept quiet. His hands kept pressure on the bleeding man’s wounds, though he knew that he wasn’t going to survive long without proper emergency care.

Perhaps unsurprisingly, the armed men’s response to the superheroine landing a few feet behind them was to open fire. Eliza pulled her wings around to cover her front, the low-caliber handgun bullets pinging off them, as a great uproar emerged from inside the bar and the patrons began stampeding towards the side entrance. Eliza! Keep the shooting away from the bar!

“I know!” she shouted, and dashed towards the closest assailant. She batted his gun aside with a wing before delivering a massive haymaker to his face, boosting herself into the air and sending him flying through the glass window of the bar. “Shit, sorry!”

Seeing their comrade sent flying with a single blow, the other two stopped firing and sprinted in opposite directions. One of them looked to be running for the van they’d arrived in, while the other hustled into the bar, pointing his gun at the owner who was still holding the injured man. “Get on the ground, now!”

Alex was briefly startled by the smashing glass as one of the three men in suits flew through the front window of the pub. He shook his fist at the leotard-clad lady and yelled at her.

”Oy! People have to pay for this shite ya know!”

He held his ground, not intimidated by the other gunman in the slightest. His priority was keeping the injured man safe, so he took his hands slowly off the apron held to his chest and moved in front of the unconscious man. His feet firmly on the floor, he stood up, presenting his full height and strength to this gunman.

”Come then. Shoot me, if you’re really that bloody into it.”

The response was three shots with military precision, chest chest head. The bullets pinged off Alex with a shrill whizzing sound, making the attacker recoil and stumble back from the miraculously unharmed man.

Eliza slammed onto the hood of the van as the one attacker with the good sense to flee got behind the wheel, covering his face with his hands to protect him from the shards of windshield that showered him. “I don’t think so, chief,” Eliza muttered, reaching a claw in to hook him by the shirt and drag him out of the vehicle.

Alex didn’t even flinch as the bullets crumpled into his chest and fell harmlessly off. He looked down at the holes in his shirt and back up at the gunman, absently brushing off some dust from his chest.

”And what did that do for ya, you gobshite?”

He strode forward, grabbed the man’s gun by the barrel and held on as he pulled the trigger. The sheer force of him holding onto the gun prevented anything from moving, much to his attacker’s horror. With no visible effort, he crumpled the barrel like it was made of paper, yanked the entire thing out of the gunman’s hand and tossed it out of the pub. It was followed shortly by the gunman himself, after Alex had grabbed him by the collar and chucked him through the already-broken window. The big Brit stepped through the broken glass and onto the pavement, towering over the fallen gunman.

”You come into my pub, shoot a man, and you think you can get away with it? Not bloody likely, arsehole.”

He bent down and grabbed the man by the collar again, lifting him up with one hand while threatening a punch with the other.

”Tell me: who are you workin’ for? Else you want yer face splattered against the fockin’ pavement.”

The man waved his hands in front of his face, eyes squeezed shut. “No, no, no, don’t ask me -” His voice was interrupted by a sharp sizzling noise as his whole body began to convulse, his right eye twitching rapidly. A moment later, he went limp, the smell of burned electronics emanating from his corpse.

A similar dead body skidded to a halt at Alex’s feet as the Dragoness stepped away from the car. Some sort of self-destruct. Whoever sent these men did not want them to be questioned.

“Yeah, I got that,” Eliza murmured, mindless of the fact that anyone hearing her would think she was responding to nothing. Her attention was currently fixed on the much more interesting fact that the unassuming owner of the Iron Throne had just crumpled up a gun with his bare hands. “So, uh, any idea what that was about?”
(it’s your turn pal)
Alex let go of the corpse as it fizzled and sparked and the man died. He glanced at the young lady who threw another similar corpse at his feet and shrugged.

”No bloody idea. What I do know is that you’re paying me back for that window, young lady. As much as I’d love to find out what these idiots were up to, I’ve also got a business to run...and another guy in there that’s dying. Shite.”

Without pause, Alex rushed back into the pub and went for the man that had been shot. He skidded to a stop next to him and resumed the pressure on his chest.

”Oy! Stay with me! You still there?!”

The Dragoness followed after him, the sarcastic comment about paying him back dying on her lips as she was reminded about the man in mortal danger. He didn’t stir from his unconscious state, even as Alex resumed pressure and shouted in his face, though Eliza could see the shallow rising and falling of his chest. “We need to get him medical attention,” she observed tersely, “And something tells me there’s something to the ‘no hospitals’ thing. Do you have any ideas?”

I know of a wiseman in India who possessed my necklace for some time. He had remarkable healing abilities, and a noble soul.

“Alright, that’s a good fallback,”Eliza mumbled.

”Lady, I have no idea about how to treat him without a doctor. If you have a better idea, now’s the time.”

Eliza chewed her bottom lip, a habit she’d been trying to break - it was a little undignified for a half-dragon superhero. “Alright, I have an idea. But you’re not going to like it.”

Regeneration was painful. The feeling of regrowing all of your body parts, your flesh melding and being stitched back together without your permission was far from comfortable. Arnold was still dumbfounded by the mere existence of the crumpled bullets on the white tiled floor of the dining room, flecks of dried blood and spilt wine underneath it. They were still hot to the touch, cooling rapidly as they hit the ground.

Arnold had never been in a proper fight before. Back on the streets of Nevada, schoolyard scraps and playground poundings unfortunately made up a large part of his childhood. The Diablos Pequenos taught him how to punch without injuring himself, how to brawl and how to hurt. Never kill, though. That privilege was exclusively reserved for the adult members of the gang.

It was all instinctual, the primordial inclination of human beings towards violence that guided him. No matter what powers he had, experience overcame power. The armed mercenaries kept on firing at him unabated, merely adapting to the situation, no matter how unnatural it was. Arnold grunted in annoyance as the hail of bullets peppered off his skin and ripped the fabric of his jacket. The group of hostages screamed as Arnold kept taking the fire, making sure to not move towards the hostages.

He reached the first mercenary nearest to him, the hand reaching out towards him. The man then pulled out a wicked looking combat knife, glinting eerily in the dining room, with his cybernetic arm, knees bent in a combat stance. He swung out a haymaker. Telegraphed. Easy for a person with military experience to counter. The mercenary side-stepped to the right, turning his body and then, jabbing his knife directly towards his face. He lurched backwards, a yelp of pain as a black curtain came over half of his vision. The mercenary began to wedged the knife further into his mutilated pupil, pushing the back of the pommel while the hydraulic actuators of his prosthetic whined loudly. Every nerve in his head felt like it was being slowly crushed by a hydraulic clamp. He stumbled, grabbing onto the nearest chair for support whilst pulling the knife out his socket unsteadily, his eye hurriedly growing back in layers like an onion whilst the salvo of gunfire returned once more to keep him off-balance.

“ Look out!”

He paused, Killian’s voice distracting him for the mere moment, before the mercenary came at him again, charging at him with another knife that he had procured out of his - How many knives did this guy have? - and stabbed it into his other eye, rendering him blind. The man was now straddled on top of him, his cybernetic arm keeping him flat on his back to the ground like an anvil. He could hear the click of something; a pin perhaps, as something was shoved into his mouth. The taunting words of the mercenary came out slowly, as he waved his arms at the man uselessly, only seeing a void of darkness.

“ Nothing personal between me and you. Although, me and the boys are betting whether or not you can heal from a grenade in your mouth, freak.”