With the sun now licking the sky's highest peak, an ever-repeated schoolday was yet again reshaped and rehearsed. Hallways buzzed with students, each with a backpack either over their shoulder, or stuffed into a locker where an all too familiar scene tended to take place. It was where the weak were punished for their frailty, and where those of a more villainous disposition exacted their tyranny on the battlefield known as high school. "Why do we keep doing this?" Came a voice echoing with ghostly fractures, a figure appearing beside Nello as the boy was slipping books into his locker. The figure mimicked the young man's appearance in a perfect reflection, its frame never quite touching the ground, despite its feet appearing to brush against the beige foundation. Such was the nature of spirits, unable to interact with the physical world, their floating frames moving forth through a motion of mortal mimicry. 

"Putting books in a locker?" The very same voice returned, leaving the corporeal boy's lips as he offered the ghostly being a soft smirk, before earning a gentle slap to the shoulder. That, however, appeared to be a fully physical interaction, indeed. 

"Putting books in a locker," the spirit rolled its eyes, "school! Why do we keep going to school!?" It went by the name Nocturne, the phantom tied to Nello's very life, as the two now acted as a single entity split in a half only they could ever truly understand. "You do realize that you'll be sixteen forever, right? People will start asking questions when you're in college, and like, look like the little shrimp that you are." 

"Have you looked at me?" Nello's bright, yellow eyes blinked, before he raised a brow, "I think my age issue is the last thing people will notice." 

"Ugh, just because everyone else looks the exact fucking same with the only difference being how they lead their miserable lives," Nocturne returned with a roll of his eyes, turning to look at the flock of students commonly sparing a moment to stare at Nello. 

"Try not to be too positive, all that energy will burn you," the now ageless boy closed his locker, before hoisting his bag over his shoulder. "Besides, Al won't be happy if we skip out on school.., again."

"Fuck Al!" Nocturne exclaimed, throwing his arms up in the air as he floated along, next to Nello, "Chocolate Quake over there tries his very best to be as boring as possible." 

"And if I do what Midnight Torpedo over here is suggesting, we'd be living under a bridge after a week," the boy offered, with a soft chuckle escaping his lips. The two bickered much like siblings, in a way, like the very best of friends, brought together in a hardship they inevitably saved each other from.

"That's the freedom you need, right there!" The spirit smirked, wrapping his arms around Nello's upper body, floating behind him as the creature's lips whispered in his ear, "imagine the romance." 

"I imagine the hunger," Nello returned without needing to considering the answer for more than but a moment, "and the pitchforks. A freak living under a bridge, that's not working up to anything," he finished, a hand reaching up to playfully rub those claws along Nocturne's hair, in a most familiar manner.

"Ugh, we're Midnight, dude! We need to kick some-..," Nocturne halted in his speech, noting a face they had witnessed countless times in days passed. "...ass!" The phantom pointed forward, a hand on Nello's shoulder as the creature's arm extended past the boy's head, "let's beat the shit out of him!" 

"Well, if it isn't Freako'," came a voice Nello and Midnight had grown to know, a voice belonging to one who had claimed the title of 'school bully'. "Still got those horns, I see," a knowing grin stretched its way across Chad's face, a name he demanded to be called. 

"They're kind of attached," Nello offered, a less than amused expression prevalent on the boy's face. 

"Gotta' suck showering with those things in the way," Chad continued, his two friends making themselves known behind him, each of the three young men quite large and intimidating in their own right. 

"Showers aren't that difficult," Nello shrugged, "try taking one, sometime." Silence fell on the crowd, a small, scrawny freak opposing his bully. It was a scene worthy of spectacle, indeed.

"SAVAGE!" Nocturne shouted in approval, "NOW BEAT THE SHIT OUT OF HIM!" 

Meanwhile

It felt good being back in LA. The sun, the beach, and most importantly the movies. There just so many things to take inspiration from. Too bad so few these days followed the old ways.

Sighing, Jake coulson, A.K.A. Mr Gimmick, pulled his car to the bank he had chosen to be his target. Personally he would have broken into the Fox Plaza at night, but this time he needed to start with something visible. He gave one final look at his gear. It was a simple combo of stun gun shaped like a Beretta 92F, a Bruce Willis mask from a dime store and bulletproof vest on top of his regular clothes, with a red G painted on it.

It was an old Standard hero trick. Standards, not being as tough as Ultras, needed some extra protection from bullets, so they often used armor. However, it was hard to ensure that the enemy would fire on the armor, so they started wearing their sigils on their chests. It was something easy to shoot at, like a target, and it was put where the protection was heaviest. Protection and visibility in the same package. Perfect.

Quickly he jumped out of his vehicle and rushed to the bank. Luckily he had come here earlier to check the location of the security guards. The first one was taken out by swinging suitcase, and the others soon fell asleep from the stun darts. Jake might have been old, but he still got it.

"Yippe ki yay Motherfuckers!" Jake quoted the Die Hard movie, as he went to the cash register, "Better start shoveling money to this suitcase of mine, or I'm counting to three. There won't be a four."

The tellers, knowing what was best for them, started working. Mr Gimmick didn't kill, but it was likely these tellers didn't know it, and he could threaten. Jake looked at his clock. There should be about five minutes before the cops, sent by the silent alarm, arrived.

"As for the rest of you, behave yourselves and nothing happens. You can use your phones and cameras, but no running away or trying to charge at me. Thank you for your Co-operation."

Liberty Highschool, Los Angeles- California

Albert pulled up in front of Liberty Highschool in a bright cheery red, 1964 Dodge Dart. A classic care he'd restored with his grandfather a few years back. Was it fuel efficient? No, did he take the hybrid out more often, of course, but once in awhile on a sunny day, during a week that had been relatively calm and free of need to throw on his super suit, he liked to treat himself to a nice drive down the highway, go by the beach with the top down.

On a whim he'd decided to stop by and pick Nello up from school, maybe treat the kid. He'd been doing a well in school and in his... extra curricular activities. Honestly Albert had been massively impressed by the eternally young man so far, he hadn't reacted nearly so well when his own abilities awakened and Al had suffered mp change in how he appeared, nothing to visible separate him from his peers.

He was sitting out side the schools front gates, radio playing Sweet Child'o Mine by Guns N' Roses, however as the song came to an end he heard a rather... displeasing voice, not that it the man had a poor voice for radio, Albert simple despised the man speaking.

"Welcome back to Frank Fredrick Ford here and welcome back to the 'Direct Question', with me, Frank Fredrick Ford. I'm here to talk about the biggest problem facing our fair city, NO our NATION! And we all know what it is, it's the freaks running around like they own place just because they can spit fire or throw a car! You all know 'um, and you know I can't stand 'um. Heroes, Vigilantes, Villains, bah ya know what they are? They're crim-"

He changed the station, no need to listen to that, not today. What would surprise most is he often listened to 'Direct Question' because he felt it was important to know what people that didn't agree with you had to say, and as much as he hated the mans rhetoric he could always trust to hear an honest opinion.

He rolled his shoulders and took off his sunglasses, watching the school's front doors, seeing numerous young men and women leaving the building, but not the very recognizable side kick of his...

-Meanwhile at the bank-

One of the men standing in line simply groaned at the appearance of Mr. Gimmick, turning to his phone and clicking away, mumbling something about. 'A big waste of time' and 'Just another crazy Ultra wanting attention.'

It had been a good day in his eyes. A good and simple day. Went out, hung out with some of his friends. Got a bite to eat with his brother and got to see his nephews for a little bit. It was looking like something special to him. A nice and calm day where nothing would get on his nerves.

That's what Julius Grimes thought to himself at the moment. His next stop for the day was the bank, his hands tucked into the pockets of his black sweatpants. A new pair of shoes on laced up tight (He was going to go play some basketball with friends in the area later. Take some more time away from the job. As much as he could now that he had gotten a vacation from Deejay.), and a purple body-armor, long sleeved shirt on.

Then some random asshole started quoting Diehard and killing his vibe. The entire place was silent, people whipping out phones to start recording him...but now? He knew the police were on the way, and that right there was enough to set him on edge. He hated the police, and with a crime record like his? How could he not?

Julius started to step back as the cashiers began throwing their money. It wasn't worth getting shot at, having to blow his cover this early on all because some guy with a gun wanted a bit of money and a name for himself. There was grumbling besides him, a man clicking away at his phone and he couldn't help but agree. "Tell me about it."

La Buitre

Los Angeles- The Unnamed Bank.

@Chiro@ClokwerkDukk

La Buitre. Bruja. Maneater. “That Bitch”.

These were all her titles to claim, and ones she wore with pride. And why shouldn’t she? It was by her hands that criminal after criminal had been detained, or otherwise taken care of. When she swept through, she was a tidal wave of pure, unbridled spiritual energy, decimating those who dared to step into her path.

She feared no one. She was a force of nature.

And as she watched the villain burst into the bank, she thought of how easy it would be to make him pay for putting innocent lives at risk.

Unfortunately for her, however, she was quite dead.

Salbatora Lea Ciervo’s time had long since come and passed. And what a whirlwind of a time it had been! If there was still breath in her lungs, she would have sighed. She had accomplished so much, and went out with a bang; a very literal one, to say the least. A supervillain had planted a bomb inside the stomach of a civilian, and in her attempt to rescue them, she had died alongside them. She had been lucky enough to have bore not just one, but two children before her death- a set of twins- and had left the world without any regrets, but there were times where the nostalgia set in and left her entire being feeling hollow.

Nevertheless, now was not the time for reminiscing. Her eyes turned towards her niece, who was currently trying to sneak up to the bank’s front entrance, despite the fact that she wore the most eye-catching costume known to man.

Sweet Esperanza. The girl was capable of so much. The power that thrummed through her veins was the same that had flooded Sal’s when she had lived, honed and whittled from its raw matter until it was the sharpest of blades. If she could just work up the will to use it fully, then-

“STOP!”

Well. At the moment, Esperanza had a...bit of a ways to go. Though no matter how long it took, both Sal, as well as the rest of the family, would be there to support her all the way.

---

If someone had somehow gone without noticing the brightly-clad figure bursting through the doors of the bank, or their shout, they would most certainly notice the sudden drop of temperature. What had been the normal amount of chill that got pumped out of the AC of every bank known to man had taken a sharp downturn, turning breath into mist and raising goosebumps left and right.

“I have come to stop you from robbing this bank Mr...Mr...I do not know what your name is, but I am here to stop you and capture you!” The figure’s voice was stilted, awkward, heavily accented, but determined nonetheless. It- or, rather, she- attempted to throw a pose, dramatically thrusting a hand towards the sky, though the sheer vigor of the movement caused her to stumble a bit.

It did seem to accomplish something, however. Multiple sets of ghostly hands would appear to suddenly materialize, reaching for different parts of Mr. Gimmick. Two pairs had appeared at the gun, attempting to yank it downwards and out of his hands, and others still rushed forward to grab at his limbs and hold them still.

If they made contact, one would notice that the hands would feel about as warm as blocks of ice, despite feeling just as what they seemed- hands. Disturbingly human hands, some with missing fingers or parts to them.

There was a moment of silence, a short pause, before Chad took an intimidating step forward, his fingers wrapping their way around Nello's shirt collar, pulling the boy closer. "What did you say, little shit?" The student eyed Nello, their gaze meeting with unending anger seeping through Chad's words, venom dripping from the young man's lips. 

"He called you a shit, sure showed us," Nocturne grinned, enjoying the moment far more than the boy he lived within. "So tell me, Nello, dearest, sweetest, my little angel..," the shade continued, his arms wrapped around the young hero's neck, "why uh.., WHY ISN'T HE BEATEN THE FUCK UP, YET!?"

Lowering his attention for a moment, Nello considered the situation. He could cause a scene, he could do what Nocturne wanted, and humiliate Chad in front of the entire crowd, but what good would that do? Indeed, it would feel good, no one could deny the poetic justice of this most aggressive scenario. However, there were consequences to impulsive decisions. No one knew that Nello could fight, no one knew that he was Midnight. As far as others could gather, the boy was simply a freak, who happened to be a mutant, none of which was particularly true. "Sorry, dude," Nello managed an awkward smile, "that was actually rude, of me. Uncalled for," he spoke, before the scene was eventually intervened by a teacher. 

"Alright, everyone, that's enough!" Came an assertive voice, breaking the fight which could still very well have ensued. "School's over, go home!" The teacher finished, completely fed up with the day's tribulations, and having had to deal with teenagers since the morning. 

"Next time, I'll kill you," Chad mumbled to Nello before letting the boy go, signaling for his friends to follow. 

"...WHAT?!" Nocturne flailed, "...WAS THAT!?"

"Maturity," Nello dusted himself off, before starting towards the exit. Al was going to pick him up today, and the two were going to do something that was actually worthwhile. They were going to put on the capes, so to speak. "Alright," the ageless creature stretched, before groaning beneath the sunlight as soon as he stepped outside, Nocturne fading into the boy's mind in reaction to the bright sun's rays, "ugh.., couldn't you have been weak to broccoli, or something? You have the lamest weaknesses, Noct'.."

"Fuck you! They're OUR weaknesses now, cock sucker!" Echoed a voice through Nello's mind, forcing the boy to chuckle softly, as he gently opened the car door. Beneath the beating sun, everything felt heavier, and it almost felt like he was under water. Getting away from that, with a roof over his head, was a welcomed addition, despite the large windows afforded a vehicle.

"Hey, Al," Nello greeted his mentor, visibly bothered by the time of day.

"Let's hope Brother Quake has a mission for us, because otherwise, I will start singing 'Girls just wanna' have fun', for seven hours, in your head."

Mr Gimmick

Los Angeles- The Unnamed Bank.

@Count Cuddles@ClokwerkDukk@EchoicChamber

"Actually I'm Standard" Mr Gimmick corrected, not turning to the direction of the mumbler, "It's actually pretty funny that Standard villains outnumber their Ultra counterparts, yet Ultras are feared..."

It was then that he heard the order to stop and turned, looking at the young woman at the door. It was then that he noticed the... quite familiar hands moving towards him. Mr Gimmick dropped his gun, he didn't need it anymore, and with a quick boxing move attempted to dodge the hands moving towards his legs.

"She is an Ultra." Mr Gimmick noted, "And not just any Ultra. La Buitre, I presume."

Mr Gimmick took a deep bow. "Mr Gimmick, at your service. I understand if you don't recognise me. Your predecessor and I weren't exactly arch-enemies, and I usually wear a Green armor. I'm sorry about what happened to her. What Dr Transplant did was despicable... not to mention strangely out of character for him."

Mr Gimmick went silent, reminiscing. He and Dr Transplant, weren't friends or anything, but everyone knew the story of thanatophobic Jason Meyers, who wanted to release humanity from the chackles of death through cybernetics, funding his research by selling transplants to the highest bidder. Many thought that Dr. Transplant's murder-suicide was out of character for him, but that didn't stop the theories. Some said he finally snapped, others claimed that it was a "Final Fuck You" against the current La Buitre's successor. It was no secret that Dr Transplant despised La Buitre for supposedly "taking death too lightly". It was then that Jake snapped out of his thoughts.

"Sorry about that, Dozed off" He apologized, grabbing his suitcase "Too bad we meet in circumstances like these. I would have created a more appropriate theme as a welcoming gift, but I'm afraid the current one must do for now."

Mr Gimmick grabbed his Bruce Willis mask and threw it at La Buitre.

"Catch!" He shouted as he rushed to the door.

@Shard

Liberty Highschool- Los Angeles- California

Albert say the boy approaching as he left the front doors and crossed the threshold of the school's gate. He smiled and hit reached over, physically pulling the lock on the door, rather pointless as the top was down and Nello could have easily hopped over the top, but it was more out of habit than anything.

"Well Kid, you've certainly looked happier in the past, other half giving you problems or life in general got you down?"

Nello was one of the youngsters he'd met that he worried about more so than the others. The Kid was powerful, plain and simple, on top of that he had what Albert would label as a 'negative influence' literally walking in his shadow, and he understood the risk of someone young and impressionable being used, specially in this day and age. So when he first met the boy he had been an obvious.. he did not want to say target, but he felt it necessary to get the boy help, support and understanding. It was later obvious that the boy needed more, well, the being inside him definitely needed to be used. So his options were let the kid run around on his own, or take him directly under his own wing.

His choice was obvious. And Nello had taken to it well, and possibly more importantly, while he couldn't be for sure Nocturne seemed at least satisfied.

LA Hotel

What was it about high profile targets and vapid stupidity? Katherine asked herself this question every time she looked through the scope of her rifle. Through it she watched a party of sorts unfold on a pool balcony. The little red dot followed this one girl walk around the pool's edge in a shiny green bikini. She was a fox, fiery red hair falling down her back, hour glass figure. She was laughing, hugging up on other girls and guys, not a care in the world. Katherine wouldn't have pegged her for a world class hacker.

"Shame about those legs," Katherine lamented then took the shot.

A thwip was all that signaled the .308 round exiting the gun. It hit, turning her pretty face to red mist and her body toppling into the pool. Katherine could hear the screams all the way from her vantage point. She pulled her rifle in and began dissembling it, humming to herself. She sang to herself as she put her baby into its case. "Gotta know when to hold 'em, know when to fold 'em, know when to run." She left the hotel room, case slung across her shoulder, and a duffel in hand. She sang softly to herself all the way to the elevator and down to the lobby. Katherine stopped at receptionist desk and started settling her account.

"Did you enjoy your stay ma'am?" the clerk said, a little too cheerful for the job he had. It was cute.

"View was killer." Kathrine felt a little bad about her horrible joke almost as much as she found it absolutely hilarious. She walked out into the LA daylight.I'm going to hell one day. She suddenly chuckled at that little gem of thought. The valet arrived with her beat up pickup. She tossed her case and duffel in the back seat and headed to find some decent breakfast. God she was hungry.
________________________________________________________________________________
Random Diner, Outside LA

It was official, O'Mally's had the finest fucking eggs she'd ever tasted. It escaped her how a very Irish cafe ended up on the west coast. She sounded like some sex fiend eating her eggs but they were so good! Shame the coffee sucked. Her flip phone buzzed beside her plate ruining her yolky Nirvana.

"Ten minutes, could have waited ten minutes." Katherine picked up the phone. "Cerberus."

"Is it done?" a garbled voice said. These secretive types and their love of this cloak and dagger stuff.

"Yep." She shoveled another fork full of eggs into her mouth.

"Are you sure?" Douche-bag

"Got a bloody pool, traumatized party-goers in serious need of therapy, and a twitching body that says I am."

"Your money will be routed the usual way." The call disconnected.

"No 'hi how was your day? How was your flight'," Katherine said, snapping the phone shut and thumping it down. "No, that'd be almost human."

"More coffee?" the server asked.

"Nah I'll have milk."

Her phone buzzed when the girl walked away with her coffee cup, same number. Katherine rolled her eyes and took the call. "Jesus you want me to pose with the corpse and send you a picture?"

"Speaking of operations in public, a most egregious faux pas Ms. Silvers." The voice this time was refined, soft spoken and most assuredly female. Katherine's eyes widened. "No retort? Good that means I have your attention. I;m afraid I must put you on call. There are several openly active Ultra's I need contained. Three hundred thousand a head to make this forced assignment less bitter. There is very little information on them but I'm sure you can track them with ease, you may even find it fun. I'll call you in a week with an update."

Katherine stared at her phone for quite a while. "Well fuck."
__________________________________________________________________________________
Highway

Meal ruined, going back into the hell that was LA traffic, and the Lady was rearing her ugly head once more. Katherine's day had gone to shit in the span of a single phone call. Sure three thousand was nothing to sneeze at but still... if Lady was involved than that meant shit was gonna happen. LA was fucked and for that matter so was she.

Katherine turned her police scanner on. Within seven minutes she heard units being called to a bank robbery done by a possible Ultra. Turning on her GPS she headed toward the crime. Some time later she was parked blocks away. Katherine strapped her handgun to the back of her jeans and shrugged on her thin leather jacket before heading toward the bank. Cops had already begun to secure a parameter. One tried to stop her.

"I'm sorry ma'am-" was as far as he got before Katherine knocked him out cold and relieved him of his gun then unloaded the clip into his partner. She tossed the gun away and walked toward the side entrance.

The transition between a helpless, young sickly boy and the creature Nello had now become was a journey embraced by oddities and curious developments. His new aversion to the sun, feeling that unforgivable orb beating down on him was enough to add a heavy weight to the boy's shoulders. As it was, his physical prowess otherwise on par with a grown man, athletic and trained for years, had been drained by divine rays of the celestial body above. Unless he encased himself in the Night Armor, the boy was rather helpless and could barely lift his Moonshadow Sword. Luckily, the armor was merely a desire away and wearing it was a comfort all on its own. 

Where one would expect wearing metal as a less pleasant endeavor, Nello would be quick to correct the assumption. It felt natural for him, that protective suit replacing his clothes as it coated his dark, grey skin. Perhaps it was the magical nature of it, the fact that the armor was a part of his very soul. Indeed, the same held true when he wrapped his fingers around the hilt of his Moonshadow sword, a sense of battle lust washing over him. It was almost an addictive feeling where Nello came to understand his other half's desire for combat, the dance of life, and death. Of course, Nello had enough control to maintain his own moral values and as much as Nocturne enjoyed leaning against the shade's chaotic nature, he cared for the boy he had possessed. He cared for him, deeply.

"Oh, I'm alright," Nello began, managing a soft, if tired smile as he looked towards his mentor. "There was just..," the boy lowered his gaze, a slight sigh escaping his lips, "a guy at school giving me trouble, is all." He finished, leaning back in the seat. "And the sun's really bright today," Nello chuckled, rummaging in his bag after a pair of sunglasses he slipped on, and an energy drink he wasted no time in opening.

"Know what we could have done to one of those problems? Crushed it," Nocturne commented, "and what's that, 'you looked happier before?' Psshh! I'm the only one who knows how hard you get when you fight! You love it, faggot!"

Chuckling at something, Nello cleared his throat, and scratched the back of his head, before looking to Al, "I'm fine, really," he managed a somewhat brighter smile, "it's mainly the sun, honestly. Suddenly my bag's so much heavier, you know? And it feels like I am underwater, sometimes." The boy explained, "But it's alright, comes with being Midnight."

Nocturne was quick to pitch in, "comes with being AWESOME!"

👦 "Welcome to The Vista, everyone watching or listening at home. in your cars or local cafe. James McCraven here with another gathering of intellectuals to discuss the current state of our country. The most pressing agenda is, of course, Mutants, Ultras and other titles placed on these powered individuals."

👱🏼‍♀️ "Some call them Gifted."

👴🏾 "I wouldn't consider these people a gift, myself." 

👦 "How come, Travis?" 

👴🏾 "We used to be afraid of criminals with guns. Now, people can shoot laser beams from their eyes. We work with these individuals, go to school with them. Your doctor might be an Ultra. What happens if you look at them the wrong way?" 

👱🏼‍♀️ "It's good that you bring this up." 

👦 "Tell us, Shannon." 

👱🏼‍♀️ "Let's start with the fact that our children go to school with these people. What happens when two children get on each others' nerves? They fight. Now, imagine if one of these children had powers. What's the end result? It would be catastrophic and what do we say in the aftermath? They couldn't control themselves? They were too young?  Whatever the excuse, we now have a horrible outcome on our hands, and the only reason this wasn't prevented, was because politically correct decisions lead to an Ultra having their locker next to a human." 

👴🏾 "Should we have schools specifically for Ultras, then?" 

👱🏼‍♀️ "I believe so, yes. Whatever solution is being worked on in the long run, be it a cure or anything else, we need to focus on what we can do right now. I don't want to rely on a cure for these abilities maybe being available in the future, when our lives are on the line, today." 

👦 "Speaking of lives on the line! Let's talk about these so-called Vigilantes, or 'Heroes' as some would call them. There are a few to go through, so let's start with the one calling himself Fault Line. He's one of the more prominent vigilantes we're dealing with, and of course, his partner, Midnight. What's your opinion on Fault Line, Shannon?" 

👱🏼‍♀️ "Fault Line is a man with clearly destructive powers. We all know that these people should leave the law-keeping to the actual lawmen, but with that aside, I'd like to focus on the harm they can cause when out there."

👦 "Of course."

👱🏼‍♀️ "The man can create tremors. We've all seen that he is stronger than average, faster than average, and even has the ability to shield himself. With something as powerful as waves of force, accidents are bound to happen. How accurate are they? Can he use them in a hostage situation? Does it even matter to him if the hostage is hurt? Property damage is just one of the issues revolving around these vigilantes. Innocent lives are at risk when untrained, undisciplined and impulsive people with powers choose to fight fire with fire."

👴🏾 "Not to mention how he treats children. Remember, that's a man who has a sidekick, a sidekick who's a boy." 

👦 "Very true. Tell us what's on your mind, Travis."

👴🏾 "Let's start with that fact that this kid, Midnight, is obviously something else. That armor he's using? The sword? It's like he's from a fairytale, which in itself is a dangerous prospect to other children. What happens when a normal young boy thinks that it's okay to head out there with their plastic sword and pretend to be Midnight? What then? All of this, because Fault Line is encouraging teenagers to be vigilantes, and teenagers like Midnight encourage younger kids to do the same." 

👦 "What can we say when one of our so-called heroes is running around with some kind of magical plate and a sword? Are we regressing to the medievals? It certainly feels like it, with how crime is being treated. Where's the law? Where's the order?" 

👱🏼‍♀️ "Excellent point, which brings us to the fact that most of these dangerous individuals don't even need a weapon to be dangerous. Fault Line doesn't use weapons but he is still more dangerous than a gun. Midnight uses a sword and we can't begin to understand how that boy's abilities work. It's insanity. There are videos of these people fighting other ultras. Midnight's sword has cut through ultras that not even bullets can penetrate. What happens if he one day decides to turn on us? What happens if Fault Line one day decides that someone has wronged him and levels a building with the ground?" 

👴🏾 "As for fighting other ultras, there is this man, Blockraiser. He doesn't pretend to be a hero, he admits to being a villain, and I don't understand what the discussion is. He's a monster, and can shatter stone with his powers. This is a man who needs to be taken care of swiftly, and not by other ultras. He is a walking weapon, and a criminal, even more so than those who think they're doing good." 

👦 "Of course, he is a gangster. Lethal force should be authorized to fight him, by the police. I've always said, human rights are for humans. These people aren't human, and they have mad scientist among their ranks, as well. Just take the insane man calling himself Dr. Science." 

👱🏼‍♀️ "While we don't know what this man can do, he's obviously not a normal person. The weapons he has should be property of the government. It's not discussion. He should be apprehended, and everything he's using to cause disasters should be used to further our advancement." 

👦 "What about this Gimmick fellow?" 

👱🏼‍♀️ "A symptom. He's just a normal person who likes to make a lot of noise. If it wasn't for the ultras, he wouldn't be around, contending with these monsters if people like Fault Line hadn't 'inspired' more mentally degenerate individuals. These so-called heroes don't only provide a destructive role model, they also cause a counterbalance, with more villains popping up and crime rates increasing."

👦 "Very true, very true! Thinking they are doing the right thing, they have managed to hurt innocents, cause property damage, inspire youngsters to put their lives in danger and prompted unstable people to don the mantles of villains. It's a negative spiral, all of it starting at the core, that being these vigilantes and their crusade! Thanks for watching, dear viewers, thanks for listening, and we'll see you here tomorrow as we continue the conversation on the latest, the greatest and in this case, the very worst! This has been James McCraven, wishing our men and women in blue the very best. Always remember, America is on your side." 

---

To the uninitiated, a supervillain is lawless. But in truth, there are several laws that any supervillain must obey. Laws that define what a supervillain is, and how the world views them. Absolute rules that cannot be bent or broken. The first?

Law #1: Make an Entrance

With a crack like thunder the west-facing wall of the bank explodes outwards. Civilians scramble for safety as chunks of concrete are hurled across the room. A dozen subsequent crashes as pieces of wall slam into the rest of the bank, ripping through the outer windows of the bank and leaving deep gouges in the rest of the walls. A blue light shines dimly from the darkness beyond the newly formed hole. A moment of silence covers the bank, as a figure steps forth out of the inexplicable badly-lit hole. Dr Science emerges into the light, clad in his trademark white labcoat and rubber gloves. A pair of shining blue goggles hides the top half of his face, but the maddened grin on on his lips leaves little doubt as to his intentions. In his hands he holds a strange rifle-looking contraption, save for the blinking blue lights and the fact that it doesn't appear to contain a barrel. Instead where one would expect the barrel is a large cone, ending in a rounded flat surface covered in concentric metallic rings. A steady blue pulse and whir makes it clear that this is no ordinary weapon. As if there was any doubt.

"CITIZENS OF LOS ANGELES!" The Doctor's voice is strangely amplified, sounding far deeper and more electronic than one would expect. A distorter, perhaps to hide his identity. "This bank is now the property of Doctor Science! As the new owner I do apologise to all of you for the inconvenience, but I'm afraid we're going to have to close for the day. I'm going to have to make a Major Withdrawal!"

As if they had been waiting on his signal, a dozen small flying drone shot through the opening behind Dr Science. These silvery disks used what looked like tiny jet engines to propel themselves at high speed, as they began attaching themselves to the walls and corners of the bank at various points. Several of them zoom off into deeper parts of the bank. Doctor Science himself simply strolls towards the center of the bank, paying absolutely no heed to the hero and villain who had previously been involved here. This was his stage now, and he intended to own it to whatever degree possible.

A singular drone floats behind him, slowly rotating as two metallic tendrils hold a phone in place. It seems Dr Science is making sure to film his heists. After all, you can't always trust the media to get everything on camera.

Lake Boulevard- Los Angeles- California

@Shard[@Prosiac]

While the bank was becoming a melting pot of danger and a cornucopia of character, the last few minutes had shown a noticeable shift in the day of Albert and Nello, or perhaps more accurately now, Faultline and Midnight.

Faultline was sent rolling across the asphalt, bright yellow arched around him creating a protective barrier. The road cracked and fractured under him, he didn't feel much of what someone could call pain from it, but he definitely felt that one. He pushed himself up from the ground, astounded once again by the crowd that was sitting there, watching, and recording on their phones. In the comics people always ran screaming and it made the heroes job so much simpler... why couldn't they do that at least once in a blue moon.

He stood fully rolling his shoulders and rotating his neck a few times, turning to see his opponent. He couldn't wait to see what the media would call these two. In front of him was a tower 10'2" Alligator man that looked like he had been preparing for the World Weightlifting Championship.

"Now now, this is so much easia then I was thinkin' it 'ould be."

The hero had to roll his eyes, this happened EVERY TIME a new villain showed up. He had to see just how tough they were, if he hit them to hard he'd leave much more of a mess than he wanted to. So most of the time until he figured out how hard he could punch the first few came up soft and he normally was sent flying, then the speech at how much weaker he was than they thought.

He really hoped Nello was doing better than him...

A few streets over

The aforementioned side kick was locked in combat against a similar foe, smaller, this one only standing at about 5'6", and was far leaner built, but the Alligator man was inhumanely agile. He barely spent time on the ground, ever time a foot landed he lept again, moving around the young hero before diving in for a quick strike, their fight had drug on from its initial spot till it was here now, in front of Cafe Belle Vie.

"He he, little bitty Knight ain' got da snuff ta fight, swingin' round ya little stick."

One would be a fool to deny the ecstatic joy emanating from a clash of blades, from an act of aggression towards an opponent, from combat. Unable to hide the smirk under his white helmet, obfuscating the young face beneath, Nello held his weapon in front of his slender frame, slowly circling his enemy as they sized each other up. A sword clashing against a bladed, metal staff. A knight fighting a creature of the depths, a monstrous beast clawing its way out of sewage and filth to the civilized world. The scene was that of a fairytale, truly, something onlookers were more than happy to approve with cellphones on full display. Texting their friends, filming the event, adding yet another battle of light versus dark to the internet's vast collection of videos. As if fighting in an arena, indeed, the modern reinvention of this most spectacular event, Nello was unable to stifle the chuckle leaving his lips at his opponent's words. The boy's voice, a ghostly, metallic sound from beneath the armor circled by an aura of darkness and shadows. "Apologies," Nello, or rather, Midnight spoke, "I was too enamored by our dance. You are an entertaining opponent." Charging forth, Nello's blade sliced through the air in a swift, most graceful motion, an attack his opponent managed to dodge as the lizard flipped into the air with a counterattack of his own.

"Think he'll be as quick without legs!?" Nocturne exclaimed from within Nello's mind, as the boy raised his shield to block the incoming blow, a loud clang of metal on metal lingering in the air. 

"Why end the fun, so quickly?" The small knight returned, answering his innermost shade as his Moonshadow Sword connected with the lizard's bladed staff in a quick, repeated sequence of furious blows, all before the monstrous creature leaped high into the air, a backflip to allow for some space between the combatants. 

"See, kiddo', this is the guy I want to see more often. Where is THIS Nello outside the armor, huh?"

The battle continued, a knight versus his dragon, a boy shedding the restraints put on him throughout an everyday struggle against social stigma. When in the armor, that mystical plate of black and white, Nello felt free. With slender, armored and clawed fingers grasping the hilt of his sword, Nello never attempted to leave lasting wounds on his opponent. His blade, it was one of the more dangerous weapons one could wield. One of supernatural nature. However, as the lizard attempted to overwhelm the knight with countless jabs, his motions leading the creature in every manner of direction, Nello dropped his sword, the weapon vanishing in a burst of black smoke before a clawed gauntlet grabbed onto the lizard's frame, throwing him to the ground. 

Moments later, an explosive burst sent the lizard off balance only seconds after it rolled back to its feet, Nello's eyes narrowing at the sight. He hated it when someone intervened in his fights, but it was a notion kept under lock and key. He was aware that this love of combat, particularly single combat, came from Nocturne. "We're done, here." Midnight's ghostly voice slipped through the mystical helmet he wore, a metal encased fist connecting with the lizard's snout in reaction to a distraction the creature had been imposed. With a splintering tooth forced out of the creature's mouth, Nello wrapped his clawed hand around the creature's neck, every figment of his possessed body wanting to conjure forth his blade and plant it hilt deep in this beast's body. 

Another punch knocked the creature out before Midnight dropped the beast like a rag, tossing it aside to the concrete before his attention shifted to Keandre. "Who the fuck is that?" Nocturne's voice echoed throughout Nello's mind, the boy's attention remaining on this newcomer. 

Lake Boulevard - Los Angeles - California

@Shard@Prosaic

While his side kick Midnight had found relatively easy success in his own encounter, Faultline was still dealing with his half of the pie so to speak. The gargantuan reptilian had been relentless in its assault, but however powerful each strike was, no matter how constant they were his attacks were wide, sloppy, uncoordinated.

Faultline was falling into an easy rhythm, back stepping each strike and watching carefully, arms raised and at the ready, each time his opponent attacked he reduced the distance he moved backwards. Each time narrowing the distance between them. He measured best he could in his mind, a foot, six inches, four inches, 2 inches... there it was.

As one strike ended and pulling back, the other arm began to descend and the hero pushed forwards, stepping under the retreating arm, using it as a barrier preventing the other arm from striking at him for the singular moment he needed to step in close and send a straight jab towards his opponents gut, as his body turned into the punch yellow energy burst from the ground at his feet, arching and coiling around his body flowing into his arm. The blow sent the Alligator reeling back several steps, clutching at his gut, a guttural and angry hiss escaping his mouth. Faultline didn't let up, sprinting forwards he met his opponents incoming fist with his own, again a burst of energy sent the appendage recoiling as the hero got in close and sent a kick to the inside of his left knee. As his opponent began to drop he sent an upper cut into his lower jaw following it with several blows to his gut.

The reptilian mutant dropped to his knees, before retching, revealing his earlier lunch to those on the street. He only saw a brief image before he blacked out, of Faultline descending from a short jump in the air, his foot coming down on the back of his head.

"Almighty.... tough son of... son of a gun." he shook out his hands, he thought alligators were supposed to have soft underbellies. He put his hand to the communicator in his ear.

"Hey Midnight, how are you doing on your end?"

Mr Gimmick

Los Angeles- The Unnamed Bank.

@EchoicChamber@thewizardguy

"What the!?" Mr Gimmick exclaimed as the bank exploded. It was certainly the best way to describe what had happened. The old villain fell to the ground, though luckily he managed to get out of the rubble's way.

"Is everybody all right?" He asked from the civilians and other people in the bank. Granted, it wasn't expected for a villain to care for the hostages, but Mr Gimmick didn't like endangering people in the first place. It was then that he remembered the sleeping guards and quickly crawled to them. He sighed in relief that they weren't harmed by the rubble.

Gimmick looked closer at the new villain, Dr Science. He certainly acted like a thrill villain, even taping his actions. He was serious, and devoted, but reckless.

Under normal circumstances Mr Gimmick would have taken the opportunity and ran, but a part of him wanted to observe. There were so few real, good old thrill villains these days, and such talent should be developed. Perhaps he could become his successor.

But all in good time.

"Nice entrance" He said, clapping his hands. "I especially like the booming voice. But you really need to be more careful with your collateral damage. Robbery, especially grandiose robbery, is all part of the villainy, but the Super-Police is not going to like manslaughter, even if it's involuntary. Nor do I think your fans are going to like it if you needlessly endanger people. Not only that, but there is already a hero here, a young hero, and if she dies-"

It was then that Mr Gimmick realized that La Buitre was probably still somewhere in the building.

"La Buitre!" He started calling, "La Buitre! Can you hear me? Are you all right? La Buitre!"

La Buitre

Los Angeles- The Unnamed Bank.

@Chiro@ClokwerkDukk@thewizardguy

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“You know who I am!” Even over the distance that seperated La Buitre from her opponent, it wasn’t particularly difficult to pick up on the sheer, unbridled glee in her voice, or the fact that she was practically bouncing on the spot. “It is very nice to meet you, Mr. Gimmi- I mean, um.”

A pause. She cleared her throat. She had to be serious. A very serious, intimidating hero. When La Buitre next spoke, she had deepened her voice, and had made it sound all gravelly. Like Batman. Though she didn’t sound like Batman. She sounded like a fifteen year old girl making a very bad imitation of Batman, but being as grave about it as if the playboy himself.

“It would be nice to meet you, but because you are the bad guy and you are trying to rob the bank, it is not very nice to be meeting you.” She gave a firm, decisive nod, planting her fists against her hips. Then, fists still against her hips, proceeded to bow deeply in response to Mr. Gimmick.

“Mr. Transplan- oh! I am sorry that I did not recognize you. If you would like, you can talk to the La Buitre that was killed then, because I am sure that she would love to talk to you. You will have to stop robbing the bank, though. And it is okay! I also-”

Given that she was still striking her pose, La Buitre was unable to raise her hands in time to catch the mask thrown at her, though another pair of pale hands caught the thing a foot away from the girl’s face.

“Hey! Wait! I am supposed to be catching you!” She began to bolt after the supervillain- admittedly, not at the most impressive of speeds- though her attempt at a chase was cut short by one of the walls blasting in, a bit of rubble hitting her in the torso and knocking the wind out of her. Not, luckily, doing any more of that, of course. The armor in her costume did its job well.

Patting her chest a little, La Buitre straightened, turning to see that another supervillain had burst into the bank. Her eyes widened. Two bad guys? This would be very, very tricky, indeed. She shot a glance over to the door, relieved to see that Mr. Gimmick hadn’t taken the chance to run off, then cupped her hands to her mouth and shouted over.

“I am okay!” Then, after a moment of thought, she acted, summoning a new batch of ghostly hands to clamp down on Mr. Gimmick’s ankles. If they managed to get a good grip, they would promptly drag his ankles out from underneath him, pulling him into the air and leaving him upside down. A few more ghosts swept out throughout the bank, checking on the civilians, sweeping away rubble.

To someone unfamiliar with La Buitre, it would seem as if she was particularly excellent at multitasking.

To someone who knew the hero, they would know it was more along the lines of having her own, particularly competent, team behind her.

Clearing her throat, La Buitre turned to the new supervillain, though not exactly all the way. She still had to keep her eyes on Mr. Gimmick, after all. “I am sorry, Dr. Science, but you can not be having the bank all to yourself! If the people can not go to this bank, then they will have to go to one that is farther away! And I do not think that all of the people here own the cars, so they would be having to walk, which means that it would be very diffi-”

A sharp eye might have noticed a hand appear beside La Buitre and gently, but firmly, nudge the girl in the ribs before disappearing. A sharp ear might notice her whisper what seemed to be an apology before returning to her usual volume.

“You will not get away with this, because I am La Buitre, and I am here to fight the bad guys!” With a dramatic flair of the hand, another swarm of ghosts swept out. Faces with pitless eyes and gaping mouths rushing at the good Doctor, hands grabbing at the contraption, at his limbs, rushing for the drones.

The bank was swarming, churning, the air alive with ghosts.

It seemed as if what La Buitre had in power and supply, she lacked in actual strategy.