Date/Time: November 11th, 2022. 5:45 PM.

Location(s): Redline PRT Headquarters

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Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. Tick....

Ugh, it was like he could feel the clock boring his skull open.

Truth be told, he had been dreading this day ever since it was dumped on him. All because he tried to be the smart guy in the room....Last time he made that mistake....Again. Fukuda could feel his eyebrows scrunching up in consternation; somehow, this was all going to blow up in their face. Maybe literally, given the fact they were bringing that Tinker girl on board. Speaking of...

To at least take his mind off his impending doom, Atsushi took to reading the files they had handed off to him yet again. The details on those who had been picked out by him, or in a few niche cases, those who came to them instead. The subtle clicking of the clock could still be heard, in spite of his best efforts. Fifteen minutes. He'd given the kids a deadline; 6 PM. Roughly thirty minutes after most of them would be out from school. Time to arrange for anything, maybe get some food, or just goof off before something this high-stress. He didn't know.

He tried getting comfortable. The meeting area they'd set up for The Wards, lying just below the prison sector, had some pretty cushy seats, so there was that. Beyond that, though...Pretty sparse. A few terminals for them to use, keep track of things, watch out for teammates from the safety of HQ when/if necessary...Probably play video games if they were slacking off. That, and the still hidden-from-view foldaway monitor, for when important people (like himself, heh) had to make some big announcements to the team without being there, or fill them in on dire information that couldn't be passed onto their terminals. Alright, enough beating the damn bush. His personal datapad flipped open (thanks, Tech Wizard, for these complicated damn iPads), he began scanning through the files once more.

Aurorea (Eleanore Evans) [Crystalline Visage: Breaker (Brute 9/Thinker 6/Mover 3)]

Memento (Morgan Reine) [Biomass Assimilation/Self-Duplication: Striker 6, Brute 4+, Master (tentative)]

Faeble (Wilbur Levins) [Parahuman Deception: Master 4/Stranger 4 (potential Thinker ability)]

Workshop (Beverly Hillshire) [Chaos Creations: Tinker 5 (tentative 2+ in other Classifications)]

Gress (Aaliyah Zaire) [Warp Gates: Mover 8 (Blaster. Tentative Thinker)]

Bastion (Demi Stevens) [Power-Nullifying Barriers: Shaker 5/Trump 7 (Brute 5)]

V (Carmen Foster) [Object Cloning: Striker 6/Tinker 1]

Bloodlet (Lito Walker) [Hemokinetic Weaponry: Striker 6/Brute 4]

Wattson (Jen Mackens) [Selective Tangibility: Breaker 9/Stranger 7/Striker 5/Mover 2/Trump 2/Brute 1]

Artemesia (Luna Chambers) [She-Devil: Changer 7/Stranger 7/Mover 3 (Brute 3)]

Astromancer (Alman Kastrati) [Concentrated Light Spheres: Blaster 6 (Shaker)]

The sheer volume of volunteers was concerning, and even moreso were how many he basically just plucked right off the damn streets. Seriously, this city had problems...Still, at least there would be strength in numbers, even if most of them were lacking any sort of formal training. A few stand-outs here and there, either on personal merits or the potential of their Parahuman abilities, but otherwise, this looked downright miserable.

As if an angel descending in his hour of need, his Vice Director, one Rachel Elton, had just now descended to the room from a side passage normally kept hidden; it was there for convenience, dramatic entry, and of course, when the elevator would inevitably not work due to something stupid or horrific occurring. Perhaps both. She was snugly dressed over her typical business attire, a thick pale blue scarf constricting her freckled face like a snake, with her mitted hands holding two fresh, steaming lattes as she strode to sit beside her ever-so-woeful 'boss'.

She couldn't help but give him a stern glare behind her cozy prison that entrapped a good half of her face; honestly, how could he be acting his dour when he was getting exactly what he wanted? Sometimes, she just couldn't understand him. "Sheesh, lighten up, Atsushi. You look like you're reading a KIA list, not looking at the faces of our best and brightest, y'know?" She quietly passed his hot beverage to him, which he took wordlessly and also proceeded to take a rather satisfying sip of. "Meh, I suppose you might have a point. Still, this is over double the estimated team size...Sounds like we're in for a lotta hassle."

Even underneath the scarf, Fukuda could tell she was smiling just by the glint in his Vice Director's eyes. "Like it isn't that way 24/7 around here? C'mon, we've handled worse, and besides, we're doing something really good here. A lot of these kids need something to lean on, and beyond getting them involved in the ridiculous world of superheroics, we can actually support them. Give them somewhere to belong. Isn't that great?" Ever the optimist. The Director just sighed. "Just don't count your chickens, or however the hell that saying goes. We've got our work cut out for us this time..." As if on cue, they could hear the silent 'ding' of the elevator, signaling one of their arrivals finally approaching. A silent dread creeped over the Director's face, whereas cheery and warm mirth at the thought of meeting one of the kids in person again reached Rachel's.

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Well, that went to hell faster than he expected. To imagine that the bigwigs managed to pull these kids straight into the fire on day 1 was unfathomable, even by Fukuda's exceptionally low standards. Still, it was happening now, whether he liked it or not. The kids had gotten all dressed up, and with two convoys to carry the whole team (and Rachel, who ended up driving for Memento to make sure she got a clone body instead of the original), they were off to the scene of the predetermined crime, that being the Museum of Parahuman History. Honestly, as the Director oversaw the work of the techheads monitoring channels and debriefing PRT officers, he just couldn't wrap his head around it. From the precognitive information given to them, it seemed like this was somehow gonna end up a big event, but he just couldn't imagine why. The Museum had some interesting pieces lying around, sure, and maybe some of that deactivated Tinker crap could have some concerning implications in the wrong hands, but overall, it was far from the hot topic that the majority of the Guardians were going to confront, that being an attack on the mayor's own home. Stranger and stranger....

Taking his mind off of things, he spoke into his earpiece, reaching each of the Wards, as well as the Guardians who were en route to meet with the kids at the Museum, Fuse and Siren. Not exactly the team he would've picked for the job, but well...That was Risen's job. "ETA is 10 minutes now until you reach the museum; we don't know what to expect in there yet, so as per usual, the Capes - to be more specific in this case, Fuse and Siren - will be taking point until we can determine the threat and plan accordingly. For you Wards on the line, I'll drop a quick piece of advice. Property damage can get paid for, but loss of life? Not so much. It's doubtful there would be many visitors at this hour, but regardless, your priorities should always be toward civvies in the combat zone. And next in order of importance? Yourselves. A lot of you are new to this in more ways than one, so stick together and don't pull anything reckless. Follow the lead of the Guardians and you'll be fine. Director out."

He returned his focus back to theorizing, planning for what could potentially be there. Was this a preemptive Seven attack? Nah, that's next to impossible. Their last sighting placed them somewhere in Europe, near Germany. Only one who could be here that suddenly is the man himself, and he doesn't split off very often from his pack. Was it a Herald attack? Equally improbable. Sure, the timeframe is close to right, but only Gaia could emerge at a point like that, and she's currently recovering, even if the damage to London was pretty severe. With the concerning out-of-left-field possibilities pushed to the side, he began probing his brain and their databases for the likelier suspects.

The Mutants? Hm...Not impossible. If taken in a certain light, trashing this Museum could fit their M.O. Still, that didn't sound entirely right. The Knights? Not a chance in hell. There'd be little to no personal reason for them to pull it, and he doubted anyone could swing enough cash their way to bother with something that, at least in the scope Fukuda could see, seemed so miniscule in impact. Maybe The Skulkers? They were a small-time crew, but they've clearly been pushing to be let into the big boys' table, so to speak. While there might not be much money in this, perhaps notoriety could be the aim...There was also the Syndicate to consider, but the information was just too scarce; even if they were a part of this, being able to actually figure that out would be a pipe dream. Ultimately, Fukuda found himself back to square one, with nothing quite matching up.

So all that would be left is to wait and see....And hope that rat bastard Fuse didn't blow up half the museum and rake that property damage bill to sky-high rates.

Date/Time: November 11th, 2022.
Location(s): Redline, en Route to Museum of Parahuman History

---

As the Director's voice faded with the severed connection, the girl in a blue, faux-armored bodysuit fiddled with her gear one final time, checking the concealed buttons and committing the contents of her utility pouch to heart. "This scenario smells." Personally, Jen felt like that went without saying, but maybe some of her new "comrades" weren't quite so on the ball. Wasn't she generous then for coming out with it? Her voice came through her helmet with a slight electronic twinge to it from the filter, muddying the waters for those that might feel like getting cute about using that to trace her for some forsaken reason. "They don't even know what we're up against, and yet, they're so sure it's going to be a disaster? One that needs..." She briefly counted off on her fingers. "What is it now? Thirteen parahumans?"


Her visored visage panned around the occupants of the transport she'd chosen, and with great difficulty, she stopped her eyes from lingering on the fucking Mast- Wilbur, she corrected herself. Or Faeble now. Whatever. As much as she'd personally have preferred not to be breathing the same oxygen as one of... those, she also knew her hatred stemmed solely from an ideological place of spite and... well, probably trauma. Sure, whatever. Her powers protected her from that shit nowadays, so it wasn't like she was... exactly afraid of him. Well, maybe she was a little, in that irrational little animal-hindbrain corner of her mind, unbeholden to reality.

The point was! She chose this transport precisely because she didn't trust the little shit. She didn't know everything about her allies' powers, didn't know if any of them had any sort of defense of their own, but if "Faeble" decided he felt cute enough to try something? She'd be there to put a stop to it. Surely, that was something a hero would do, protecting their teammates? She wasn't being paranoid. Definitely not. This was a completely sensible course of action!

Tapping her armored kneecaps as the transport rolled along, Jen's lips pursed unseen. The more she thought about it, the more she wasn't sure she wanted to "follow the lead" of anyone in a situation filled with so many unknowns. As if any of these people would know better than her how her power was best utilized! The nerve! Regardless, as much as the urge to "ask for forgiveness rather than permission" was strong indeed, she held it at bay for the time being. She could be patient. She could wait. It wasn't like she was rearing to get into fisticuffs with villains for no good reason, after all. She could wait to hear how these lauded, so-called "Guardians" thought she was best used, before she considered going off the reservation. Surely, she was judging them too harshly, right? This could be an easy test of their competence.

Leaning back in her seat, she did her best to bleed some of the tension from her spine. 'Stay, objective, girl. You're safe. Your power will save you. No matter how tits up this goes, you'll come out ahead in the end, just as always.' Yeah... Yeah, this was... fine, right? She was just getting "first day jitters", as it were. That was all there was to it. She wasn't the one whose neck was on the line if this went as badly as everyone up top seemed to think it would. She just had to stay on target, do her part, and come out looking squeaky clean. Easy peasy.

Even so...

"Maybe, the Director didn't quite say so explicitly, but the unknown is often the most dangerous thing you can have to deal with," Wattson continued with a somewhat more productive line of conversation. Backing out didn't seem to be an option in this little trial by fire, so they would just have to make do. "Anyway, any of you played Dungeons and Dragons? Or, I guess, any RPG game with class roles in it?" Spreading her arms, Wattson smiled unseen. "Just think of me as your party Rogue. If you let me, I'll do my best to ensure the path is clear before you dive in, scout things out and see about lessening the number of surprises we have to deal with. I can get in and out undetected. Better still, I can transmit pertinent information back to you in real-time." She tapped the side of her helmet, indicating the comms. "In general? I'm yer' gal for information gathering. That's what I bring to the table..."

She trailed off leadingly. If they were going to make this work, best to get at least a lightning round of strategizing out of the way. She didn't have time to dive into the length and breadth of her power's capabilities... nor was she particularly inclined to share outside of necessity, but "party roles"? That was easier to digest. It gave everyone a place and structure within the unit, and more importantly, it gave this ragtag band at least the barest semblance of the lacking organization that they desperately needed. Frankly, there were too many people involved in this for a bunch that didn't even know each-other, never mind that the Director had said outright that many were complete novices... some -like "V"- more obvious than others.

"Oh yeah, and in case it needed saying before we dive into the shitstorm, like this, you can call me Wattson."

.

Just another day in Redline.

Bastion sat with her back against the wall of the van, arms crossed in her new armor, internally thinking of what this team could do when they worked together. Sure enough, priority number one was to evacuate the building, and then do what needed to be done. Based on the information given to them, Bastion was led to believe that both attacks were legit and that the intention was to keep the PRT distracted two separate ways. Bastion had been to this museum a few times, and was well aware of the deactivated tinkertech it held. "Deactivated" only meant it didn't have a power source, and could be activated if a power source was introduced. That was an alarm for Bastion, and she made a mental note to lock down any access to that tech if she had the chance. In the meantime, she needed to consider what the others would do. Not everyone had experience like her.

"The museum is a big place, with a lot of places to break in from. If we're going to evacuate people along with security and the Guardians, we'll need to keep an eye on them, and make sure there aren't any ways we can be surprised once the people are out." Bastion spoke up finally, sounding confident. "The Guardians will know what to do, but if any of you are nervous about this, don't be. Siren's one of the scariest shakers in the city, and the museum will have security guards already protecting it. It's very possible whoever is staging this attack will want to go after the tinkertech in the museum, and I'm certain the Guardians know that too. Anything can happen, but if we'll be fine."

Bastion told this to the others mostly because she wasn't sure what kind of experience they had with the cape world. Bastion had been all over Redline for the last two years and had seen more than her fair share of chaos. It's easy to get overwhelmed by it all when something first happens. Everyone has a plan until they get punched in the face, after all, especially when they were an absolute baby like Carmen seemed to be. Her other reason was for peace of mind. It was always hard to adjust when multiple powers got thrown into the same scene, and the last thing any of them needed was panic thrown on top of that.

"Some of you might already know who I am, but if you don't, my cape name is Bastion." She raised one of her armor hands up between all of them and used her power, a golden light flickered into existence, taking the shape of a thick, circular plane no bigger than a frisbee. "I make forcefields. It's a very straightforward power, and I can make them big enough or make them in a big enough amount to shield everyone here and in the other convoy if I have to. These shields I make are sturdy enough to stop a speeding car, and explode to take it out. The best part is that my forcefields disrupt powers. If a breaker touches it, they're forced out of their breaker state. Blaster attacks fizzle out, and master-stranger powers stop affecting anyone touched by them."

The small shield evaporated out of her hands. "I'm also pretty strong. I could tip this van over if I tried hard enough, and I mostly apply that in the form of either punching someone until they stop putting up a fight, or tossing a bigger shield at them at full force ." Bastion said in her usual matter-of-fact tone. Anybody who had seen the news roughly a week ago may have remembered seeing her get shot in the side by a villain named Daggershot, only to spin around and cave his chest in by hurling a forcefield at him with extreme prejudice.

He still isn't out of the hospital.

"What about the rest of you? What are your powers?"

Date/Time: November 11,2022
Location: Redline, Maine; en route to the Museum of Parahuman History

"I will defeat you with the power of friendship. Oh, and these stars! Hah! At your face!"

---

Alman simply watched their merry little party of crazy teens, endowed with frankly horrifying powers and less than stellar backgrounds. From what he heard from gossip during the introductions, some were straight up orphans, others were kicked out of their houses, and a couple were abused in ways more than one. Oh, and there are a few of those with stable homes. Including himself, he supposed, as he checked his phone and saw the latest series of messages from his parents. They kept asking him if he had already eaten, if he was well, if his companions were absolutely insane.

"Oh, I'm sure it will be fine," Alman said to no one in particular as he resisted the urge to conjure a star for the laughs. He really itched to see if he was well-practiced with his powers, but that was apparently going to happen once they got down to the ground.

Alman found the whole situation odd. What would any of the groups of... evil parahumans gain from attacking a museum of all places? What are they gonna do? Steal a retired hero's costume and then parade it around like a dog on crack? Take the outside underwear and then use it for themselves?

Maybe they needed money for their nefarious schemes, and wished to auction off some stale and unused spandex?

"Anyway, any of you played Dungeons and Dragons? Or, I guess, any RPG game with class roles in it?"

So, one of them, Wattson apparently, had begun to strike a conversation. Perfect, Alman thought, as he formulated an answer.

"I don't know if it fits. But I play... Eh... League of Legends," Alman said, shuddering with how the others might react to that information. One of their group, belonging to one of the most toxic gaming communities out there? What if they thought he fit the bill of 'a typical League player?'

Another, named Bastion, asked what they could do. She makes forcefields... huh, neat.

"I... blow up stuff. And melt stuff down," Alman continued, creating a sphere of crimson light. "I make these little spheres of plasma, which I guess you can call miniature stars. Anyways, you lot can just call me Alman. 'Astromancer' might be a mouthful to say after all."

Lito was heavily reconsidering his choices recently before he even realized what was happening, he and several others were shoved into a vehicle and they were off to their first mission. This was insane, right? To shove them into the field on day one. Most of them had little to no training. Sitting in the car the red-head was practically rubbing his wrist raw, silently hoping nobody would speak to him, but knowing he was likely not going to get his wish.

He had spent so much time focusing on not making eye contact with anyone else in the car he was in that he jumped a little in his seat when one of his vehicle mates started speaking. A rather tough looking female in an impressive set of armor. They seemed to be attempting to ease the other’s nerves but the attack on the museum was not what was making Lito nervous. He was more okay with dealing with villains than he was with interacting with other people. The female continued speaking introducing themselves and letting them know their powers. Ending with asking what the others in the car can do.

Lito sat quietly for a moment but when nobody else seemed to speak up right away he simply pricked his finger with the spiked ring that was a part of his cape outfit, allowing the blood to flow out he covered the pricked finger with the blood and hardened it raising his finger for the others to see. “Um, I can harden my own blood into various weapons and tools.” He didn’t speak very loudly and his voice was hoarse as if he didn’t speak much. He spent a moment turning the blood that was hardened on his finger into a small needle. “Swords, shields, armor, that kinda thing.” He was focused more on his finger than he was the others in the car so he had no way of knowing they might be thinking about his power. “Um, my cape name is Bloodlet…” He added, finally looking up from his hand, as the needle that was once there morphed to scab over the small hole in his finger. His wiry frame tensed quite a bit as he did so. He really didn’t want to see the other’s faces but he knew if they were to work together they would have to get over the ick factor of his power.

Lito really hoped that he gave a good enough explanation of his powers. He didn’t feel like answering any subsequent questions. Talking about his power made him uncomfortable. Let's be honest, talking in general made him nervous. That fact would be obvious to anyone in the car.

---

Will stood outside the PRT Headquarters, leaning against the side of the building. He had been there for about 10 minutes, alternating between fidgeting with his tie, playing on his phone, and anxiously pacing. He'd been there before around a week ago - he received a tour, went through an hour or two of them testing his power, and had an extended talk with the PR team and Fashonista about his cape persona and costume. The HR head refused, like, 10 of Will's ideas before they finally compromised on 'Faeble', which Will was still somewhat annoyed about.

Will looked at the entrance to the building, working up the courage to step inside. He thought about leaving now while he still could - it'd be easy to steal a car with his power. He could be in Portland before anyone noticed, and after hopping on a plane, Will could go wherever he wanted.

He knew that, really, there was no choice in the matter. He'd be sacrificing his life, his identity, if he fled the country. All things considered, his brother scored him a pretty sweet deal. Only three years with the Wards, and he'd be scot-free. Three years risking his life, alongside other teens, like some kind of YA-novel or some shit.

Will started messing with his tie, straightening it for the umpteenth time.

If he walked in there, he'd basically be signing his life away. All it would take is a guy with a gun and some earplugs, and Will would be worse than powerless. There are powerless people who know how to throw a punch, after all - and don't have to deal with the stigma being a Master brought with it.

Oh god, he forgot about that. The tie dug a bit deeper into his neck as Will tightened it even further. Most capes were traumatized crazy people with emotional issues - combined with teenage hormones, Will was probably going to have to worry about getting his ass kicked by his own team when they learned about his power.

Hell, after the stunt he pulled with the coffee last week, who knows if the staff here would even help him. He could leave right now, just walk a couple blocks before finessing a car off of someone, it would be so easy-

Will paused.

'Breath in.'

'Breath out.'

He was overthinking things, getting worked up for no reason. His counselor at school said the same thing, Will just gets anxious. Is it a superhero team where he's going to have to fight against criminals? Sure. Does he lack any actual ability to fight - both in terms of powers and actual physical ability? Of course.

But that didn't mean he was actually a big deal.

Will stopped fidgeting with his tie as he calmed himself. Yeah, this wasn't anything big - the Wards would probably be just like Mascots or something, maybe go against C-listers alongside a dozen cops just for publicity. Hell, with how corrupt the internet made the PRT out to be, maybe they'd purposefully pay off Jobbers to lose to a bunch of caped teens. Despite how much he argued to the contrary, Will was still just a child. imagine if a child got fucking shot , and it was the government's fault? Even if his brother didn't care, the public would lose their shit.

A slight smirk crossed the boy's face as he entered the PRT Headquarters, much calmer with his reasoning. Hell, today was probably just going to be a tour of the building, maybe some team-building exercises or a patrol at worst. If he had the time to talk and build a relationship, he could at least have a rapport with the team before the inevitable 'I can brainwash you' talk. Just the bare minimum exposure, some pictures and cute showings to the press for the next 3 years, then he was out and could live his fucking life.

'Everything will be okay.'

---

---

Everything was not okay.

Not only did Will grossly underestimate the intensity of their first day of work, but his power was outed to the rest of his team by the director about 5 minutes into meeting them. Will was really hoping he could have kept the 'Hey, I brainwash people on accident constantly' thing under wraps for a little bit, but that apparently wasn't in the cards.

He could feel eyes on him as the convoy drove down the road - well, he thought he did at least. He's always been pretty good at reading body language and faces, but it was hard to really tell when most of the people in the convoy were wearing helmets and were fearing for their lives.

There 4 other Wards in this convoy, along with the armored PRT members in the front that were driving the vehicle. Will eyed the others carefully, trying to get a read on them that he couldn't in the last hour. One girl was either a tinker, or put a lot more thought into her costume than Will did - it was some cyberpunk-esque skinsuit, with all kinds of glowing lights and gadgets. Another boy in the convoy kept to a similar theme, with a mask and glowing highlights to his costume, and a star-studded cape. There were two other girls, one with a welder-esque mask and costume, while the other wore little more than a basic mask to conceal her identity. That last one made Will feel more positive about his choice in costume, but not by much.

'Think positive, asshole. There'll be at least two Guardians, and who knows how many cops. I'll probably be stationed behind the lines along with that 13-year-old kid. Plus there's a lot of people here - statistically speaking, I probably won't get shot!'

Will nearly flunked Statistics, so that was more wishful thinking than anything else.

'What else... Oh, new costume! Probably bulletproof.'

The only thing that led Will to believe that was the fact this suit was made by a Tinker. And as someone who knew the bare minimum about capes, for all Will knew, he could be shooting lasers out of his cufflinks to melt through steel bars or some shit.

Will looked down, using the excuse of checking out his costume again to have something distract his thoughts. It was a very simple outfit, at least compared to the skin-tight jumpsuits and medieval armor that capes seemed to love. A simple suit and tie combo, with a black motorcycle helmet that didn't hinder his vision in the slightest. Other than the padded gloves on his hands and the boots on his feet, he wouldn't be out of place at a prom or court hearing. Patting his pockets, he could feel several items through the soft fabric - pepper spray, a boxcutter, his wallet ('why fuck did I bring my ID with me, god fucking damn it'), his phone, and a pen that was prominently displayed in his coat pocket.

And of course, the earpieces that fit snugly into his ears. He initially thought about leaving them behind while changing into his costume out of principle. It felt... targeted. Everyone got protection against his power, but if a brute got roid rage and wanted to bash his face in, he was out of luck?

Of course, it wasn't the same - Will had to actively focus to avoid mind-controlling someone, while another team member would have to deliberately target him. Not to mention, his power was probably a lot easier to prevent, while other team members could be punished later for friendly fire.

This was just to stop him from having an accident. 'And they can't trust me, of course.' Will thought to himself, still bitter despite the logic behind the device. The main reason he was wearing the things instead of throwing a hissy fit was that they were useful in communicating discreetly, and almost certainly had a tracker in case he got kidnapped or something.

Fashonista took some liberties, but that was to be expected when his request was 'something formal that blends in with a crowd.' A gun would have been really useful, but there was no way in hell Will would succeed in bringing one to the PRT Headquarters, and he'd probably have a panic attack the second he fired it anyways.

With his loadout confirmed, the young boy took out his pen and began to twirl the implement between his fingers, a desperate ploy to keep his hands busy.

"Anyway, any of you played Dungeons and Dragons? Or, I guess, any RPG game with class roles in it? Just think of me as your party Rogue. If you let me, I'll do my best to ensure the path is clear before you dive in, scout things out and see about lessening the number of surprises we have to deal with. I can get in and out undetected. Better still, I can transmit pertinent information back to you in real-time."

"In general? I'm yer' gal for information gathering. That's what I bring to the table..."

Will paused his pen twirling and gave a long whistle as the girl in the Cyberpunk-style costume, Wattson, finished speaking. If she could find any hostages quick, Will would have even fewer reasons to enter the museum. Fantastic news.

"Nice - I mean, the last part we can kind of do with these handy-dandy earpieces-"

Will tapped the side of his helmet with his pen, roughly in the area his ear should be.

"But finding what's in the next room is pretty useful. Could probably find any hostages pretty quick, then maybe the Police will come in and we get to clock out early."

Anything sneaky was the best type of power, in Will's opinion. Back when he was a kid, he always thought invisibility or super speed would be the best powers to trigger with - though he imagined the less legal applications of things, so maybe that was why he gravitated towards those easily exploitable abilities.

"I don't know if it fits. But I play... Eh... League of Legends,"

"I... blow up stuff. And melt stuff down. I make these little spheres of plasma, which I guess you can call miniature stars. Anyways, you lot can just call me Alman. 'Astromancer' might be a mouthful to say after all."

Will learned a little about people's powers an hour ago - mostly the ratings that he still couldn't remember, despite the cute little nursery rhyme it had. But now that Alman was explaining his directly, it made Will start to wonder why he was really brought on this team. After all, shooting mini-stars at people seemed a little bit more useful than a power that could be blocked by covering your ears and yelling nonsense.

Was it really just to keep him from becoming a villain when he got out of juvie? Will wasn't sure if he should feel inadequate or relieved.

"You got a Star Trek-style 'Set Phasers to Stun' mode? Cause if these bad guys can tank mini-stars, we'll probably need a few more Guardians, heh..."

Will closed his eyes when the comment didn't get any laughs, but kept pushing forwards, glad he didn't have to avoid cringing when his face was covered.

"Still neat though. Lotta problems can be solved with enough fire. You cool with nicknames? I got Al, Astroy-Boy - we can workshop some later if needed."

Will would have appreciated the unintentional namedrop of another Ward, if he knew her name. Instead, he leaned back, tapping his fingers on his legs to keep his hands busy.

"You guys probably know my power already, and if you want to know specifics, the people that tested us probably know more than I do. Just think of me like a really good liar, that's all I really got going on."

"Oh, uh, I dunno if I missed intros, but I'm Will. Faeble, if we're using our weird made-up names."

Will was starting to relax - talking helped distract him, and by talking about the mission, he could at least feel a little more in control of the situation.

"We have any plans so far? Getting possible hostages out is priority uno, so I think having Wattson scope the place out and then we rush in for anyone is probably the smartest plan."

'And it's the only plan I can think of where I'm useful but still not in danger of getting shot,' Will thought.

"We good with that? I'm open to suggestions, cause it's pretty barebones, but we only got-" Will checked his phone. "Like 7 or 8 minutes till we arrive."