As soon as all five of his teammates had boarded the elevator, Sonar removed his arm from the door to allow it to close. The blasted thing had been pretty insistent on shutting, and had begun making beeping sounds from being held off too long. Once they were moving down though, all was calm. Calm, but not peaceful or pleasant. This was the foreboding feeling before the storm, along with all those other overused cliche metaphors. Now that they were descending, Sonar began to focus, adjusting his helmet to better control his hearing.
Upon Evelyn's small gasp, the leader of the Wards lifted his head up to give her a small but gentle smile, the sort you use to reassure someone.
"Don't overexert yourself before we fight. It's useful to get to know your team's abilities before an engagement, but having your head on straight is better." To everyone else, his lips moved but no words came out. To Evelyn, it was as though he were standing right beside her, whispering in her ear. This was a minor use of his powerset, one that didn't come up very often and very few knew about.
Once Alessa began to light up, Sonar addressed them all.
"Yes, we should follow Messiah's lead. If anybody has any preparations, make sure you do it now." He then lowered his head and closed his eyes, clearly concentrating on some invisible task only perceptible to himself. After a moment he began to speak, but his words were not his own. The hesitation in his voice clearly indicated that he was repeating someone else.
"'-We be doing this so close to the PRT?' New speaker. 'Do you doubt my orders? My power?' First guy again. 'No, but there's, like, ten capes in that building. We got twenty of us, and you boss, but you're the only one with powers.' Second guy again. 'How would you like me to make it nineteen of us?' Small crowd murmuring fear."At that moment the elevator door opened and Sonar rushed outside without any hesitation. The lobby of the PRT was well designed and quite pretty to look at, with its great big window-walls, colorful potted plants, and marble tile flooring. A few PRT officers wandered around while a small group of guests entertained themselves. The guests immediately cheered as soon as the Wards came into sight, a few of them moving in closer trying to snap photographs or get autographs from anyone that would give them the attention. Unfortunately for them there was danger afoot, and these heroes they loved so had to do the very thing they were loved for: They had to confront it.
"Eyeblight," Sonar announced into the Ward's communication device.
"We're dealing with Eyeblight. They're beneath us in the flood drainage system!"
The Broker observed the scene put on by Chatterbox with a look that could only be described as a professional poker face. His eyes followed the charisma-endowed villain with every flourished movement. Upon each distracting, rude sound the performer made, the Broker gave no indication that it was a bother, or even that he had heard it at all. He merely waited, patiently, for Chatterbox to give pause. Finally the opportunity arose when the blonde man took a sip of his coffee after a rather ill conceived statement about pawns. In response, the Broker stood and began a slow applause.
"Bravo, bravo," he said, his tone dull as bone, so bored.
"Your performance was certainly... Well delivered. As a man of the stage, you have proven your merit." The group's benefactor then moved toward the small kitchenette and began brewing the coffee once more. Did he have something against Chatterbox's wasteful attitude, or did he merely wish to prepare some more? Regardless, the man returned to his seat once the pot was brewing again, dropping the extra fifth cup off as he had passed Sofia. Clearly he had paid attention to her eyeing it on the counter.
"I have absolutely no qualms in discussing my own end game plans. That is, so long as you are in. Of course if you are not in at this point then I will have to pay Mister Headhunter here a bonus to rectify the issue. Which reminds me," The Englishman's voice trailed off as he examined a Swiss wristwatch on his right arm. After observing it for but a second he addressed the room once more.
"We'll be having a fifth guest joining us any moment now. They believe that they have been invited for the same reasons as you, but in fact have a personal vendetta against me. Entertain them for a minute or two, would you please? Once they are properly acclimated, I will required your services, Mister Headhunter. For a 50% bonus, of course."Almost as if it had been timed with superhuman precision, the door opened up at that moment and another figured walked in.
The new arrival was a tall, muscular man wearing an armored costume of black with blue boots, gloves, shoulder pieces, and chest insignia. His mask was similarly designed and covered the entirety of his head, leaving absolutely none of his features exposed. Small spike shards of ice protruded from the costume's shoulders and belt, somehow refusing to melt at room temperature, emitting a small thin fog around them. The man took a few glances around the basement room, shut the door behind him, then approached the table.
"Ah, and our final member has arrived! Excellent, excellent. Please, introduce yourself to your new team!" The Broker's normally calm, smooth, and unflappable attitude had shifted to one of absolute joy and glee. If he normally had the air of a professional completely detached from his emotions, now he more resembled a child seeing their first R rated movie.
"The name is Everest," spoke the man in the icy costume, his voice deep and gravelly.
As Overlook piloted The Eye away from the hologram, it flickered, then reappeared directly in front of the drone once again. For some reason or another, Decoy was pretty dead set on refusing to allow Overlook to see anything. At least while the two were still conversing, anyway.
The state of Colorado has many military bases. That said, I find it difficult to believe one is abandoned, especially with a multi-million dollar jet, an extremely expensive and valuable asset. Even if what you say is true, it's government property. Taking it for yourself would be another federal offense, something you appear to have an affinity for.A moment passed before another message came through.
I am currently reading your files. So far, your background checks out. Luckily for you I am a reasonable sort. You're much better off with me than the primary tinker out in, oh I don't know, Brockton Bay. Just don't tell Armsmaster I said that.Another pause, and another message.
Well Ruben, I believe we can make a deal.
The Penalty Box - Sonika
@j8cob"<My apologies for bothering you in your free time, ma'am,>" the Italian spoke, taking the drink that had been forcefully offered to him. "<But it is as my boss says, you never truly have any time off.?" He began drinking steadily, just as instructed. Funny how he had been given conflicting orders in his encounter with Natasha Burkova thus far. Drink, hurry and don't waste my time, those two suggestions did not exactly compliment one another very well. After all, you offered a drink as a sign of hospitality, to draw out the engagement, to be friendly. The Italian laughed inwardly at the paradox of it all.
Setting the glass down, he addressed Natasha once more, maintaining eye contact with the Bratva leader. "My name is Benito Buceli. The man that I am representing today is a high ranking capo in my family. The public knows him as the supervillain Purge. I understand if you have not heard this name before, as both you and he are new to this city. We have recently relocated from Chicago, while I understand that you have recently come from the motherland, no?"
Benito looked about the bar, his eyes training on each of the men Natasha had stationed there. He made sure to take special mental note of the one that had disappeared behind a door. After only a second of getting comfortable and glancing around, his eyes were back on Natasha. "Our requests are simple. We wish to extend our influence in an effort to reclaim old glory. Purge understands this area is under your control, and so I am his envoy requesting permission to operate here. As for what you get in return, your benefit is silence."
Perhaps Zach had caught the bigger, stronger man off guard. Perhaps a forward attack was the absolute last thing the thug had expected. Perhaps he was overly confident and let it happen. No matter the reason, Zach's punch struck the large black gangster right in the stomach, exactly as planned. The thug bent over only slightly, exhaling just a bit. He had felt the blow, but it hadn't really hurt him that much.
"Fuck you, asshole!" called one of the thugs from behind. "Nobody hits Murderface!"
A second later, Zach felt a crowbar collide with the back of his head with enough force that it probably would have killed a normal person. Good thing he was far from normal.
