[IC] Capes of Denver: A Worm RP

[yoshua171]

Evelyn Chambers – Tulpa

---

Once they'd arrived, Evelyn had closed her eyes, still listening to anything the others said while she focused a significant portion of her attention on her projection's shadow. The shadow moved at a distance, swiftly—hidden in the ground with only a small bit of it poking above. When it detected artificial materials, notifying her it had reached the warehouse, she maneuvered it to the center of the building, and then had it shift through boxes to remain hidden.

Her communicater buzzed and she barely managed to suppress a smile. Something outside of the expected scenario had occured, and that meant that just maybe things would get interesting.

That in mind she decided to briefly manifest her projection. First she decided on its general shape and composition.

Small. Thin. Soft/Squishy(flesh+cloth+). Rigid(stone+metal). Lightweight(paper). Malleable(water+clay).

That decided she focused the projection down to the size of a small dog, then made it thinner. Almost paper-like in some ways. That done she shifted her focus to seeing what powers she could give it. While she sifted through various power traits—all of which she'd copied from her teammates—she spoke, eyes still closed. "I'm going to manifest my projection inside the building for another angle on the situation. Once I've got a good image of the inside and their locations, I'll let it go and have it scan over them. That way we'll have more intel and I'll be able to manifest it again by the time we engage."

That said she took a deep breath and one more time went over the powers she'd scanned before deciding—though she had a rough idea of what she wanted it to be capable of.

Construct creation. Process: Manual. Tech focus: Shard interfacing.
Epsilon. As with all tinker abilities, it required time, but Evelyn knew she'd be amazing one day.

Protective absorption. Focus, energetic. Physical limiter. Control appropriation. Non-adaptive control method. Upwards limit, irrelevant. Dimensional access. Energetic storage method: Dimensional. Access threshold: Neural interfacing. Ranged application.
Messiah. Incredibly potent. 'Nough said.

Contact based transfiguration. Object alteration.
Margrave. A power that seemed simple, but was far more useful than one might think.

Alternate form. Scalable. High physical resistance and strength. Enhanced detection and reaction. Focus: Hearing, smell. Proximity object integration. Transformation method: dimensional mass-transition.
A complicated power, that was for sure. She wasn't sure how much she wanted to draw from it, but given some of the properties she had some ideas.

Inhaling and exhaling evenly, almost no time having passed while her mind whirred through possibilities, she began isolating and combining the powers she wanted the projection to have.

Alternate form. Scalable durability/malleability. Enhanced detection, energetic(heat, sound, sight, smell). Contact based transfiguration: Size/density reduction. High physical strength: movement focus.

"Manifesting...now." She said through her communicator, notifying the whole team—she did it mostly for Lillian's sake. So it was that, in the midst of the warehouse's many many boxes, a small creature manifested. It had no easily discernable sensory organs, but through it she could perceive most things in the building. Heat signatures of living things were all over the place, some in bound positions, some on the ground or on the catwalk above. The few that were standing she identified as the unknown elements.

She willed her projection to move, and it dide, using its four primary limbs, as well as the hundreds of thin, but dextrous feelers that covered its entire body to move. It only had 'bones' when it needed to, otherwise just moving like a gelatenous blob of flesh-like material. Slipping quickly between the hidden cracks and crevices between boxes, crates, and other containers, her projection used those crevices to get glimpses at the individuals present.

After about 20 seconds of inspecting things, understanding the layout by how the voices of those within echoed, as well as ascertaining their locations and numbers, she demanifested the projection.

She let out a breath and rubbed her temples a bit. All of that sensory input was...difficult. She didn't have a headache, but that had been a little taxing.

Things scoped up, she stood, retrieving her staff as she did so. She looked to Messiah and spoke, at the same time having her projection's 'shadow' phase through the ground, then reach out and make contact with each individual in the building for 5-10 seconds each. She spoke as she did this.

"There are a number of people on the ground or leaning against walls. Seemed unconscious. There are five people standing in the building, one riding the back of another. Still working on checking if they have powers and what they might b--" she cut off midsentence, eyes widening slightly, head whipping to look at the warehouse.

All of them had powers.

"--.... They...they all have powers," she finished, swallowing hard, voice faltering a bit. She wasn't afraid, just surprised, and overjoyed. The possibility of these people being villains was high, given where they were, not to mention the state of the guards. As she was about to begin explaining, the 'shadow' made contact with Sofia—who in that moment—was using her ability. A violent shocking sensation overtook her body and she stumbled, losing her balance completely.

She barely felt like she was in her body as she vividly felt her projection recoil from the strange interaction as if it had been stung. Catching herself on the door, Evelyn barely managed to keep her feet, the sensation lasting for only a moment.

Her head hurt now, and there was a fading ache in her entire body. Her projection retreated from the warehouse, returning to her. It moved through the whole vehicle, its incorporeal form scanning her teammates and the materials of the truck before it condensed around her and stayed there. She remained mute for a few moments, allowing any help her teammates gave her. It would take at least a minute or so for her to recover, though the pain was fading quickly.

What the hell had that been?

After recovering a bit, she managed to speak, "Don't worry about me. I...something interferred with my power. I'm fine. Maybe go ahead of me, I'll catch up? When I get my bearings, um, I'll use the comms to tell you what I can about their powers. It's not much. For now, uh. They've got a Brute, a Thinker, a Stranger, and something else. I couldn't get a proper read on two of them and the backlash seemed to scramble some of the information."

---

Chatterbox

---

Feeling a brief surge of panic before the guards were taken care of, he took a breath, then smiled. He looked around tapping three fingers against his leg as he did so. He felt antzy.

Taking out his phone he initiated a group call with his 'fans' and notified them that the guards had been neutralized as far as they could tell. He told them to page him if anything changed outside that they could see.

They responded in the affirmative, but he hung up halfway through the confirmation, knowing they would obey to begin with.

"Fan out, but stay somewhat close. , mind getting off his back and coming with me?" He wanted her nearby so they could ignore any of the materials to phase through and get to other teammates quickly. Especially since he was perhaps the most vulnerable member of their group. Plus, he had a good way that they could use her to their advantage to find their goal faster.

Regardless he would continue on. "Since I imagine we're not terribly concerned with the rest of these boxes, we could have Whimsy ignore them through the floor. Conversely she could ignore herself and Thunderbolt so he can find the box while she keeps them intangible." He was giving her the option to work with someone else...though he disliked feeling vulnerable. He'd make sure to stay by someone regardless. It gave him better chances of using them as cover and a distraction while he built his power up on any unforeseen elements.

He liked it that way. Of course, he would have liked to properly use his power on the whole team, if only faintly to increase their ability to work together, and more importantly, to work to his benefit.

Sadly, he didn't know if Broker would eventually notice, and that was one man who he did not want to get on the bad side of.

---

Outsider

---

Having accompanied Kyoshi, Outsider was still in his human form, having just hitched a ride with his teammate rather than shift forms and draw tons of attention. He followed her, glancing around the property, until an old man emerged and addressed them. When Kyoshi introduced them he waved at the mention of his name, giving a small smile. He wasn't sure what they'd be doing at the shop exactly, but hopefully it would be neither too interesting nor too boring. Of course, if it was boring, they still got somewhat rewarded, which was good. It being interesting could go either way though, as it might either earn them a bad or a good reputation depending on how they handled things.

But hey, that was the future, and this was now. Nonetheless, he remained aware of his surroundings, glancing around periodically in a sort of lazy—almost sluggish—manner. He seemed far too relaxed given the possibility of trouble in their situation.

Of course, that wasn't really his fault, was it.

[Flood]

Heartless-Trainyard

@yoshua171@BCTheEntity@Eklispe@ProPro@Old Amsterdam

Heartless began searching around the warehouse, annoyed that he hadn't managed to spot the guards with shotguns and knowing that was going to cut the response time severely. He began to make his way to the office to check around there for the box when Chatterbox spoke up. "We've already got someone on our tail? Fuck, we're gonna have to work fast then." He muttered loudly, walking past Sofia and Thunderbird just as she asked what they were looking for. "You're looking for the small box with the Omega symbol on it. It's kinda like the top half of an o but it juts out at the sides a little." He added that last part just in case she didn't know what an Omega symbol was.

After that was said and done he made his way up to the office and tried to open the door. If it was locked he would just turn into a shadow on the floor and go through the crack under the door to search the room quickly, he wasn't particularly clean about it either. He tossed stuff around to look for the box and was quite loud when it came to opening and closing drawers and cabinets.

[Spiffy]

Mantis/Judah- Strip Mall

@Gardevoiran@solokolos@Xandrya

Mantis cocked his head at Gaia and thought to himself "Really? Giving me orders are you?" He shrugged it off and headed toward the coffee shop. It wasn't worth arguing about. It was the twin's mission after all. As long as the trend didn't continue everything would be alright..

A few minutes later he approached the coffee shop. Lowering his balaclava, he knocked on the window of the shop when he saw Zach sitting nearby on the other side. They really had to get going. If Zach went outside, Judah would say, "We gotta run. The twins have a floor plan and everything. I'll prep you on the tactical deployment in the car." Judah took him towards the others unlocking the doors to his mustang. Axel barked happily in greeting. Then Judah relayed their plans including their newcomer with the healing powers in his explanation.

Once everyone was inside, Judah would don his mask once more and take their ride closer to the warehouse Gaia specified. He looked back occasionally to make sure their newest member was following. He was pumped, the energy of anticipation flowed throughout the car. He was ready. They were ready. When they got within a block of the warehouse, Mantis pulled over. He popped the trunk and got out; heading toward his weapon of choice. His MP5 submachinegun. Axel jumped out and sat nearby his master. He could definitely feel a mission coming on. Mantis attached a silencer, checked and rechecked his magazines on all his weapons. Then gave a thumbs up to the others.

---

---

Gabriel/Damien/Swarm - Minutemen "Headquarters"

@AngelofOctober

Gabriel's part had ended and with that Damien resumed control. He took out one of his cancer sticks and lit up on the sidewalk outside of the Minutemen's "HQ". "What to do now? He thought to himself wistfully. Mrs. Faulkner responded in a chastising voice, "You can start by discarding all those nasty cigarettes of yours. We do share the same body you know."

Damien responded angrily, "Shut up you old bag." The thought never occurred to him that they were all actually the same age. A few minutes went by as he enjoyed his guilty pleasure in silence. When it had become too small to smoke any further he simply tossed the bud into the center of the street. He did not much care for laws. As far as Damien was concerned, laws were meant to protect the weak. They were of no use to the strong.

[AngelofOctober]

@Spiffy

Affliction

Affliction leaned his back on the wall of an alleyway. Their recent move to Denver had him a little uneasy. They had planned for their most of their events to occur in Littleton, then the transfer happened. Still it was what it was. He saw HemoGoblin, Victor, at the center of the alleyway pretending to pose a little.

“What are you doing?” Affliction asked.

“Finding my good side of my face in this mask,” HemoGoblin said so starkly seriously that someone who didn’t know him probably would have taken what he said at face value. He knew him and knew it was a joke. A cheap joke and one not to serious.

He made an annoyed sigh under his breath for a second.

“This is our first night out,” Affliction said, “We’re test running things. You remember the plan?”

“Figure out who the players are in this city, and make connections,” HemoGoblin said with a deep annoyed sigh himself. He complained that he had to use his work voice for this kind of work and that sometimes he wanted to relax. He could relax later. Right now they had things to do in order to establish themselves.

Affliction paused.

“That is the plan,” Affliction paused, “So we’re going to separate at this point.”

“Yes,” HemoGoblin replied taking out his radio out of the pocket of his coat, “But we keep in contact if something comes up.”

Affliction showed his radio and nodded.

“All right,” Affliction told him, “Well let’s not to do too much. What we have to our advantage is being an anomaly and unknown. I want to keep it that way and sneak up from behind when no one is really expecting us.”

“In other words,” HemoGoblin responded, “Not too many dead bodies. Got it. You know I am going to the hospital tomorrow and I'm getting you some slippers.” He grumbled. Now wasn’t the time to point out he was walking without shoes. To be honest he prefered it over socks and shoes.

“No thank you,” Affliction responding, peeling off the wall. A mass of flesh had been forming behind him as they talked and he heard HemoGoblin make a noise of disgust. He wanted to use the fact that they had no notoriety to their advantage. Take a victory or seize some kind of chance as silently, stealthy, and efficiently as they could without getting their names out there.

Their current reputation was online. If they could get people to believe they were only an organization online then it could make their next set of actions more unexpected. He turned his back to HemoGoblin who was ended up in the opposite direction. He figured if no one knew who they were, they wouldn’t be hunted, and probably would not need each other’s protection as much.

Unless the need arise. The walkies they had were sort of cheap. They had a sixty foot radius, so they couldn’t go too far outside of the others ring of communication. It is missions on a dime. But he hoped that wouldn’t be the case soon enough when they began to make connections. Worm their way into pockets.

There was something thrilling or exciting about the outcomes of what tonight could mean. What they could figure out and what that meant for them. Opportunities. He could see many doors of opportunities opening and that was a distinct advantage than in Littleton.

He walked without really an idea of where he was going. He wanted to survey the area at least first. Get to know its paths. Its footnotes. It’s monuments. Little pieces of art decor, maybe a funny looking window. He was starting to get a worrying feeling he was hitting up that sixty foot radius. Yet, something caugth his eye.

An individual who flicked a cigarette butt onto the street. Affliction headed towards that individual.

“There are designated areas for those,” Affliction told him, “And it is still lit.” This wasn’t the image he wanted to give in his new occupation of the Leaders of Reflections. But he also could not ignore the detrimental dismantlement of the Earth they lived on by a lit cigarette. One of his pet peeves. Villains, Citizens, Heroes, didn't matter who, all needed to learn where to put their trash.

[Lugubrious]

Anyone well-versed in the wide world of superpowers knew with great familiarity the secret and potent ability possessed by any gifted individual: the wild card. The element of surprise could turn even the most peculiar, weak-seeming power into a terrific force to be reckoned with. Few could boast more acquaintance with this reality than the enigmatic Margrave, whose unseen talent -ridiculed by some, those philistines- won him many a kerfuffle. When he watched through narrowed eyes at the man and child phasing through a door, therefore, he scrutinized their every detail to the best of his ability. A spike of apprehension pierced him as he heard the discharge of small arms, but only silence followed. Either the gunslingers took down what the Margrave suspected to be Community intruders, or the parahuman foe could eliminate armed security guards. He knew that this mission would be tricky, but already this brief exchange was reinforcing his conclusion.

Not that peerless skill and indefatigable cunning cannot overcome this obstacle, as they have all others.

He exited the van shortly after Lillian, making no attempt to halt her advance. It occurred to him that she might give the Wards away, but he reasoned that if she was on this team in the first place, she couldn't possibly be that careless, despite her eccentricities. He watched her climb up the building from behind the cover of the van, with Overlook checking in just before she reached the roof. “Reading you, Overlook,” he murmured. ”I would like to assure you that you need only sit back and bear witness to unyielding justice in action, but your watchful gaze is much appreciated.” After that, he contented himself to wait while Tulpa designed and manifested a new projection, so that she might scout out the competition. Her abilities puzzled him to no end. While he keenly felt the unpleasant idleness to crouching around and doing nothing while his allies engaged in surveillance, he knew that he could do nothing but compromise their efforts for the moment. When push came to shove, his utility and shocking combat mastery would come into play.

A few moments passed, with Tulpa engaging the team in a furtive whisper to relay her findings, until the girl appeared to swoon. Despite himself the antihero reached out to help steady her, but before his hand even drew near she'd already regained some of her composure. His hand closed, then receded, as he waited for her to explain the problem.

What she revealed didn't help much—even she couldn't pinpoint what affected her so. She did indicate, however, that she'd be able to shed some light on the powers of the vagabond five before long, so the Margrave affirmed her suggested to move ahead. ”As you say. I shall approach...no villain's baleful eye will spot me...” Crouching, he began to shuffle toward the warehouse with as much speed as he could muster, narrating his stealthy trek in a whisper. ”Grave specter of the night...I move with discretion unparalleled, a riddle swaddled by a mystery, with ghostly tread I creep ever nearer to the odious ones...”

[Keksalot]

@Eklispe

PRILIPALA

Somewhere in downtown, a particularly troubled man of certain valuable skills stood directly in front of Denver's PRT headquarters, looking up at the monumental building from the sidewalk with a somewhat puzzled expression on his broad and usually stoic face. From the point of view of an outside observer, the situation might've been reminiscent of the way a professional boxer subconsciously examines the physicality of anyone he strikes up a conversation with - sizing them up, attempting to measure their power, their weak and strong points, their stance and posture, all just in case a fight breaks out. The man's eyes darted from place to place, taking in the simple geometry of the place, the great number of windows, the occasional silhouette of a person behind some of these windows, visible when the lighting was accomodating enough, the lack of obvious threats. Overall, the man was surprised, maybe a little suspicious on the matter of absence of overt displays of force. Perhaps, such a casual, down-to-earth appearance was meant to put the civilians and petitioners at ease - the complete opposite of PRT's analogue in the man's old country.

One way or another, he was here to act, not to gawk. It was polite and useful to introduce yourself to the masters of the domain you were in, however impotent - or tyrannical - they were. The man proceeded to move towards the doors and through them, his shambling gait somewhat unsure, slower than it could be. Somehow, for some reason, he expected an attack, or an ambush. Moving like that, on his own two feet, out in the open meant you were basically asking for it - anyone with half a mind to handle a gun and the guts to take a life could do it, here and now. Thankfully, an overwhelming majority of people were not sick in the head enough for murder, so at least the man had a headstart there.

Forcing the unneeded thoughts out of his head and concentrating on the task at hand, the visitor pushed open the entrance door and, after orienting himself in the lobby - a fairly simple and utilitarian-looking chamber only noticeable for a number of paintings which the man did not care for hanging on the walls - made a beeline for what looked like the reception desk, all while quietly rehearsing the words he was about to speak under his breath. Making a good first impression was important. Firmly planting both of his hands on the tabletop, he looked the secretary person dead in the eye and, with a cordial smile on his face, began to speak in his best, almost unaccented English. The man's voice was deep and rumbling, a basso so low it almost resonated within one's gut, as if the intestines were afraid of the sound and attempted to flee their mortally endangered host. The intimidating effect, however, was offset quite a bit by the way the man spoke. His statements were short, simple and slow, almost unconnected to each other, with noticeable pauses between the words, like he had to fight his tongue over every thought he wanted to express.

"Hello. I want to speak to the Protectorate... authority. The squid man. Or someone else."

There was a considerable pause as the visitor chewed his lip for a while before tenatively adding a twist on top of his request.

"I am parahuman. Do I use the real name or the fake name?"

[Eklispe]

PRT Headquarters

@Keksalot

Earl glanced up from his computer, adjusting his glasses slightly as he did so to better view the rather interesting, and somewhat scary, individual in front of him. The black-hair, questioning eyebrows, and hulking frame made quite the imposing figure. The man used noticeable effort to muster out a few jolting sentences and Earl patiently waited for him to finish. Giving the, likely foreigner, a bit of extra time after he finished speaking to make sure that he was indeed finished talking. Squid man was probably Inkscape, an understandable, if odd, correlation. Earl thought about it for a moment. "I don't know that I can give you to Inkscape without any information. Perhaps if you gave me some more information? Otherwise... I can direct you to someone who can likely help you out. You don't have to use your name at the moment, but if you do either name is fine. Is there anything else?" Earl's voice was calm and careful, so as to make sure the person he was talking to would understand, but not enough to be patronizing. Early was thinking about how lucky, or unlucky he was. Just a bit ago he'd been here when Jaunt had come in and become a hero and now he was here for this person as well. At least, Earl was hoping the person in question was aiming to be a hero. Frankly him being a villain was a much more troublesome thought that didn't bear dwelling on too much.

[Keksalot]

@Eklispe

PRILIPALA

There was another considerable pause as the large man carefully considered his options. His shoulders heaved as he took deep, yet silent breaths and his knuckles whitened as his hands curled into fists, with which he still propped himself on the tabletop. So far, nothing seemed to be too troubling or unexpected, even though the carefully worded refusal slightly agitated him. The secretary seemed very understanding, and a real articulate fellow to boot. There was no surprise in the fact that the local chief wouldn't have any random straggler wander right into his cabinet - not without prior questioning. The visitor huffed quietly and, without breaking eye contact or changing his posture, spoke:

"Please inform the man that can help me. And tell me, what information do you need?"

[BCTheEntity]

Raymond Haywood: Trainyard

Feh. Cake, even if the one guard had come perilously close to wounding him - his power was doubtlessly part of how he’d managed that so efficiently. Now, it was just a matter of finding the box and getting out of there. And as he listened to everyone’s theories about how best to find it, it struck him that his ability might well be perfect for that. He didn’t need to fire the weapon in order to utilise its scope, after all…

And yet, at first glance, it seemed his efforts were in vain. Though he scoped in successfully, and remained at the far corner of the warehouse to start off in order to minimise the chance that he’d be wrenched round at an awkward angle, his attempt to target the box was utterly unsuccessful, despite the fact that he had a very clear image of it in his mind. Then what could be preventing him from focusing on it? Was it not there at all? Had they been had, so to speak?

...or maybe the gun simply wouldn’t be able to penetrate far enough to hit it? Quickly, he flicked the switch on his weapon, morphing it to match his former Steyr IWS 2000 - guns designed to kill humans were one thing, guns designed to obliterate military hardware were quite another. Mere crates would pose no significant obstacle.

This time, his aim was true, his body automatically pivoting to point him in the right direction. And oh, wouldn’t it be easy now to destroy the box with one quick pull of- no, NO. He had a goal, he was going to pull it off cleanly. Steadily, he pushed away from the wall, then began steadily pacing with his body facing the opposite wall, ensuring his neck was never wrenched as he moved, until he was certain of which pile the box was contained within, before scoping out again and quickly walking up to it. it seemed the same, naturally, as any of the other piles of crates in the warehouse, which would evidently be why it made such a good hiding place.

‘I’ve figured out roughly where the box is,’ he confirmed over the communicator. ‘Everyone converge on me. We’re going to need everyone’s help if we want to get out with it before the guards come back to consciousness.’ From the sound of things, though, they already had new company; piling everyone together therefore had the additional benefit of keeping them all comparatively safe, if perhaps a bit more prone to capture should one of their erstwhile foes bear the means to assault them all at once.

[Old Amsterdam]

Jason

---

Jason moved closer to Headhunter, looking at the pile.

"Just stay out of my way," he said calmly. Cracking his neck a few times, he continued to Sofia. "If you feel you're better suited helping anyone else, don't hesitate."

With that being said, Jason started pulling boxes out of the way, dropping them to the side as if they were paperweights.

In the middle of the pile was the mystery case. Jason picked it up, noting it wasn't nearly as heavy as he expected it was going to be, before passing it along. "CB, take it. Sofia, I take back what I said. Help him. This case is our priority now."

[Gardevoiran]

Overlook - Target Acquired

@BCTheEntity@yoshua171@solokolos@Lugubrious@Floodtalon@Eklispe@Old Amsterdam

Overlook's Eye slammed into a vent cover as it bust through into the vent shafts, maneuvering through them much like he did with the PRT building in pursuits of a good area to see what was going on. After silently crawling into the building via an already-damaged vent cover, he did notice something. The group of individuals that Tulpa was talking about were actually in the building now, and they definitely looked like trouble... well... most of them did, anyway. Two of them looked like normal people, really.

Regardless, Overlook spoke through his comms to the Wards as he took into account what was going on, staying out of sight from the various criminals. "Targets spotted. They're trying to get into a cargo container... will update on what's actually IN that container when I can."

---

Farce - Everyone Ready?

@Spiffy@Xandrya@solokolos

After Judah and Axel left the car, Gaia quickly followed by just falling out of the car, landing on her hands and pushing herself back up to a stand. Why did she do this? Eh, why not?

Gaia quickly put her mask back on as she ran through her gear in her bag. Carlotta, check. Chex Mix, check. Bullets for Sparce, check. Those were the three main concerns to her, though, as she pulled out the map and double-checked it to see the floor plan of the warehouse. Everything was in order, that's for sure, but how hard would the mission actually be? That was yet to be found out.

Farce turned to face the rest of her team as she smirked behind her mask. "Everyone ready to go?"

[Eklispe]

Sofia Stien - Train yard

Sofia nodded in response to Heartloss's explanation, looking for a box that fit the funny shaped O. Chatterbox gave out a few suggestions and Sofia looked between Thunderbird and Chatterhead with a bit of conflict. Luckily it was resolved when Headhunter found the box. Sofia detached herself from Thunderbird, landing on the ground with a hop and skipped over to Chatterhead. "Let's just hold hands ok?" she asked helpfully, offering her hand to him. Chatterhead didn't seem like the type to give people piggyback rides, for some reason or another. She didn't think too hard on it. Jason meanwhile began tossing boxes out of the way like they were made of paper until he found the case with the previously explained funny shaped O prompting a small ooh of amazement out of Sofia. Now it was time for them to hatch their brilliant escape! Hm. What was their escape plan again? Sofia decided she'd just hang on to Chatterhead, as long as she did that it didn't really matter whether she knew it or not.

[Flood]

Heartless-Trainyard

@yoshua171@BCTheEntity@Eklispe@ProPro@Old Amsterdam

As Heartless attempted to enter the office, he found there was actually nowhere for him to fit under the door. The room was completely airtight, which was admittedly something he had never run into before. He reformed into his usual human shape, looking up when he thought he saw something weird. He was about to investigate further when Headhunter declared that he had found the box they had been looking for. A smile crossed his face as he made his way down the gang, ready to tear into their prize. [color=gray]"Good work Headhunter, let's bag our prize and get the hell out of here before the cops show up.

Thunderbird had it covered though, tossing aside boxes until he found what they were looking for. He passed it along and Heartless was the first person to receive it, hesitating to pass it on to anyone else. "I think I should hold onto it. I'm the guy you want transporting things, trust me." He was of course referring to his ability to take objects into the shadows with him, making him the best candidate for carrying the box. "Anyways, let's get out of here. Something doesn't feel quite right." Ever since they had started looking for the box the back of his neck was tingling. Whether it was the cops or more gang members, something was coming. He could feel it.

[BCTheEntity]

Alessa Heather: Trainyard

Practically before she could respond, Lily had already leapt out and charged off. Ah, to be so bold… she only hoped the young girl wouldn’t wind up being seen as a result of her reckless run. And even if she wasn’t, she’d need a firm reminder not to just run in so casually for next time.

Tulpa didn’t show any signs of getting up soon, absorbed as she was with her activities; Margrave, by contrast, was just as willing to step out of the van as Lily, though more subdued about it, and the Corporal following after him even moreso. Messiah stepped out shortly after him, her face glowing with enough light to hide her features, only to glance up at the newest Protectorate member’s drone as the buzzing of its propeller and the driver’s voice caught her attention, and then to gave a swift, casual salute in its direction before it followed after Lily.

By now, Tulpa had made her assessment. Not long after that, she suddenly had a bit of a moment; Private Skeetz grabbed her shoulders to steady her, whilst Alessa hastily leapt back into the van and asked ‘Tulpa, are you alright?’ It took her a moment to reply, but the older girl eventually responded in the positive, as well as giving a bit of information about each of the capes present there.

From that, as Messiah headed back out of the van and began wandering over toward the warehouse, she extrapolated the following: a lot of unconscious guards, and five parahumans, including at least one each out of the Brute, Thinker, and Stranger categories - either fellow guards, or more likely, Community un-affiliates. Doing what, precisely? Who knew. Probably nothing legal.

Nonetheless, they had parahumans to stop. Or at least discuss matters with. Beginning to walk toward the warehouse, she took half a second to observe Margrave’s… unique approach. She might have commented on it, if Corporal Johnson hadn’t done so first: ‘You do know they’re more likely to hear you if you keep chattering to yourself, right, Margrave?’ She didn’t plan to correct the PRT soldier; doubling her pace, she quickly approached the warehouse, slowing a ways before reaching the building proper as she realised something... odd.

‘Hey, guys...’ she cautiously began to speak, glancing to either side of the warehouse to confirm what she saw, ‘If you don’t mind making sure, could I get a read on any more, uh… cars, around the place? I can see a couple in parking zones with people in them, and... well, maybe I’m paranoid, but those could easily be getaway drivers, couldn’t they?’ And if they were, she’d never forgive herself if she allowed whoever was inside to make use of them. Not that it’d be so much of an issue if they could stop these invaders from making their escape to begin with… but she needed the other fighting Wards and the soldiers over at the building to start things off properly.

[Xandrya]

Genevieve Marceaux - Strip Mall

@Spiffy[@Banana]@solokolos

Genevieve slowly brought her bike to a halt, parking it behind their car. She leaned all her weight on her left foot, watching as the others got out of the car. Guess it was showtime.

As the others started to gear up, Genevieve did the same. She removed her helmet before clipping it securely to the bike. She then grabbed her aviators and put them on, the small gadget softly highlighting Judah and the others. The last item on her list was one of her guns, a Walther CCP. Genevieve reached into one of the small compartments on the side of her bike and pulled out a clip-on holster with the gun already secured in it. Her heart started to beat just a little bit faster, but her nerves were partly due to the fact that her life would in some extent be in the hands of this new group she'd just met.

"Let's do this, shall we?" she said, walking towards them.

[Keksalot]

@Eklispe

PRILIPALA - PHQ

September 18, 2005. Transcript of events, camera recordings, 13:11 - 14:23

Earl was pleased to find the dangerous looking man in front of him did not seem to be overly intent on becoming violent, appearances somewhat to the contrary. "Yes sir, I'll see if he's ready. Um, the nature of your visit?" Earl asked in reply, with a tinge of confusion. Did this man think you could just talk to whoever you wanted in the PRT with no reason at all? Perhaps if you found them on the street but bureaucracy was rarely so simple. Meanwhile he had picked up a phone and quickly dialed a number. "Ah yes, I have a parahuman who wants to talk to someone about..." Earl paused a moment and looked up at his visitor expectantly.

"Recruitment possibilities and an explanation of Protectorate's agenda, methods and ethics and morals," The man spat out surprisingly quickly and eloquently, clearly very satisfied with himself - he prepared that one ahead of time. "I am looking for a... cause."

"- a job." Earl finished and waited a moment for the reply. "Yes sir, I'll send him right over." Earl replied, and placed the phone back. "There'll be someone to see you shortly, if you could simply move into the hallway to my right and enter the first room on your left he'll be right along."


"A job." The man repeated quietly, slowly inclining his head forward, no more than for a quarter of an inch and scowling a little bit more than he usually did. "That is one way to put it. Thank you."

Thusly spoken, he finally ceased oppressing the desk with his considerable weight, sharply turned away on his heels and proceeded into the hallway, following the receptionist's directions.

Earl waited until the strange man was out of sight before giving out a sigh of relief. He'd been a bit concerened for a moment there but it looked like it wasn't going to a problem. The strange man in question would find himself heading down a hallway that had the same simple style the lobby had for a few steps before turing into a room that appeared to be a fairly standard interrogation room. That is to say, two chairs, one table, one pane of one-way glass.

The visitor walked inside without fear or hesitation. He had little in the way of choices, and was not going to violate the local customs. After all, any official institution would want for its subjects to behave, to know who is in the position of authority. Stepping up to the mirror-glass, he decided to spend the time until the official's arrival examining his face for signs of uncleanliness that might've put his interrogator off and made a bad first impression - not like there was anything better to do. Thick, callused fingers carefully brushed over the graying hair, pulled down the eyelids to check for bloodshot vessels, scrubbed off a little bit of grime from the corner of his lip. Turning away from the mirror in order to ensure that he would not embarrass himself before whoever was observing him from the other side, the man blew his nose into a tasteful blue handkerchief before bunching it up in the pocket of his business suit.

In a surprisngly short period of time, considering how these things normally went, the strange man was joined by a rather average looking fellow. A somewhat elderly looking man with a nice blue button-up shirt and black pants. Gray and receding hair with a friendly face and glasses. "Ah hello there, you must be the one looking for a job. I'm Jackson, what should I call you?" He asked cordially as he steppped up and offered and a handshake.

The handshake was accepted - though it was clear that just in case, the man was exceptionally careful in application of force.

"In english, I think, my calling would be... Remora." He said, after a brief deliberation. "Yes, that. Are you part of the Protectorate?"

Jackson nodded at Remora matching his force and walked to the seat across from him. "Remora, like the fish?" Jackson asked as he carefully took a seat. "Not that it really matters, yes I'm part of the Protectorate. I'm a handyman of sorts. What specifically were you interested in?" Jackson looked as though he was pondering saying something more but shrugged and remained silent.

"I am interested in the Protectorate." Remora replied, falling into the remaining seat and leaning back as much as the rigidity of the chair allowed. "I know what everyone knows. Anything else, I do not know."

He fell silent for a couple more seconds, visibly struggling to gather his thoughts and form them into a cohesive sentence.

"I want to know if it is the work worth dying for. You understand what i mean, yes?"

"A company. Or a cult leader. Or a family head. They say what they do is for greater good, even if they really do it for money, or for power. Maybe because they are sick in the head. Everyone finds a reason to do what they do, yes? Protectorate helps. Protects. Does everything to protect, I hear. Even children are soldiers in Protectorate. I respect that. But is there really no..."

Remora hesitated. He was at loss.

"Ah, the word. I can't find the word," He snapped his fingers a couple times, wincing in irritation. "When you say you will do something, but do not do it. When you don't believe what you say. Starts with... with an 'H' sound." He produces a somewhat startling hiss with his throat. "Help me."

"Hypocrisy." Jackson prompted helpfully. "Or Hypocrits if you're referring the people."

"Yes." Remora nodded. "This is the word. Is there no hypocrisy in Protectorate? Is the Protectorate ready to do anything to protect? When you must do terrible things to help, will you do it? Take responsibility? Or will you find a scapegoat to do the things? Make him take the blame then?"


Jackson reminded silent for a moment, pondering Remora's questions. "You must know there's no easy answer for the things you ask. As I noted, I am perhaps not the most important person in the Protectorate. Hypocrisy exsists everywhere in one form or another, but the Protectorate hold to our mission statement. We do our best to help and while I can give you no promises, I believe the Protectorate is above using scapegoats, even if they forced to do something more... unsavory."

Remora sighed and brought his hand up to his mouth, gnawing absent-mindedly on the thumbnail.

"I see. I understand. I also understand that you can give no promises. Tell me then. Who can give me promises? And also, what promises must I make to you? If I want to be on your side?"

Jackson shook his head. "I suppose you'd have talk to the Director about that. As for your promises. Well there's a bit of paperwork involved, but it more or less boils down to: You play by our rules, don't sue us, and we help you help us. Sounds simple enough, even if the papertrail is a bit more intense than that." Jackson said with a rueful smile.

"I see." He repeated. "I understand. When can I talk to the Director? Should I disarm for that? A sign of good will." A slight, but earnest smile grew on his face.

Jackson laughed a bit. "Well that's certainly the first step. I don't know when he'll be available for something like this. I can try to make something happen but... You understand I don't have a lot to make your case."

"Listen to me, Jackson." Remora leaned forward and over the table, bringing his face that much closer to his interlocutor's. The smile was gone. In it's place, the usual, inscrutable and stoic expression, lips barely moving - like he was carved out of stone. "I understand that you are just a person. I understand that there are protocols and papers and other things to work through. But I want you to understand something too. I know you might not give two tugs of a dead dog's cock if I join the Protectorate or just leave your sight. But if you care, I want to ask you. Can you make me speak with a man that can speak for all of the Protectorate, complete and honest, quickly? Or should I go away? Find him myself instead?"

Another short pause, several heavy, rasping breaths. On the man's temple, a bulging vein pulsed evenly in a fast rhytm.

"I have only few questions to ask. But the one that answers must be the man that can speak for the entire Protectorate. Traitors notwithstanding. Do you understand? I need this much. If you can't give that, I am not sad. I am not angry. It is not your duty."

Jackson's cheerful expression remained, undaunted by the man in front of him. "I suppose I must appreciate your forwardness if nothing else. Still, hasn't anyone told you to respect your elders? If I feel it is necessary I can direct you to the Director. However I will not do so without sufficent reason. So tell me why you want this and I'll help you in return. You must understand that I'm all for new members of the Protectorate, but you're not making a very good first impression." Jackson's tone was nothing short of friendly, as though he were simply giving advice to a young boy and he was relaxed, eyes calmly peering at Remora.

The answer followed exceptionally quickly, considering the usual pace at which Remora expressed himself.

"I want this because I have to know... if this is a cause for which... I am ready to sacrifice. Not hard to understand, right? Any scum can join. Friend pressure, high ideals. Maybe to cut a deal. Then when scum is in hard situation, he thinks again and deserts. I do not join Protectorate unless I know I will be ready to serve like a dog. Until the end, yes?"

Jackson nodded. "Very well then. If you'll wait here for a bit, I'll set up your meeting." He said simply and left the room. This time it took a little bit longer before he came back, more around the time frame of thirty minutes. Jackson opened the door and said quietly, "Director Kens will see you if you'll just follow me."

Remora nodded, hoisted himself up on his feet and moved out, keeping a short distance behind Jackson.

The pair walked down the corridor further, entering an elevator and ascending in relative silence. Another short walk after the doors opened lead them to a door helpfully labelled, 'Director Kens'. Jackson spoke up once more. "Here we are, if you'd be so cordial as to hand me any weapons you on you at the moment, you may enter."

"Yes. Sure."

With another nod, the visitor proceeded to disarm. His arsenal was considerable, but not too impressive, as far as capes go. From underneath a rolled-up sleeve, he produced a sheath with a short knife in it. Another one came from a similar contraption strapped to his ankle. On his belt, concealed by the hem of his suit, hung a can of pepper spray and a telescopic baton - presumably for situations where both reach and the lack of lethality were more preferrable than the expediency of a sharp edge. Finally, Remora parted with a taser, produced from within the pocket of his suit.

"That is all. No guns." He spoke whilst spreading his arms, as if inviting his escort to pat him down.

Jackson didn't seem surprised by the weaponry on hand, merely adding each one carefully to the cart placed outside the office, seemingly for this exact purpose. "I'll take your word for it, go on ahead." Jackson said cordially.

Upon Remora entering the room he'd be faced with the man himself, a strict looking fellow who gave Remora a critical examination upon his entry. He gave off the air of someone very serious and very busy. "Jackson says you need to talk with me. Let's talk." He said curtly.

Remora walked up to the Director and looked him in the eye.

"I have some questions. Before I ask them, I will give things perspective. Won't take long."

"I have a family. They lived a bad life. I power through, they do not. But there was nothing my mother and my sister did not do for us. So when I could, I did for them everything too. No hesitation. No regret. It is not about what they needed. Was about what they deserved. They deserved the world on a gold platter. When they never want to see me again, I leave them. Leave their better life. No hesitation. No regret. Whenever I know they need something, anything, I do it. Nothing exists that I will not do for them. Nothing at all."

Remora paused for a long while. The tirade of such length and complexity temporarily left him struggling to regain calmness of mind.

"My question one, now. Can you promise me, that Protectorate is doing everything for what it protects? No hypocrisies? No hesitation? No remorse? To the very end, no matter what must be done? This is what I must know."

Kens seemed skeptical, almost scornful even of Remora. "Many people have bad lives, parahumans more so. The Protectorate does what it can to help and protect everyone. Now what about this gives you the need or the right to come directly to me about this?"

"The fact that you are the man that can speak for all of PRT." Remora stated as a matter of fact. "Unless I was lied to. This is what I see, from how you evade the question."

"No one can speak for everyone. That's not how a democracy works, though I doubt you'll talk to anyone more qualified than me to find the answers you're looking for. Now as your host I think my question needs to be answered as well. What about this gives you the need or the right to come directly to me about this?" Kens's voice was just short of harsh, curt, with little wasted effort in phrasing or playing nice.

"The fact that you are the man that speaks for all of PRT." Remora repeated without even a hint of unease or worry. "I must have the answer that you give. Not someone else. Give me the answer. Say what I must do to get the answer."

"Say why you deserve it."

"I deserve this answer," Grigori slowly began, choosing his words with exceptional care. "Because it determines if I give my life to your cause or I do not. There are right things in the world. There are wrong things. To give less than all you have for a right thing is sin. To give up anything for a thing you know is wrong is sin. This is why I deserve this answer."

"I do my best to ensure the Protectorate does it's job to the fullest of my ability. That is the best answer you'll get from me. Take it as you will."

"To the best of your ability means... You do all that you can possibly do, yes?" Remora inquired carefully. He was not familiar with some of the turns of English phrase.

"Yes."

"Thank you for answering my questions. You are a careful man. A busy man, also. I will leave your office now, if you permit."

Kens gestured at the door and folded his hands, waiting for the visitor to leave.

"By all means.

Remora walked out of the door, immediately scanning the antechamber for any signs of Jackson. The handyman had, expectantly enough, been waiting outside making sure no one ran off with the surrendered weapons.

"Well, how did it go?" He asked cheerfully.

"The man is a busy man." Remora answered grimly. "Careful. Will not speak for anyone but himself. But I will learn all truth eventually. Thank you, Jackson. Can you tell me how a man applies to be a Protectorate man?"

Jackson nodded in reponse to Remora's asessment. "As I mentioned before, paperwork!"

"How much? What must I do? Will there be tests?"

Jackson grinned genially - but there was pain in that smile. "Lots."

[Eklispe]

PRT Headquarters

Remora had received a call later that evening, once he arrived he would be directed to a room similar to the one he'd first arrived in. Within he would find the Protectorate hero Inkscape sitting with two neatly arranged stacks of paper waiting for him. One stack was the heavily indented stack of paperwork Remora had filled out and the other was a much nicer looking stack that was lacking the same... energetic impressions in the paper. It seemed Inkscape had taken it upon himself to make sure Remora's documents were presentable. Upon Remora entering the room Inksacpe would look up cheerily, "Ah good, you're here. I just need you to confirm some of your information, take an oath, get an understanding of your power, and we can get you out of here in no time: or find something for you to do if you'd prefer. Sound good?" The hero's overly large eyes peered at Remora in a friendly fashion, waiting expectantly.

[solokolos]

Ira Riese:
The Misery of Industry

@BCTheEntity@Lugubrious@ProPro@yoshua171@Old Amsterdam

The HUD inside the PRT's vehicle had a slight delay. Ira had been staring at it since they had set off, and had noticed it once they had gone over a bump. The camera was late in displaying that, and had to take a fraction of a second to refocus. From there Ira had kept her eyes locked onto the display, watching the path they were taking. It was a bit disorientating to feel the vehicle turn on a busy intersection, and have the camera not display that acceleration immediately. The display showed the vehicle turning onto a less populated, poorly maintained street, and Ira-er-Epsilon refocused. She traced her eyes across everyone present, taking each of them in as a whole, and trying to judge their body language. Epsilon wasn't very good at it, and so got very little information. Her team members just seemed generally tense, all in their unique ways.

The young tinker shifted from leaning forward on her knees to leaning back, but felt the metal of her nullification device hit the wall behind her. It was bulky, and had changed quite a bit since its first inception. What had once been a suitcase was now spherical, and awkward shape to pack, but great for keeping a high ratio of volume to surface area. On the top it had a small handle molded into it that it could be carried with. It had a longer battery life, though the distance hadn't been changed. Decoy had insisted on a remote tracking device and satellite controls built in, which Epsilon had immediately agreed to. It was near impossible to hijack the device, for after three minutes without access to a satellite it would shut off. All of that had been the easy part.

Epsilon sighed, going back to leaning forward as the vehicle came to a stop, her eyes focused on the floor. Some unknown signal from those around her caused Epsilon to glance up at the HUD. As she did, a man ran through a door with a smaller individual on his shoulders. Parahumans. The tinker's mind raced, recalling the news from the last month or so. It was a mover-or stranger-or brute-or breaker. It could be a lot of things, actually. Ira defaulted to Stranger breaker, and extrapolated. It seemed really inconvenient to carry someone on your shoulders like that, so either the girl had a very strong power that facilitated her entry, or she was the one with the stranger breaker powerset. At least, that was her first impression. Gunshots sounded from within the building, breaking Epsilon out of her spell. She had been sitting farthest from the door, and she moved now a bit late as the rest (sans Tulpa) exited the vehicle.

Tiger Lily had run off already, and a worried look crossed Epsilons face beneath her mask. That girl was very reckless, and it twisted Epsilon's stomach a bit. The masked crusader listened to the information provided by Tulpa, nodding to herself as she surveyed the outside of the building. She unclipped the goggles strapped to her belt, positioning them over her mask's eye slits, and 'enjoyed' them even further restrict her vision. She scouted again, the digital interface reminding her of the van's HUD. Tiger Lily popped up green as she crested the building, and the harsh green of those close to her distracted her a bit. Everyone started moving out of sync, Margrave talking to Overlook, who's voice elicited a pang of regret in the back of Epsilon's mind. She shook her head, her hands brushing against her white mask's hard exterior as she removed the goggles, reattaching them to her belt, Tiger Lily and Messiah had immediately separated, leaving Epsilon to decide who to follow, or if she wanted to further break the plan. Thinking quickly, she motioned to the lieutenant set to stick with her to follow.

She walked up to the door that the bulky man and young girl had gone through. First she tested it, pressing her hand against it to see if it would allow her to pass through as well. No luck. Next she undid the leather strap holding her pistol down in its holster, pulling the gun (loaded with nonlethal animation) into a safe-but-active position pointed at the ground. Epsilon motioned with her head at the door, the second time more exaggerated. She wanted him to open it. He hesitated momentarily before nodding, approaching and kicking the door directly above the handle. As the door fell inward he shifted to be on the opposite side of Epsilon while she took up a modified weaver stance, her gun pointed at the inside of the building. "Immediate area around the door two of the unidentified para's entered from is clear." She spoke, moving to safety before fumbling with the device on her back. "Activating nullification field in T-minus five, She said quickly, flipping the activation timer. She didn't actually know what T-minus was supposed to mean, but it sounded right.

Epsilon moved her entire head to focus on the soldier. He looked back at her, constantly studying her it seemed. She mouthed the words "Two. One before moving forward, the nullification field blossoming out around her. Those teammates within range would feel it wrap around them, snuffing out their connection to their passenger. He followed close behind, making use of his height along with the fact that she was crouching down slightly to give him a better angle. The rifle he was holding whipped off to the right side as she cleared the left. She was thankful that it was a small alcove, the various shelves and boxes forming a blind spot around them from everything but the catwalk high above. She glanced up, scanning quickly for any threats, as the Lieutenant went about the business of making sure they were completely safe from surprise assaults.

Zach Kozel:
Strip Mall

@Gardevoiran@Spiffy@Xandrya

Zach sat, hunched over the counter, his eyes glued to his hands. He felt like he was stuck in a loop, not able to move past the spiral his mind had entered into. Troll was no joke, and despite Judah being an empath, he was quite shitty at comforting people. Zach statement about the girl being alive had been more to reassure himself than anyone else, and now he was trying to consider the fact that three people may have died because of his actions, or lack thereof. A rapping on the windows elicited a small head movement from Zach, and he slowly stood as Judah entered. He eyed the dog, SpFrarce, and the newcomer as they entered, before moving to follow without question. He seemed even more separated from reality than normal as he climbed into Judah's vehicle. He finally noticed his phone vibrating, and checked it to see the missed text from the twins.

Within a few minutes they had arrived, Zach not one for considering his actions nodded in response to the words Judah said, without absorbing any of it. His emotions were so tangled together, he would be very hard to read with or without powers. Zach climbed out of the vehicle a couple beats late, as the new girl asked if they were prepared. He nodded in response, actually considering those words. Without a mask, he removed the baton attached to his belt and flicked it outward. He mouthed let's go and began walking towards the building indicated by his teammates body language.

[ProPro]

Interlude 1: Inkscape

This is such a beautiful sight. James Scott, Hermes, his information was right on the money. Thanks to him, I now have such a magnificent canvas with which to work. I cannot help but chuckle as a Bratva flunky is hanging from the ceiling, suspended by the reds and blacks of his shirt and pants. To him I’m certain my chuckle sounded like an ungodly squawking, but considering his current position the man’s comfort certainly didn’t matter to me. He is a criminal, like everyone in this god forsaken building, which meant I could make use of him as I so chose for the sake of my art.

Another man I had plastered to the wall nearby, creating a cascading effect with the variety of colors he had worn. A third nearly got the drop on me a minute ago, but he had been knocked aside with the tremendous strength of Protean. What my comrade lacked in subtlety he made up for in power and variety. Few men could get back up after being tossed with bear arms. Fewer still chose to fight back after recovering. Protean was content to leave the unconscious mobster where he lay. I found the notion borderline offensive. He completely threw off the setting I had made with the other Russian flunkies. To rectify the situation, I manipulate the black leather jacket, tearing it apart at the seams as the leather moved with the pigment I tore from the larger object. The loose strips of leather reached upward, dancing like sky snakes. I wrap the loose straps around the exposed ceiling frame, then release my telekinetic grip on the black dyes. The man hung loose, a life sized marionnette. Still, it isn’t quite right. More I tatter the jacket until it more closely resembles rags, and wrap them around the jacket’s owner. The same is soon done with the pants he wore. More and more I rearrange his clothing in tattered bits until he appears to be an asylum inmate.

Almost done. He lacks… Color. Color the others had. I reach out with my power, feeling all the dyes, inks, and pigments within my range, within this large hallway. There isn’t much. Well, there isn’t anything, actually. Nothing beyond what I already was working with. So this was a limited resource piece. A pressure builds up within my body then finds release as I squirt a large stream of black ink into the air. The ink wouldn’t end until I willed it to, that I learned long ago. I didn’t understand how I could produce such a limitless supply, but it wasn’t worth the effort and time to think about. Just another bizarre change that had overtaken me since I made my deal with that doctor…

The ink doesn’t arc and stream onto the floor. Instead, I sweep physics aside and take direct control of my own bio-ink using my power. The murky black liquid sweeps out in multiple gaseous clouds as I command it all. Some are thicker, darker, filled with more substance. Others less so. Each one plants exactly where I command, and spreads in accordance to my will down to the smallest detail. Now I have finished. I take only the smallest of moments to admire my work, to look at the masterful gradients I have made, how the vibrant colors on the left fade into murky gray and black to the right, before I feel only disgust. This art, it doesn’t satisfy me. Not in the least. The materials that I am working with, they aren’t the materials I want. They aren’t the ones that put my Annabel in the hospital. But they were good practice.

“Yeesh,” Protean speaks up, scratching the back of his head. “You usually don’t, uh, involve the people themselves in your art.”

”I’m not usually pissed off,” I say back, my voice far more calm than I feel.

Hermes whistles lightly. ”Nice work, I think. They… Alive?” He casually strolls up to the both of us. I give him a stern look as my only retort, uncaring that my alien features greatly inhibit communication through body language. I can tell that I failed to convey my message properly, but it doesn’t matter.

”We need to move. Hermes, scout ahead. Protean, put on your best nose.” Both follow my command, just as it should be. No surprise for Protean, he has been my comrade for nearly three years now. He has more seniority in the Protectorate than any of our other local peers, even if he is near bottom of the command chain. Hermes though, I admit that I had my worries when Director Kens agreed to provisionally take on a mercenary as an official Protectorate cape. His actions as Jaunt leaned toward the unsavory, and mercenaries were nothing if not self-centered. I guess this one is either one in a million, or that sense of self-preservation warned him to how dangerous crossing me would prove. I hope it’s the former, but I’ll settle for the latter for the moment.

A few seconds later and Hermes returns, appearing out of thin air. Movers, man. He gives us the all clear, and soon we three are on the move down the hall. He guides us, and I keep my wits about me. Hermes doesn’t know it, but I’ve planted some of my own bio-ink on his new costume in order to keep tabs, just in case. Decoy assured us that he wasn’t lying about wanting to help, said he ran that lie detection program he has setup, but I like a little insurance. A little just in case backup.

Insurance I wouldn’t need, at least for now. Just like he said, two guards, knocked unconscious by him while scouting. Then we rounded the corner into the warehouse. A number of shipping crates were lined up before us, painted in a variety of colors, all locked up. Just as Hermes reported, a dozen Bratva had been posted in this room, all well armed. Just as one would expect from the Russian underworld. I smiled as best I could in the face of this challenge. They wouldn’t stand a chance. Just as one would expect.

A mobster shouts in surprise at our presence. He is quickly silenced by his own tie, as I pushed out with my power, took hold of the dyes coloring it, and squeezed. Hard. One down already. The rest had been alerted to our presence, but I know it won’t matter. Protean has already charged forward into the fray with a mix and match of his favorite animal parts. Hermes makes use of his teleportation, warping between different foes and striking at them with cheap shots. Not one to be outdone, I rush in as well.

Unlike my peers, I don’t attack any of the Bratva. Not directly, not yet. Instead I fire off blobs of black ink throughout the room. I don’t direct them, I don’t control them. I simply fire at every corner of the room within my reach and I move on. I need to setup the battlefield. I need to lay the foundation of my canvas. Only then can the art begin. While distracted, I’m taken by surprise. One of the Bratva goons swings a bat for my face from behind a shipping container. The metal bat makes contact with my face, but the impact is dampened thanks to my spongy, squishy cephalopod-like body structure. I take the opportunity to strike, allowing my momentum to carry me forward. Three of my tentacles extend outward from within my business suit, wrapping around the man’s arm and chest. He screams from shock. I haven’t hurt him at all. Yet.

And I wouldn’t for some time. From my new position I wrench the bat from his hands and spray my ink in his face, not as a thick liquid but as an enveloping cloud. That man no longer a threat, I continue setting the foundation for my art. I’m able to snake my body up the shipping containers to gain a higher vantage point, one away from the outmatches flunkies blow. From here, I let loose a massive volume of my bio-ink in every direction as I spin in place, not dissimilar to a sprinkler.

“The squid’s up there! Get him!” shouts one. I hear the distinct sound of an assault rifle being loaded. That sound is all that I need to identify the source of danger, and act upon it. I reach out with my power, calling to the paint on the man’s gun. With a thought, I force the weapon from his hand. “What the-? Mother fucker!”

His misfortunes were yet to end. He wears a heavy coat, one dyed a dark blue. The blue pulls him hard to the right, but this man catches on quickly. He spins a bit from the momentum, but orients himself so that I pull the coat off of him, rather than pulling the man himself. Clever, but not nearly clever enough. Nearly every object is processed in our society. Nearly every processed object contains some form of ink or dye, something humans use to artificially color it. This man had made the mistake of becoming one of those processed products himself, a client of the body arts. Tattoos adorned his skin all across the arms, and his chest. All that ink.

“GAAAAH!” I force the man up into the air by way of his tattoos. The surface area of skin I can control compared to his body weight, it surely feels as though he’s held aloft by hooks and chains. To the side I can see Hermes looking on, losing focus of the battle. Just as I was losing focus of my anger…

”Ugh!” I release the man from my grip, and he falls roughly six feet, collapsing from the pain. This wasn’t how I should be conducting myself. Not as a leader. Not as a superhero. Not as an example for the mercenary that swore to do good. Not as a fiance. Noble had a worse temper than me in the field, but the thought of her being hurt… I force myself to regain control, lest I hurt someone far worse.

”Protectorate dogs! I evict you from this territory!” cries out the voice of a strong minded woman. I turn my head, keeping my tentacle-body facing the same direction, and see the secondary objective: Sonika. All the reports I had read and rumors on the street suggested that this air manipulating cape was in the employ of the Bratva. The PRT classified her as blaster/shaker 7, incredibly dangerous. Excessive force authorized. No, it wasn’t worth it. If I throw everything I have at her, I will only give in to this burning anger, and worse still it will completely destroy the art this room could be!

”I think not, vil-” before I finish, she attacks by launching a wall of compressed air across the room. The Bratva minions that could move do so. Those that are already unconscious aren’t given a second thought by the vile parahuman, and so find themselves tossed aside. I brace for impact, knowing I have no way of dodging the attack. At least, that’s what I thought. Suddenly I find myself atop a different shipping container, this one behind our enemy, with Hermes by my side.

”Thank you,” I mutter, not trying to be rude but needing to be focused. In an instant Sonika is on us again, spinning back around and sending another blast of compressed air, this time as a cutting edge. Just as before I barely have the opportunity to comprehend what happened as I am whisked away to a completely new vantage point. This time we are stationed right blow Sonika, who has taken to floating in the air.

She instantly finds our location again, how? Before she is able to let loose another counter attack, Protean performs his own fly-by assault. He had taken the animal parts needed to resemble a griffin, always fond of the mythological him, and swiped at Sonika with sharp talons.

”Ugh!” she cries out, recoiling back. The wound looked shallow to me. Too shallow. I figure she had to have cushioned the attack with an air bubble, or something similar. I push out with my power, reaching for her costume… But there is no dye to manipulate. No ink, o dye, nothing I can use in her white leotard. Internally I curse at myself. It was so rare to come across a costume that has absolutely no dye in it that I didn’t even think it was an option, and my mistake cost us.

Protean swings around for another go at Sonika, but she is ready to counter attack, and unfettered to do so since I wasted time on a fruitless endeavor. She launches multiple air blades which meet their target, and cut into Protean’s left wing. ”RAAAWK!” he cries out with inhuman lungs. The wing is completely severed, and Protean crashlands into a pile of boxes.

Sonika gives chase, no doubt to finish what she started. I cannot let her. Protean will recover on his own in due time, but until he can reform a new body he’s very susceptible to her follow up assault. I don’t give chase. It wouldn’t matter, she is so much faster than me. Instead I reach out to the shipping container near Protean and take hold of the dry, washed out orange paint. In under a second two-hundred square feet of paint pulls free from the container it had called home for years and streaks toward my foe, coalescing into a single ball. The reflexes she displays are completely inhuman. Sonika stops in her flight toward my fallen ally and sends the ball of paint flying with a gust of wind. She turns round to face me directly.

”It seems I will not be finishing off one until you are removed from the equation. Very well.” The air around this enemy distorts and she blasts straight for me. Before I finish blinking I’m on the opposite end of the room. Hermes’ power, without it I know that I would likely be dead now. She’s just too fast.

In that instant she turns round and heads straight for us again. How can she know where we are? Like before, my newest team member takes us to a new location just before she can strike. It happens again, and again, and again. Five minutes this goes on. By now she should have tired, or at least gotten sloppy from irritation, but that wasn’t to be. Sonika was far too focused. ”Can you-keep this up-a while-longer?” I ask, in between teleportations.

”I’m getting-pretty winded-by now-but I can-go until-I’m exhausted.” Excellent. Hermes could go a little longer. That’s all I needed to know. Any doubts I had for the former mercenary had evaporated as the man continually saved my life. My plan would be put into motion any moment now. Just a couple more teleportations…

”And stop!” I shouted, signalling to Hermes. He did as commanded, keeping us put. Just as every other time before, Sonika instantly turned to my position and charged forward. We had to have missed a thinker classification when analyzing this Russian villain. Yes, it was the only explanation. She probably understood air currents around her, felt our breathing, or how we displaced the static air. Well now I counted on her coming right for me. I had set up my trap.

I reached out with my power on final time, grabbing every last paint, dye, and ink in my radius. A radius that had been greatly expanded, in a manner of speaking. While Hermes whisked us to and fro, I took those precious couple seconds with every new position to grab as much of my resource as possible, and moved it toward the center of the warehouse. Sonika was too focused to notice the containers and walls no longer had paint, or that everyone’s clothing was colorless. Tunnel vision spelled the doom of many overconfident capes.

Every last bit I had collected was pooled together in the center of the room. Sonika crosses that center to come for us, and I spring my trap. Like an otherwordly maw, the collective inks rise up to swallow her in a mixed technicolor sphere. I see her eyes open wide in surprise for the split second she remained visible. My analysis paid off. Ink doesn’t disturb the air flow, so she couldn’t sense it. Not until it was too late. I make the sphere collapse in on itself, pinning Sonika down to the floor under a large goopy mess. I smile, and she scowls coldly in return.

”Do not think that you have won yet, Inkscape.” It didn’t sound like a threat, but a statement of fact.

”I don’t consider it a victory until you’re locked up in the Birdcage,” I retorted. She merely smirked in response.

”Then you do not win today, even if I lose. I hate losing. I will be back.” Sensing danger, I press down on her inky prison hard, but meet resistance. It is then that I see what is happening. Sonika has filtered air beneath her body, and is now expanding it outward! I force her down harder with my power, but to no avail. A large bubble of compressed air explodes outward, sending my ink flying in every direction. Sonika has freed herself. She takes the opportunity to immediately run, or rather fly, to her escape. I turn to face Hermes, but he has been knocked back by the force of the blast. By the time I get to him, she is already gone and he cannot teleport the two of us to her position.

”Damn,” I hear a mumbling from off to the side. I turn to see Protean approaching, rubbing his left arm. He had reformed into a new body at this point, uninjured, but lost a good amount of biomass. Probably 15 pounds, by my estimate. ”I hate when the bad guy gets away.”

I sigh. ”She’s a dangerous one to be sure, but we did a lot of good here today. We’ve dismantled the Bratva in Denver. That’s a major crime syndicate, done for. Besides. This was only a practice run.”

”Practice for what?” Hermes asks.

I reach into my breast pocket and pull out a gold plated ring, taking a moment to soak in the engraving on the inside. Martin Anderson x Annabel Loeks.

”For The Jacks.”

[Spiffy]

Mantis - Warehouse

@Gardevoiran@solokolos@Xandrya

Mantis nodded to the others and motioned them to head towards their target. He expanded his emotional perceptions and felt distinct feelings isolated in certain areas of the building. Objects did not feel, making it highly likely that there were people behind those feelings.

Mantis pointed out the areas he had perceived quickly, giving the correct hand signs that there were people in those areas. Four closer to the windows on the second floor, and at least ten on the main floor. Of course his perceptions were not without their limits. If someone wasn't feeling any particularly strong emotion it would be easy to miss them in the mass. However, it was strange to see that the building was in complete darkness. In fact, if Mantis hadn't used his ability, he probably would have been fooled. "They won't be getting out of this one that easily," he thought to himself.

If everything went as planned, Zach would enter in the front taking them by surprise. His invincibility was a huge advantage and Mantis intended to use it. Mantis had taught Zach multiple different strikes to use in combat. There wasn't much of a need to teach him to defend. So, Zach was able to become somewhat decent within a short time.

For himself, Mantis intended to scale up through the building's escape ladder. Then he would knock out the people above once their attention was split with Zach. The people inside who were hostile to Zach would be taken out non-lethally if possible. If they had guns or deadly weapons, Mantis would aim to disarm them with his submachine gun; killing if necessary.

Farce could scale around the back with Axel. They were particularly fond of eachother and worked very well together. Axel would help to supplement Farce`s stealthier tactics with his deadly canines. That one-two punch would cripple their reinforcements from behind.

As for their new recruit...that was more of a question. Obviously she would be good at supporting their efforts. But what would she do during combat? Perhaps she could follow him up the ladder and take down the guards from above.

As they headed for the building Mantis motioned for Genevieve to follow him as he made his way towards the ladder. He began to climb up to where the second floor would be. Then Mantis peeked inside a window to see a few people strolling about on those exposed walkways. It was too dark to tell, but it appeared like they were holding various objects in their arms. Excitement began to pump out of Mantis` being. Anyone within his immediate vicinity would feel the very same thing. He turned toward Genevieve and gave a thumbs up, his eyes filled with anticipation of the hunt. He unstrapped his Mp5 and flipped the safety off. Then he aimed through the window with it to get a better view.

"Yippee ki-yay.." he whispered barely within audible range of Genevieve. It was more for him then anyone else.

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Damien/Swarm - Minutemen "Headquarters"

@AngelofOctober

Damien watched the lit cigarette in the street as it began to die out. Then, someone began to chide him for his carelessness, walking towards him. He couldn't help but smile menacingly in response, "I couldn't care less, Captain planet. Why don't you pick it up for me if you care so much?"

As he spoke he took out another, lighting it up. Then he proceeded to blow the smoke in the tree hugger`s direction.