CANON BATTLE POST - PART 1: RACE FOR THE RING
The track rattled beneath Peter Vargus's feet, startling him fully awake for an instant before exhaustion set in again. His employer's train (and the decoy out ahead of it) had been in motion for almost an hour and there wasn't even the slightest hint of the promised Namidian attack. Being reduced to mundane "guard duty" clashed with the Black Magician's showy personality, and the trains' carriages swayed hypnotically as they turned with the tracks. He stifled a yawn as he met the eyes of his traveling companions.
Vandal was doing better than himself, although not by a lot. Her ITSDA training ensured that she wouldn't drop her guard for a moment during her mission, yet her active personality seemed to be struggling against the tension-laced boredom of her duty even harder than Peters. She rubbed a grain of sleep out of the corner of her eye and grumbled irately.
Frank Jackson flashed her and Peter a yellowed grin, and lent back leisurely in his seat. Their situation hadn't seemed to have affected
him in the slightest. Peter wondered whether Frank's Gift prevented him from feeling the passage of wasted time as keenly as the rest of Brian's enforcers. Or maybe that wasn't it, and Frank had simply honed a resistance to boredom through years of staking out criminals back in his P.I days. Peter couldn't say for sure.
The specific details of their security were being played close to Brian's chest, but Peter had been granted special insight into the true details of their mission. Somewhere on the the real car itself was a device that purported to be able to turn off Gifted abilities, although the details were beyond even his own intermediate grasp of technology. He was certain that it involved turning off small parts of its target's brain, which sounded ominous, but he'd been assured that his worries were unfounded. Even now, he was being reassured of this fact by the train's fourth passenger, who was maintaining a mental link with him. The passenger sitting opposite him was technically "Gwen," but from his current mental vantage point Black Magic could see that the truth was a little more complex than that. In reality, the mental border between Gwen's linked consciousness was somewhat fuzzy; she was something of an amalgamation of the two women's minds. And the illusion Magic was using to disguise Gwen as Faye only enhanced this effect!
When Magic had thoughts of concern regarding the deployment of the dangerous and lightly-tested "Gift Inhibitor Boxes," Gwen's mind informed him that the device wouldn't be used on him personally. But when he'd persisted to grow concerned about the morally grey area of human experimentation, even against villains, the young woman opened her mind to him. She revealed her thoughts as to the logical nature of the endeavor and the extreme probability of everything working as it should became apparent to him. A serene sense of calm acceptance fell upon his psyche and his faith in his allies was magnified tenfold.
The group sat in somewhat tense silence for a while longer. The knowledge that they might be attacked at any moment, but could do nothing for now but wait, had soured the journey's atmosphere. Finally, the monotonous wait was broken as Jackson's cellphone buzzed. He answered and put it on speaker.
"Brian, Tell us that something's come up. I knew that today wouldn't be tha' usual gig... but yer' cheap train doesn't even have a drinks cart!"
"Frank, Don't say that! They say that no news is good news, but that isn't the case right now..."
Brian strode about his Seattle tower anxiously. He'd decided not to board the train with the others or to meet up with them at Burlington-North, since he'd be able to coordinate his team just as effectively from the comfort of his own, technology-swarmed home. His own share of effort would come later today - when Faye's device would need to be installed.
"JOHNNY has detected an unregistered aircraft approaching the train. You can probably see it from the left window. It's keeping outside our engagement zones, but seems to be keeping pace with you."
There was a pause and a scuff of noise as Jackson re-positioned. In that brief time, Brian's phone buzzed with a text alert; Mr. Green's security personnel had just discovered the intrusion themselves. JOHNNY had been able to hijack some civilian radar installations to watch over the skies during the train's journey, but demanding fine details from the devices had been difficult. So the specifics of the threat were still a massive question mark. He used his mental link with JOHNNY to tap into his phone. He then sent off a quick query to a shady group of contacts, collectively codenamed "Blue Horizon," for more specific information. He knew that they already had a jet in the air and that their detection abilities exceeded his own. They replied almost instantly. Brian put Frank on hold to hear their message out.
"What c-"
Brian tried to speak first, but the second the call patched through a serious female voice cut him off. Brian had the highest stakes in this operation, but it felt as though the information operator on the other end was taking the situation even more seriously than himself. She was a hardcore professional, he decided.
"The target is definitely a threat. It's wingspan and profile match that of a 'Predator D' type UAV. Loadout includes variable missiles and superior surveillance systems. About two years ahead of standard military tech. Two stolen drones of that pattern are known to be in the possession of a Namidian known as 'The Commander'."
Brian mentally queued JOHNNY to start slicing into civilian networks. If The Commander's operations were based in military procedure he knew that his craft would have a degree of on-board self control, but would be largely directed via low-latency radio or targeted optic bursts. Knowing Namidias, Brian felt confident that the commands would be encoded within civilian wavelengths. Between cellphones, mobile internet, satellites, and relay towers there were too many openings for Meta to account for. This left him with two options: hack every device in range, or blot off the whole spectrum with a jamming burst. Neither option was appealing; both would put the GTF into an awful light if they were ever traced back to him. He had already begun to toe the line between altruistic vigilantism and criminal activity by overthrowing a certain Googlplex's security measures, but despite his actions he had no intention of ever crossing that line completely. Thankfully, he was spared having to overthink the issue as the woman spoke up again.
"I have isolated The Commander's network output. Bringing the drone offline now..."
Brian was surprised! His computer-assisted brain had informed him that the number of network nodes that the drone could have been using numbered well into the millions. Even with his cutting-edge technology Meta would have taken days, or longer, to hack them all! He marveled at "Blue Horizon's" capabilities, but then remembered that the organization was owned by, or at least invested in, by Namidians. The villains had a reputation for concealing plans within plans, and it stood to reason that they had just as many countermeasures prepared against each other as they did against their enemies. Countermeasures that they hadn't shared with him. Brian wasn't at all surprised by
that.
"Good work. Keep it out of my airspace. My machine needs testing on Gifted, so I'm not interested in playing with robots today. Well... not someone else's robots, anyway."
"Understood."
Blue Horizon's line clicked dead. On the far end of the line, 'Nigma allowed herself a rare smile as she sent the order through to ruin her rivals afternoon...
The University of Berkeley was howling; the venerable building had an array of both old and modern alarm systems. And currently, they were all crying out and competing to deafen the students and teachers trapped within.
Five figures dressed in form fitting jumpsuits and identical, featureless helmets moved through the chaos with a singular purpose. Their unusual armor shifted hues as they walked, blending them in with the natural colors of each room they passed through. The group had penetrated deep into the University campus. However, almost the instant that the intruders had set foot out of Berkeley's public section, they had been discovered by armed campus security. The situation had only escalated from there. The specialist stealth unit "Numbered Brethren" soon found themselves forced to abandon their quiet infiltration. Now they had one last chance to blaze a desperate path toward The Ring's last known location.
Grainy CCTV footage of the small attacking force played on a security monitor while a panic-room crowded with investors watched it nervously. The monitor was housed in a small room of only several feet across, paneled with steel walls, and staffed by two armed guards and over a dozen wealthy academics. The University regularly paid host to such visitors, and on this precise day had played host to several well regarded philanthropists. They were to take a tour of it's facilities; hopefully, the sights and sounds of the students' resoundingly incredible works would secure some much-needed grant money.
Timothy Connors had planned this event since receiving the news that Faye planned to quit his university for Seattle. He had to use the opportunity of her departure to focus his investors' attention onto other projects before they'd have a chance to lose interest. His attempt had been snubbed by the current attack, and he'd been forced to remove his guests to a secure area for the duration of the crisis. One of his potential backers demanded that he be made aware of the situation and, reluctantly, Timothy had tapped the monitor into the facility's security feed. Revealing the nature of the attack would be bad press. But after Faye and Gwen had either taken or destroyed millions of dollars worth of past investments, he felt as though he wasn't in a position to protest any of their commands.
Still, the man was shrewd enough to know how to turn an issue into an opportunity, and even as he was switching cameras to follow the squad of high-tech burglars he relentlessly exulted his own campus.
"As you can see, our recent projects have drawn some... unneeded attention. The renovated building they're attempting to break into used to house the project that I recommended to you during our last meeting. However, your investments are secure - my colleagues have confirmed and reconfirmed that the completed device has been removed from the area. Our unwelcome guests are due to meet our security force soon, who are laying a trap for them even as we speak."
Voices filled the secured room, mostly from men and women who were outraged that he'd just admitted "The Ring" was no longer in his control. Timothy sighed inwardly. Even though the philanthropists he was trying to appease purported to be interested in human advancement, he doubted that that was the entire story; right now, they seemed solely concerned with their investments.
"What kind of trap?"
A single, steely voice cut through the rest, perhaps by virtue of it being the only one more interested in the present situation than The Ring itself. For some reason, Mister Connors felt compelled to answer it.
"The University is proud to say that we employ both Gifted and Un-Gifted security personnel. Furthermore, our state-of-the-art alarm system is tied directly into AGF and Law Enforcement watchlists. Our visitors are unaware of the danger they're truly in."
Timothy flashed what he hoped was a reassuring smile to the man who'd spoken out. The financier simply scowled back - the man's expression was made unnaturally serious by his close-shaven red hair, authoritarian blue-grey business suit, and stark features.
Come to think of it, Timothy had forgotten the backer's name, which was unlike him. Nevertheless, the man's credentials had passed cleanly through security and a credit check confirmed that he was a likely donator. Timothy felt confident that he'd be able to refresh his memory once he got the man to sign a few sponsorship grants on the dotted lines; that is, assuming that he could somehow pull this botched event out of the fire.
The room's attention turned back to the monitor, where the burglars were unwittingly walking into Timothy's announced trap. The man himself had a crisis of conscience, and decided to turn off the display. His backers had a right to watch over their own safety and finances, but televising a potential shooting seemed like several steps too far. His finger hovered over the display's power button as he cleared his throat to gather the rooms full attention.
"Men, women, associates: I think we should let matters play out from here. Once again I apologise fo-"
"Keep running the security feed."
The stern philanthropist's words silenced the school official; his demanding tone finally pricked Connors's nerves the wrong way. Anyway, something was off about this guy, credit checks be damned!
"Please take a seat, Sir. I can assure you that nothing can breach this saferoom, or our secure laboratories, you have-"
The man lost interest in Connors and turned to face one of the security personnel beside him. His voice suddenly intensified and distorted disturbingly.
"That's enough of this farce. Give me your gun."
His target's eyes glazed over. Before anyone in the room could react, the funder had seized a weapon to put a bullet through the kneecaps of the room's second guard. The disarmed first defender regained his senses and tried desperately to draw his sidearm. He was disabled as The Commander cracked him in the jaw with his own rifles stock. The room broke out into panicked screams which were silenced as The Commander emptied the weapons magazine into the air. The gunfire in the tiny enclosed space annihilated their hearing.
"SIT DOWN AND SHUT UP!"
He claimed the defeated security guards' weapons for himself, reloaded, and pointed his rifles hot barrel at Mister Connors and three other investors. From among the dozen currently cowering beneath his stare, they were chosen.
"You. You, you, and you too: we're leaving to meet the soldiers outside. NOW! The rest of you, run for your lives!"
As the train ran towards a tall tunnel, a second group of attackers laid in wait. Two dozen motionless, blank-eyed soldiers stood atop the pillars that bore the weight of the mountain above. Three of the troops stood alongside one another, sporting black jackets, red scarves, and sunglasses. The man in the middle was taller and stronger-looking than the other two. Arms folded, he did nothing. His face was hidden behind a face mask with two red eyes. The man on his left held a remote, and the woman to his left watched via binoculars, counting aloud.
"
5. 4. 3. 2."
The man with the remote counted down as the train shot into the tunnel.
"
1."
He pressed down on a red button.
Just before the train reached the end of the tunnel, a ring of red lights appeared, and then exploded.
Instantly, the first two cars of the train were crushed under an avalanche of Earth and stone and the whole train slammed to a stop. The third car twisted and bent as it flattened against the thick wall of rock.
Immediately, the motionless people in military gear and two of the red-scarved elites rappelled down to the train.
On either side, a row of twelve soldiers marched, stopped, and turned to face the train.
A woman on one side stepped onto the train...
...and fell flat on her face. Startled, she scurried to stand up and realized her body was somehow melded into a car coupling (though she felt nothing). Following preordained orders, those with her opened fire on the train itself. Three were killed by friendly fire while another trio were injured; the transport remained untouched. Just then, the illusion faded out, leaving the would-be attack squad standing alone in an empty tunnel.
Suddenly, down the track a short distance, the real train came rolling around a bend. It was then the source of the team's bedevilment was known: Black Magic leaped to the top of the engine and his cape snapped smartly in the wind while his top hat somehow clung tightly to his head. As though he were on a stage, the prestidigitator bowed, showed an empty hand, and made an Ace of Spades appear in it.
The assault team turned their weapons on their real target, blasting countless rounds in hopes of crippling the train; every bullet that escaped the mouth of the tunnel turned into a brightly hued, harmless, soap bubble. The Hero of Gaultown tossed his card toward the opening, the bit of pasteboard seeming to grow bigger...
...only this was no illusion. Parasol, the female "Red Scarf," thought to focus the energy shields her Gift allowed her to create. Yet she was a shade too slow; the edges of a giant Ace folded around the tunnel's only entrance before she could move. She concentrated her fields on the barrier, trying to dislodge it, but it seemed the paranormal beat out physics in this instance. When she stopped her effort, the others loaded fresh clips and tried; their rounds bounced back at them, sending them diving and jumping for cover. The only man to escape was the remote-wielding bomber, Rocket. The mad thrill-seeker had managed to use his Gift of "high-speed propulsion" to hurl himself through the tunnel's doorway the instant before the card sealed the entrance.
Rocket alone was absent when hidden gas bombs emitted a toxic and deadly substance. Knowing all who served Him were connected, Parasol called out to her toxic-wielding "Red Scarf" ally.
'Nitro, no! We can still serve, we can win, we...
...have failed. Only the strong deserve to follow him, the weak must be culled.
The female Red Scarf tried to continue the mental argument, but her thoughts took longer to form and the meanings of words blurred. For a second time, she and those with her fell dead. At least now they were buried.
'It's time, are you ready?'
In his mind, Black Magic could see both doctors he had been assigned to help. The world around them was breathtaking; their minds were no longer simply "stuck together," they were no one being whose brilliant visions were easily beyond words. The former rogue protector of New York gave a bow and smiled at the pair before him.
'Yes, and I have the utmost faith in both of you.'
The projected Gwen nodded, then began to increase Peter's connection to the women; it was something unlike he had ever experienced before, his memories as well as theirs were laid out before them.
The body of Black Magic remained unchanged, yet the being inside it was now a melding of three; thrice the will, thrice the power. Flourishing his hands and striking a wide-legged stance, Magic tapped into Faye's power. Exulting in the sight of a prime force of nature, and his newfound command of it, the magician lifted his hands above his head. He slowly raised them as if he were Atlas elevating the world. In response, lines of force began to ripple and twist, colors swapping and lines contorting in ways that Faye herself hadn't even considered. It was magic, true fundamental magic, that caused the train to suddenly lift from its rails. As Black Magic's hands reached their apex, the locomotive loosed a powerful whistle and a giant blast of steam as the entire vehicle suddenly pitched toward the sky.
Rotating in place, Peter laughed from sheer joy at his most magnificent prestige. This was what drove him, what fueled his magic, what offered truth to his existence. Even as his intent and spirit was made known to the duo, a spark of regret floated between the three.
If only there had been a deserving audience.
The resolution hardened in Gwen to make it so, someday, and accompany the man on stage.
We can call this practice, and repeat the performance in Vegas, she stated, mind reaching out to pull both Faye and Peter deeper into the meld. She could sense the intent of their observers changing, and knew an attack would soon come. Sharing that experience had given them a powerful connection, firming the meld and focusing their intent.
Before the engine resumed its Earthly bonds, Rocket put both fists straight out in front of him and flew at full tilt toward the magic man; this Gifted man had some neat tricks, but one two hundred mile-per-hour sucker punch would bring this whole show literally crashing down. He was closing in on his target in a blur, only one car away from the performer...
According to "Bretheren One's" intelligence, she and her team were standing in front of a room designated "The Box," which had been "The Ring's" resting place up until a few hours ago. Her Commander had mounted the attack now in the hopes that it would divert attention away from the lab, leaving any information therein up for grabs. Unfortunately, she had to get through a thick set of steel blast doors before she could examine the facility's contents.
Bretheren One pressed a strangely gloved hand on the door's control panel. The glove buzzed as it passed an electrical pulse into the door's systems, but the doors only slid open by half an inch before violently slamming shut again. She made another attempt and was rewarded with a similar result. Her helmet display told "One" that her automated circuit-striker software had successfully executed, but some sort of interference was keeping the portal sealed.
Before she could reconsider her options, a suited man herding a group of hostages marching into view.
"Commander, Sir."
She saluted him. The man had obviously dropped his disguise, which was a very bad sign. The Commander had deployed himself strictly on an Intel-gathering mission, and it was her own team that was meant to be taking the physical risks today. His being here meant that the plan had hit a significant complication.
"What's wrong?"
"Berkeley have Gifted on their security force. AGF are about 20 minutes out. Ammo."
The last word of that sentence was directed at Brethren "Five," who pressed a spare clip of 9mm bullets into Commander's outstretched hand. The Namidian exchanged it for an empty one from his stolen pistol.
Brethren One nodded. Inwardly, she was vexed that he'd went off plan, but Commander's stance on other Gifted was well-known. The warlord would trust his soldiers to fight off almost any threat, but had a strong dislike for pitting his forces against Gifted. No matter what tactical simulations he ran, even lightly powered Gifted seemed to lay waste to even his most perfect plans. As such, he had dropped his disguise to assist N.B in their battle.
"What Gifts do they have?"
She asked. Commander prodded Timothy sharply with his gun.
"You heard her; what Gifts?"
"Get fuc-"
"Speak."
"Time manipulation and body enhancement."
The Commander "TSKed" angrily and paced restlessly around the room as he thought up a strategy. The Numbered Brethren maintained their characteristic silence. Suddenly, the pacing stopped; a plan was formulated.
"CIVILIANS IN THE CORNER - MOVE! 'One' and 'Two,' take that entrance and cloak up. 'Three' and 'Four,' take the other. 'Five,' hold me and the others hostage."
Commander knelt with the other prisoners, and kicked all his weapons away. That is, all but a pistol he kept clasped behind his back.
"If any of you civilians move or speak during this fight, I will not consider you a 'protected noncombatant.' Is that understood? Good. Let's try to get through this cleanly."
He counted down seconds in his head. From what he'd seen while still under disguise, he estimated that the UC security force would make their assault... now!
As he counted "0," the enemy made their move. But neither Commander nor any of the Brethren were able to perceive it. Time slowed, and the battle was decided in the space of a single second. A figure blurred through the room.
All the "Brethren's" silenced weapons fouled and jammed, which left them helpless as a physically impressive man in a Berkeley-Security uniform dove to tackle "One" and "Two" with an incredible lunge. The Commander found that he was suddenly standing upright, neck crinkled painfully aside to a sharp angle. Horrifyingly, his own pistol was pressed tightly to his temple. Brethren "Five's" weapon also fouled as he tried to shoot the man who had instantly appeared before him and the last two NB were too slow to react before the man tackling their leaders spoke aloud. Very aloud.
"SURRENDER YOUR WEAPONS, HANDS ON YOUR FUCKING HEADS, OR WE DROP YOUR LEADER!"
Damian's enhanced physique gave him a very intimidating presence and the struggling "One" and "Two" didn't look as though they could shake him off even with a joint effort. The young man holding Commander hostage (this time, he was a real hostage) was Ernest Crane, whose time manipulation must surely have been the reason why N.B's pistols had all been jammed in the blink of an eye. The Brethren paused uncertainly as they tried to recall their contingency plans, and found that they hadn't prepared for such a sudden and effortless defeat. "Three" eyed his Commander nervously, as though expecting orders.
"Do-"*Glark!*
The Commander's attempt at communication was strangled as Crane dug a knuckle into his windpipe. Damien snapped a finger at the burglar.
"Eyes on me, son! You already made one shitty decision by attacking my campus, don't make two."
With their chain of command in pieces, and The Commander himself taken rarely by surprise, it looked as though their options had expired. N.B. had always been trained to favor stealth over conflict. And so, to them, it seemed like getting themselves captured was their only choice. Slowly, "Three," "Four," and "Five" dropped their useless weapons and placed their hands behind their heads.
Suddenly, The Commander twisted in Crane's grip, and seized him with a grapple of his own! The young man and the Namidian general struggled while the rest of the battlefield erupted into an all-out brawl! Crane found his gun arm swatted away before he could pull the trigger, but the slightest dilation of time allowed him to recover his aim. Ernest grimaced as he held the gun at The Commander's side and pulled the trigger twice. The bullets passed cleanly through Brett's suit and smashed into the flesh beneath. The villain went limp, but as his suddenly dead weight pulled them both to the ground, the Namidian cried out in rage. With a viciously desperate headbutt, he knocked the security guard out cold.
That left Damian to beat down five assailants by himself...
A bloodied Rocket wildly swung his fists up at Vandal, who wrapped her legs tight around his chest and held on as her enemy blasted through the sky. He flew at full tilt, then stopped suddenly, yet his passenger refused to budge. Taking a guess, he aimed for what he though was open sky, and flew straight up. He guessed the right direction, but screamed in shock at the sight of Tudor's drone fighter turning to face them.
In a certain undisclosed location, in a square metal room surrounded by darkened monitors, video feed from the Megalodon drone fighter suddenly appeared on all screens.
"Sir! Communication with Megalodon has been restored! And a target's headed right for us!"
"EVADE! NOW!"
The command was finished before Tudor finished giving it. The Megalodon shot toward the enemy to build up speed and banked heavily to the left moments before impact. Wasting no time with celebrations, the mastermind-in-training held out his hand. to The bustling, confounded crowd of technicians managing every aspect of the now-active drone's mechanisms fell silent and awaited his orders. Tudor's next move was important, and he was one of The Commander's most trusted; he would not be tricked into predictabily attacking the most immediate target. Neither would he be tricked into harmless, erratic behavior or a full retreat. He needed something else, another move.
It was then that he noticed the suspicious-looking man hanging off the front of the speeding train. Pushing a technician out of the way, he marked the newfound interlopers, designating the flyer "Red-1" and the stowaway "Red-2."
"Move in. Drench Targets Prime and Red-2 in SMOKEs and SWARMS. Help 'em kill each other and we'll take what's left."
The technicians nodded and the plane dove toward the train.
"And keep tracing that hack!"
Mere minutes after the train touched down upon its earthly tracks once more, Black Magic's enhanced senses heard a strange noise over the rushing wind around him.
*kuuuh*
A masked face turned to look down the length of the train. Standing two cars back was an unknown figure; a man, standing seven feet tall, with muscles on top of muscles. He was wearing a big black coat like his friends, but open, and a red scarf tucked into his shirt. His mouth, nose, and eyes were covered by a gas mask of some kind, with glowing red lenses. Through the connection, Faye lashed out at this beast of humankind and increased the gravity around him by ten fold; his steps never faltered, nor did he stagger. The monster stomped moved within the field as though unaffected. The force was increased, until the man's boot left dents in the metal surfaces he walked upon, but still he pushed onward. Finally, he was on the engine with Vargus.
"*kuuuh* Nitro *kuuuh*"
The magician bowed formally, arm across his cummerbund, before straightening himself and replying.
"Well met, my good sir! Would I be remiss in guessing that you were somewhere above the tunnel, and grabbed hold of the train as it fled the tracks?"
"*kuuuh* Yes. *kuuuh* Where is Doctor Loveliss? *kuuuh*"
The hero shielded his mouth with his hand in a look of mock surprise.
"Oh dear, is she not on board? Must have overslept or misplaced her ticket, poor lady. Try not to be too broken up about it old chum, for I hear they are serving desert in the dining car!"
"*kuuuh* No *kuuuh* games. I felt her power, *kuuuh* I know she's nearby. *kuuuh* Tell me and your death will be *kuuuh* less painful."
"That offer in no way seems appealing to me, yet it would be rude of me not to answer a guest aboard my train... She is right before you, yet far beyond your reach."
"*kuuuh* I said NO GAMES!! *kuuuh*"
Nitro charged at Black Magic. At that same instant, the caster used Faye's power to decrease the gravity around himself and the villain. The mage vanished in a puff of smoke, only to reappear further back on the engine's top. Meanwhile, Nitro was going faster than he planned and plunged off in front of the speeding locomotive.
"Proceed carefully, Peter. He's already demonstrated extreme durability."
Peter smiled gently, and in soothing tones said:
"Do not fret; they say worry causes wrinkles. I can assure you, my dear, that I would never underestimate an enemy of his ilk."
True to form, a hand reached to grab the train right before Nitro pulled himself back up onto the car. He walked toward the showman, who remained calmly where he was, and made to swing a second time. He was only feinting, however. When the conjuror appeared behind him, the massive villain swung around and delivered a shattering gut punch!
Black Magic doubled over once more, but this time it wasn't to bow. Before he could regain his composure, Nitro delivered a knee to his opponent's chin, followed by a solid left and then right to the jaw. A haymaker crashed into top of the GTF agent's head, sprawling him across the train car. A trial of red leaked out of the side of the caster's jaw, revealing the man's movements as he struggled to breath and move. Within the car, the illusion around Gwen dissipated. Though their minds were still connected, she no longer looked much like her lady love.
"Frank, Magic's down, and we've got a bogey on 8!"
"Ain't this enough already?!" shouted the old man in exasperation as he flipped ten switches in an exacting order and rhythm, typed in a password, and pulled the Gift Inhibitor Box from its housing. As he did so, Gwen used Faye's power to float to the top of the train.
The sky directly in front of the train began to fill with thick, colorful clouds of particulates that stretched as far as the eye could see. Thousands of nearly microscopic mirrors bounced light and heat off of each other, while hundreds of "signal bombs" flooded all electronic receivers in the area with jumbled, random information. When the train barrelled into the clouds, densely packed swarms of missiles emerged from just out of Gwen's sight. Struggling to focus on all targets at once, the normally brilliant Gwen used Faye's power to ram most of the missiles into each other while hurling others to the ground. Ten, twenty, thirty, ninety; they just kept on coming! She pushed them apart, pulled them together, did whatever came to mind. But one-by-one, stray, side-winding missiles inched closer and closer to the train. Suddenly, just when fifteen missiles slipped through her defenses, a stream of bullets cut a swath of destruction through the swarm of missiles.
"Don't lose your head, kid! It got you this far, it'll beat this shit!" shouted the lifelong killer at the top of his lungs.
Gwen nodded. In their combined mind, so too did Faye. With the seconds Frank bought them, they concocted and enacted an elegantly simple strategy. Absorbing all the electrical, heat, and explosive energy she could, Gwen transformed four micro-mirrors into massive "gravity sinks." These sinks pulled, twisted, and dragged all the missiles into them. Then, using the very explosive force the missiles unleashed, she trapped the explosions within the sinks until the threat was gone. Seeing the caliber of enemy it was dealing with, the plane turned tail and flew off far past the combat zone. Now, Gwen and Frank were free to tackle the mission's one remaining threat.
On the other side of the long train, Nitro reached down, grabbed the mage with one hand, and hauled him up like he was a rag doll. The monstrosity then slapped Magic once across each cheek with his other massive hand.
"*kuuuh* One last time; *kuuuh* where is *kuuuh* Doctor Loveliss"
'Will I do?'
Like a psychic sledge hammer, Gwen reached through her connection to Black Magic and smashed her way through the protective walls of Nitro's mind...
(OOC: CONTINUED IN PART 2)
This message was last edited by the GM at 00:48, Sat 06 Aug 2016.