(OOC: Would Captain Hall react like this under pressure, when she's blaming herself and Green for the death of her men? If not, I'll gladly rework this post.)


The cover behind Juniper Hall rattled and shook as lead shells impacted and flattened against it. That would be disconcerting enough. But with the knowledge that there was an entire truck's worth of armor between herself and her assailant and that the two Namidians, one president, and multiple non-combatant agents were trapped inside the truck, it was horrifying.

Fortunately, the bars on Junipers shoulder that denoted her rank of "Captain" weren't just for show. She'd already anticipated how to best turn the situation to her favor. Her first priority was to ensure that the Namidians didn't pen them in and gain control of the battlefield, her second was to ensure that their three prisoners survived to be interrogated. Only once those two objectives were assured did she have the luxury to worry about minimizing collateral damage and the damage her own team was likely to sustain.

"You, you and YOU! Return fire to the APC if any troops threaten to break cover! Everyone else, with me! We're moving that van out of the way!"

She called out to the other riders in her unit. Not every agent under her command was Gifted, but those who weren't were still more than capable in a scrap. She summoned her own Gift and began to expand the ITSDA's feeble cover into something more substantial by summoning several brick walls and concrete roadblocks in a rough ring around the cab-less truck.

"Crimson, get moving and clear our flank!- Captain Harding! Cover him!"

An agent crouched in cover by her side, a deceptively fair-featured blond. The boy shot her a keen "On it!" before leaving the cover of their truck and taking a running leap into the air. He left two burning footprints and an explosion in his wake as he dived high towards the Namidian gunman without so much as a shadow of hesitation, as though he was as comfortable storming the armored car as he would have been making a pot of coffee.

Earlier, one of the Namidians had called Phoenix Crimson a "simple predator" and June knew that he'd been right; Daniel's life had revolved around violence since the age of thirteen. And although his lifestyle had made him reckless and volatile, he had nonetheless become frighteningly good at his job. The APC full of Namidian storm troopers was no minor threat, but June knew that for sheer offensive power Daniel was the perfect weapon to tackle it.

She turned her attention away from the APC, and towards the other threat. The black van that had stopped them dead was only manned by a single gunman, but her training told Juniper that Dieter Sievold's private army was well trained, dangerously resourceful, and stocked full of Gifted lieutenants. With a terse set of orders she began directing her own troops, shoring up her defenses against multiple directions and gathering her troops' resolve for a counter attack...

---

"PHOENIX--!"

While Daniel dived toward the APC with an eager grin, his image was blurred and multiplied by the subtle perception field that Captain Harding had formed around him. As the distance between Daniel and his target closed, Mister Green swivelled his mounted gun away from the cluster of ITSDA agents and tried to clip the immediate threat. His hail of gunfire was immediately joined by scattered bursts from the Ghoul troopers who were racing down the vehicle's boarding ramp. Fortunately, all of their shots seemed to twist and distort harmlessly through Daniel's illusionary shield. Stored power built up in Phoenix's gloved hand and the latent energy behind his attack ignited the air surrounding him just before he struck.

"...PUNCH!"

The APC rocked back onto it's suspension as the side that Phoenix struck was lifted several feet into the air and crashed back down. Mister Green was jarred back and forth in his perch; he leaned away from his gun to stare into the APC's interior. Phoenix's first punch had hit with the force of an AT-gun, which was just enough to penetrate the vehicles multiple layers of armor. A horrific split of metal had bulged into the passengers' compartment. Mister Green had been briefed on Phoenix Crimson, and after he'd learned about Vivianne's unfortunate encounter with him, he'd taken it upon himself to learn more. Still, seeing the boy's sheer offensive power first hand was impressive.

He knew he'd have to end the fight quickly if he didn't want his escape vehicle to be totaled and end up sharing a recovery ward with his other lieutenants.

Just as he finished that thought and prepared to shout instructions to Squad Samus a second punch rocked the vehicle back on its wheels again, and this time the dented armor buckled completely inwards as Phoenix's burning fist broke through. Any Ghouls who hadn't yet evacuated the vehicle were thrown bodily off their feet and scattered throughout the passenger hold like salt in a shaker. Green's instincts suddenly screamed "Danger!" and with a start he realized that instead of drawing his fist back for a third punch, Phoenix was channelling his energy for an explosion.

"EVERYBODY OUT!" He ordered behind him, as he pulled himself out of the APC's mounted gun compartment and into the open air. The message reached the ears of his soldiers and the urgency in his voice forced the last of his reeling squad out of the boarding ramp only split seconds before Phoenix unleashed his next attack!

Both exit doors, the boarding ramp, the gunners hatch and the rend that his punches had opened all flared like a furnace as Daniel cooked the cab's interior with a violent burst of flame. The last soldiers to evacuate were punished with second degree burns down their backs, but were spared a sudden death by their quick reactions. Mister Green kicked himself away from the gunnery hatch just as a volcanic blast burst through the top of the APC.

"Samus. Green. Draw Phoenix Crimson into the open at all costs!"
A curt clipped voice run out across the Namidian's tactical systems, and those with the benefit of Ghoul helmets saw personalised individual orders superimpose themselves onto their vision. The tide of the battlefield shifted in a disturbingly perfect, mechanical fashion as Laura, one of Schwartze Augen's mission co-ordinators, exerted her influence. Her expert advice and uncanny ability to compose complex tactical situations were absolutely vital for the unit to function at peak efficiency, and had been the turning point of many battles before now. Given that each passing moment gave the ITSDA vital time to break their siege, her expertise was sorely appreciated.

Mister Green's earpiece buzzed and he nodded acknowledgement of his own orders. By trade he was a fixer, a smuggler, and a dealer - but it looked as though he'd have to take on a frontline role for this plan to succeed. With a resigned sigh, he stepped off the still-burning APC roof, drew his sidearm, and landed right in front of Phoenix Crimson.

"Hey! Hothead!" Green called Phoenix's attention. Normally, Green's style was more to talk softly but with weighted emphasis and subtle threat. But Laura demanded a distraction, and that's what he intended to provide.

"There's only one 'Crimson' I acknowledge. And she wanted you to hold onto these!"

Green raised his pistol and pumped the trigger.

Phoenix pulled his fist out of the stricken tank with a minor explosion and wrench of torn metal. A snappy retort touched his lips but the sight of Green's weapon hand tightening forced him to act before he could finish. He dove away with a power-assisted handspring that caused Green's first shot to breeze past him. Landing on his feet, he grasped the APC's driverside door and wrenched it off its reinforced hinges with a flash of thermite. Pulling it infront of himself and dropping to his knee, Phoenix felt his makeshift shield thrum with kinetic force as Green bounced a trio of bullets off the glass.

"Hah! Nice try!" He finished his taunt as he prepared to blast himself forward and tackle the gunman. "-but I've been beating up Namidians all day, and I don't feel like stopping an-" *BLAMNN!*

-"AUGHH!!"

A duo of Ghouls pounded around the front of the APC and brought their weapons to bear. A bullet slammed into Phoenix Crimson's shoulder and sent him reeling forwards. Ceramic splinters shot into the air and deep into his back as his armor failed to stop the bullet from slamming into his right arm's nerves. Roaring in pain, he pushed himself backwards into the two men before they could fire a second round and take them down. Slashing the one who'd shot him to the ground with a quick leg sweep, he followed that up by checking the man into several weeks of physical therapy with a quick heel stomp to the helmet. The second tried to step back to create enough distance to fire his weapon. But by the time he'd arrested his forward momentum, Phoenix had already stepped over his battered comrade and thrown the second Ghoul over his shoulder with an awkward judo throw. The man was lifted bodily off his feet and slammed headfirst into the pavement! Whilst Phoenix's armor sparked, Mister Green fired another opportunistic round of shots at him, only to fall short and hit the agent's human shied. Daniel dropped his injured foe and snatched the APC's door off the ground. In a rocket-powered bull rush, he ignored the screaming pain of his damaged limb and the sounds of Green's ammunition rebounding off his cover as he tried to finally take this bastard down.

BLAMNN!

Green saw a muzzleflash over Phoenix's right shoulder, and a microsecond later he heard the rifle's report wash past him as the back of Phoenix's armoured shin turn to ruby mist. The shot had come from the treeline that The Commander's snipers had occupied.

Throughout his eventful life Daniel had taken more than his fair share of injuries, and he recognised the worryingly familiar signs of going into shock. But he was no mere brute, he was a predator! Though this battle was lost, he knew how to take his prey down with him.

"Hahhh..." He half laughed, half groaned as he threw himself to the ground. "...Damn."

Mister Green reloaded his sidearm with an economic flick of his thumb and slam of a cartridge, before strolling over to ensure the defeated agent's demise with a final round to the head.

"Not a bad attempt..." Green reflected. "...but you can't expect to luck your way through every fight. You must have known it'd end this way, eventually."

"Mister... Green, right?" asked the downed hero.

Mister Green's mouth twitched its way into a smirk. The punk was still alive and begging to know his killer's identity, needing to know who it was who finally took him down. Normally, Green wasn't one to enable the hero's need to yammer, but he took pity on the kid.

"Yes," said Mr Green while he lined up his sights. In spite of his pity, he was intent on claiming revenge for the trouble that Phoenix Crimson had put his organization through today.

"Not anymore," said Phoenix calmly. He then used the last of his consciousness to bounce up to a crouch, ignite his rocket boots and his fist, and uppercut Mister Green.

Mister Green's hair and clothes ignited as he and Phoenix Crimson flew above and past the APC and hundreds of feet into the Pennsylvanian forests. Ultimately, Daniel collapsed as he and his opponent fell through the treetops and smashed their heads and limbs against the branches on their way back to Earth.

His opponent, however, wasn't so lucky. The uppercut and fall had left him conscious, but nearly mortally wounded. Both his arms and legs were paralyzed, maybe permanently. In his monstrous, blind rage, the mysterious Mr. Green finally unleashed his power. His alchemical ability, the Gift that allowed him to turn any material into another, let him transform the grass by his feet into water. Normally, this wouldn't be sinister but the water began flowing into the open mouth of the unconscious youth lying at his feet, threatening to drown the unconscious boy in mere minutes.

Mister Green would have his revenge, one way or the other.

---

Private Theodore Logan was a hard man, although not a superhuman. He had been rigorously trained by Schwartze Augen in both conventional military technique and specialized Counter-Gifted Combat. He didn't possess super strength or optic blasts or any other kind of Gift, but he had been trained on how to counter and destroy those who did.

That was why he felt no fear when he and his squad had been ordered to subdue an entire convoy of ITSDA superhuman agents with nothing more than the weapons they usually carried. For any other military force it would be a suicide order, but for Squad "Samus" it was a routine command.

"Green and his target are both down - you must advance, quickly."
Laura's voice pulsed its way through his Ghoul helmet, giving Logan's squad the order they had been waiting for. The squad's leader gave a simple hand signal as a confirmation that their orders were clear, and every member of his unit moved and acted in perfect unison:

First, Mister Black shifted form and stopped sending individual rounds at aimed individuals. Instead, he flipped the fully-automatic switch on his weapon and began pelting the pinned ITSDA agents, forcing them into deep cover.

Simultaneously, Logan and several other foot soldiers hustled from behind the cover of their shattered APC. They sprinted in a wide arc that took them around Mister Black's field of fire and into a sidelong flank with the trapped agents. Now with the lieutenant on one side, Logan's unit on the other, and The Commander's team of snipers and vehicles filling in the gaps, their quarry was well and truly trapped.

Laura's voice checked in again, ever helpful.

"Captain Juniper Hall has called every ITDSA operative remaining in Chicago for urgent assistance. The nearest responding agents are just over four clicks away. Our time buffer remains unchanged, but urgency status has been upgraded to 'Violet'."

In time with her announcement, Logan's enemies redoubled their own firepower. Bullets whizzed past him, and he shouldered his rifle to return the sentiment; his mask's optical display informed him that his rounds had found their mark and synchronized with his squad mates' own feeds and S.A's bank of handlers to suggest a new target. As bid, he fired a tight burst of rounds which sent his new target scampering for cover.

Despite the fact that the battle obviously wasn't in the their favor, Hall's soldiers were fighting like demons, doubtlessly thinking that if they dug in deep they might be able to hold out long enough for backup to arrive. Logan knew that their desperate effort was in vain. Surrounding and immobilizing their convoy was only the beginning of Samus's offensive.

The man to Logan's side hefted his M72 LAW Missile system over his shoulder and aimed in a high arc. The weapon was designed with anti-armor in mind, but had been restocked with High Explosive ammunition for this operation. With a sudden thunder strike of ignition, a warhead was sent square into the center of the ITSDA stockade.

The blast sent the defenders of justice reeling, and neither Logan or any of his squadmates missed their opportunity to break cover and storm their foes' position. Their charge had been planned and executed in exacting detail and Logan knew that all resistance would be neutralized within thirty seconds and all Namidians extracted within sixty.

---

Moments earlier, a bullet whizzed close enough to Juniper Hall's ear to make it ring, and a second round impacted off the brick wall she'd summoned as cover to shower her with shards of hard-light.

She peeled herself out of cover and cracked off a tight bust of bullets at the distant form of Mister Black, who didn't flinch as the deadly hail missed him by scant inches. Black leveled his weapon and returned fire, sending June back into cover.

"Damn it all!" she swore aloud. She didn't usually let herself get worked up during combat, but the situation was pressing against her hard and her options were shrinking by the second. Half her agents were either dead or dying, and what few remained were pinned from four sides and being picked off one by one.
In a situation like this it would either be total annihilation, or a close victory. In a flash, she decided to stake everything on one last counter-attack.

"Turn to face the West and North flanks! Get me a Grenade on that M.G! YOU! CONCENTRATE FIRE ON THE GHOULS - WE CAN'T HIT THE LONE GUNMAN FROM THIS R-"

*KA-BLAMNN!*

The end of her sentence was cut off as a wall of hot air buffeted past her, and Samus' HE rocket exploded in the midst of the ITSDA's ring of cover. One agent was thrown bodily into the air, whilst June saw another battered to the ground by shrapnel. She herself had stumbled and lost her balance. As she tried to pull herself together, her disoriented vision saw the bug-eyed helmet of a Schwartze Augen soldier rushing from his cover, vaulting over one of her barricades, and brutally kicking one of her reeling agents in the temple. The struck agent fell backwards in an insensible heap and the soldier turned to face her with malicious intent, but she'd be damned if she was going to go down without a fight.

She marshaled her wits through sheer force of will and tackled the Namidian grunt before he had a chance to ready his weapon. The pair both fell roughly to the ground and Hall summoned the first object she could think of (a brick) and clubbed the soldier over the head with it. The clubbing elicited a satisfying crunch and a shrill cry of pain from the soldier. A second SA commando came into view as he pounded his way around another section of cover and cluster of downed agents. She brought fourth a coil of chains around his ankles to trip him to the floor whilst her remaining hand shot to her hip to draw her sidearm, but halfway through the action her wrist was locked in a vice-like grip and twisted with a sickening pop of dislocation. A third soldier had charged her from behind. She only had a second to wince in pain and attempt to club him with her brick before the second target closed the distance and drove an iron-knuckled fist into her jaw.

Her world turned black.

---

Sherry huddled under the cab-less armored truck with her hands over her head, sure that at any moment a stray round would seek her out. The moment the fight broke out, she'd left the protection of her transport to assist on the front lines. Juniper had been furious that she'd put herself in danger, but realized that she didn't have the time to argue past Sharol's stubborn nature and begrudgingly allowed her to tend to battlefield injuries. The turning point in the battle had come when Phoenix and several other agents were lost and the damage started to pile up faster than she could repair. Despite Sherry's protests, Juniper had been adamant that she make herself scarce. The fact was, June stated, that if she was captured by Namidians the result would be far worse than simply losing their battle. Shouted down, Sherry had relented.

With a hollow echo, a last gunshot sounded and the motorway was suddenly silent. The constant hammering of lead, explosions, and screams of pain suddenly abated. From her position, she could see the armored boots of several Ghoul operatives worming their way through the battlefield toward her position. They stepped over the bodies of several wounded, dead, or dying agents and took up position around the truck's cargo door.

"It's deadlocked. Use the thermal lance," ordered one of the figures. Another stepped forward and started burning through the vehicle's composite armor with a device that sent sparks bouncing down into her hiding place. The other figures surrounded the intruder and settled into a braced posture that told Sherry that they had readied their weapons. She resisted her first urge to break cover and dive to the rescue, and instead crunched her eyes shut and silently prayed that the Namidians wouldn't simply shoot Captain Harding, Slick, and the ITSDA paramedics still trapped inside.

With a sudden rend of metal the door was pulled away, literally off it's hinges, there was the distinctive flash and ring of a concussion-grenade detonation, and the air was filled with aggressive shouts.

"Hands where I can see them! Surrender!"

Above her, the van rocked on it's suspension as the squad of armed men beat their targets into submission and roughly pulled the sedated Ash, Zenith and President Galvez out of their bonds and onto their feet. Zenith seemed to be the quickest to recover, and as he was part-guided and part-dragged back to the Mr Green's APC he managed to slur out a short statement.

"Thank you for the assistance... but we don't need to bring him with us..."

The group of extracting soldier stopped, and from Sherry's limited view she could see the pair hoisting the injured Brazilian president nod to each other and drop him heavily to the ground. His eyes were wide with terror, but they were glassed over an instant later when a single gunshot rang out and pierced his skull.

Sherry covered her mouth with her palm to stifle a startled scream of horror.

---

Tudor swivelled in The Commander's chair as he watched his virtual tactical map unfold. The symbol representing Dieter's APC filled with miniature portraits of Ash, Zenith, and several soldiers. They were shortly joined by Mister Black's marker as they extracted out. The portraits of his own forces, the Numbered Brethren, had already withdrawn from their sniper positions and were linking up with a getaway SUV at the next road.

With a tap and a scroll of his fingers on the chair's armrest, the map panned out to view the ITSDA forces; the nearest agents to respond to the prisoner transports urgent S.O.S would find themselves almost half a minute late. Once there, they'd find that almost half of the forces they'd been sent to rescue had been gunned down, while the rest were rendered combat incapable.

The Acting Commander smiled to himself. In his place, "The" Commander would doubtless fussed over details and berated himself for every minor fault of the operation, but Tudor considered this a successful outcome. The Namidian forces had only suffered minor casualties, whereas the ITSDA had suffered a brutal and harsh defeat. One that they wouldn't soon forget.

He sent a targeted message through the Namidian-net to Schwartze Augen's directors.

"Long range scans show no sign of pursuit. It's a clean getaway- mission accomplished."

He switched channels to his own units.

"N.B you are clear for extraction. We're done here."

"Not quite, Acting Commander--"

The room's speakers crackled with a calm, direct voice. Tudor recognized 'Laura' when he heard her.

"Have you secured Lieutenant Green? Or Phoenix Crimson? Or even Captain Hall?"

Tudor scoffed back at her. He had sent a team to recover their allies and kill their targets almost three minutes ago! And their scheduled minute report had arrived on time!

"Of course I have!"

"Then where are they?"

Tudor examined his tactical map carefully. The recovery team he sent had not yet reestablished contact with the targets. Suddenly, the team's portraits began to disappear.

"Backup! Backup!"

"No! I had won!"

---

Moments prior, Sherry crawled her way over to Captain Hall and placed her healing hands upon her CO's back. She then shushed the woman and pointed at the soldiers running into the woods. With quick, yet measured movements, the two began to tail the recovery team just as the Commander's other men began to clear the van's immediate area.

When the team finally came upon a corpse-like, yet conscious Mister Green and a sputtering, gasping Phoenix Crimson, Captain Hall's anger took control. A river of hard light spikes burst forth from the ground, stabbing the men in the back. Juniper's training prevented her from instinctively targeting the men's internal organs, but she wouldn't have cared if they died. They would pay. Schwarze Augen, The Commander. All of them.

Captain Hall ordered Sherry to heal Phoenix Crimson and Mister Green even as the soldiers were still howling in agony. She then handcuffed a dazed Green and had Crimson engulf dozens of trees in flame, hoping to short out their enemy's thermal sensors long enough to ensure that they could rendezvous with their reinforcements.

Though the broken Captain Hall ordered Sherry to "let them go" as she headed back to the battlefield with Green, Phoenix and the good doctor spent a few seconds healing the most critically damaged of the group before she and Phoenix returned to their Captain.

"When we get back," said Captain Hall with a hiss in her voice as she stared a hole through a subtly smiling Green. "You will tell us everything, or you will die. It's as simple as that."

Mister Green chuckled. Crimson stopped himself from punching a hole through the monster's back a second before he would have lit up his arm.

"No, no, no. That's not how you operate."

"Maybe not on the books," said Hall. "But we have secrets too..."

For once, the normally reassuring Captain Hall ignited fear in Sherry's heart. She didn't sound like she was bluffing...
This message was last edited by the GM at 04:17, Thu 24 Dec 2015.

Sherry was a gift to humanity, Daniel decided. Moments ago he'd been unconscious on the ground with two gunshot wounds, multiple broken bones, lungs full of water and most of his blood left splattered on the I-90. In short: inches from death. He was almost glad that he'd been in shock for the whole ordeal, at least it'd numbed the pain. When he'd been brought back to life the first thing he'd seen was Sherry pulling him into one piece, and he wasn't above admitting he felt a stab of infatuation toward her. Seconds later his mood turned to guilt as he remembered his promise to her not to take so many needless risks.
The promise had been doomed from the start, of course, but that wasn't the point.

"I owe you like... A million, Sherry." Phoenix felt the skin beneath the huge rend in his shoulders armor. "Not even a scar left..." He wondered appreciatively.

June was starting to worry him, though. He snapped his fingers at a nearby tree and reduced it to a flaming tower of lumber. Burning the Pennsylvanian forest didn't strike him as particularly heroic but it was at least for a smart cause, it was Junes assault on defeated prisoners that undermined his confidence in her. The knowledge that he'd suffered a humiliating defeat that'd cost the lives of several of his fellow agents stopped him from saying anything, however. He'd already made enough of an ass of himself without butting heads with his CO.

"There. That should keep us hidden." He nodded to his handiwork. "We should get moving, before more show up."

He rounded on Mister Green and The Commanders captured men angrily.
"I hope you assholes got what you wanted. After all the misery you've caused Chicago, there isn't a punishment severe enough for you."
He cut his rant short; after the defeat he didn't feel particularly threatening or heroic, and he decided not to waste his breath on hollow words.
This message was last edited by the player at 23:30, Sun 27 Dec 2015.

Mr. Green's finger twitched but his form remained still otherwise. He was still grinning as he was carted of towards some unknown location destined for some hinted at and promised interrogation. Soon a laugh slipped out and then a chuckle and finally a burst of raucous, boisterous laughter, "Hah! Do as you will then, but SA operatives are certainly prepared for anything you can dish up. You think ITSDA is the only one we have to deal with? The only one who might be willing to bend a few laws when the World Court isn't looking? Hah! If you think that for one second that I will be left to divulge anything of value that I know... you are sorely mistaken."

And with that the Namidian lieutenant fell eerily silent as he contemplated just what Dieter would do. He wasn't a particularly tenacious sort but he knew better than to say anything. He had been trained to resist not because of loyalty, but because the mroe that he could prove he could resist then the better chances he would be rescued rather than exterminated by SA. Loyalty was a premium in that organization, but no one thought of it as anything more than one more factor in the Boss' calculations.

---

Dieter reviewed the newest information coming in from the Boura operation and contemplated his next move. Mr. Green was an unfortunate casualty but the operation was an acceptable success. There had been far too many close calls in his operations lately. He tossed the report down on his desk and stood to walk to the one way glass window that overlooked the beer garden floor. He watched for a while as people moved about having a good time and analyzed the flow of the crowd to ease his mind.

Finally, he moved to his desk and took out an old-fashioned rolo-dex and leafed through the cards marked with strange, alien pattern until he found one and pulled it out. He dialed a number slowly and waited for the other end to pick up then spoke a few lines of code to an answering machine. He then hung up and went back to looking out the window.

---

On the far side of the world from the mastermind, his twin watched dots on a screen speed across Pennsylvania toward various locations. The operation was a success by most measures, but he knew that his think-tank would not agree. He did not agree. HE regarded the flashing green light in the "lost" column and grimaced. He then eyed the blinking red light on that phone and knew that a decision had been made. He could guess what it was but picked up the phone and listened anyway. He blinked in surprise then nodded at the decision. It had been shocking not in its nature but in the asset assigned.

He then sent out instructions to have the rescued Namidians transported directly to Curacao where they could recover in SA medical facilities if necessary. Mr. Black was directed back to Boura to shutter operations there for now. The man was capable but not the man MR. Green was. Dieter grimaced and he moved resource, make calls, and eyed the war-zone that was Gaultown on another screen.

Tudor collapsed into Commanders command throne heavily and looked at the multi-screened display infront of him anxiously.

"Damn it!"
He exclaimed furiously, and thumped his fist hard into the seats armrest. In a strict definition he had 'won' this engagement; his objective had been accomplished, and although several men from his response team were calling in to report injuries it seemed as though the ITSDA were content to only take the unfortunate 'Mister Green' as their prisoner. Still, the fact that several keys agents had managed to slip through his security measures and upset his plans at the last step soured the taste of his victory.

Tudor unclenched his fist and raised it carefully off the thrones armrest. Instead of slamming it down a second time he carefully tapped at a concealed keyboard- and delivered orders for his wounded recovery team to be driven out of the area.

"...return main screen to the Gaultown situation."
Tudor sighed wearily. Engaging across multiple fronts was a headache, and Commander Himself wouldn't be happy to learn that some of his soldiers had been beat up. Still, a result was a result, and the situation could have ended far worse.

Crimson, Sherry, June and their unfortunate prisoner extracted out from the area.

"So... Did the Namidians manage to free Ash and Zenith?"
Phoenix held a finger to his mask, and used it's inbuilt radio to pester his mission handler with questions and to fill in the gaps of his knowledge.
"Well... shit... what about President Galvez?"
He didn't like the answers he was getting back.
"No! And after everything I went through to keep him alive, as well!... What about the other Agents, how bad is it?!"
His headsets mumbled answer stopped him in his tracks, and set his expression into a crestfallen look of misery. He stopped asking questions after that.

Their communication channels told them that second-wave response Agents had already begun to pick through the battlefield surrounding the downed prisoner transport and to tend to the injuries of the few survivors that remained there, however the area was still considered too contested to risk bringing the Namidian back the way June and Sherry had come. Instead, the group picked their way through the wooded countryside to a separate section of highway where a new transport waited to bring them the rest of the way.

With their combined injuries, and the tension of keeping an eye out for potential attackers as well as keeping their captive well guarded, the walk was less than pleasant. When he finally collapsed into the hold of the ITSDA's replacement van Phoenix was grateful for the few minutes of rest that he'd be able to steal before he was delivered to the ITSDA's camp on the city outskirts. Sherry's gift and sheer stubbornness had kept his blood boiling for this long, but he'd been fighting on borrowed strength for most of the day- and when exhaustion finally hit, it hit hard.

---

"Crimson, wake up."
Daniel felt someone shaking his shoulder, but that seemed like a distant issue. More importantly it felt like his eyelids were made of lead, and that if he were to stand up he'd immediately fall over again. He decided to ignore the unknown voice.
"Mmhm?- [Pergi dr]!"
He slurred half consciously in Malay, seconds before the toe of a combat boot drove itself into his shin and persuaded him to get up after all.
"The brass want you for a post-mortem report. Once you've explained yourself there's a bunk set aside- You'll need it. Since Jump's occupied, and the situations too volatile for us to pull out the city, It'll be a while before you can get shipped back to NYC."
Daniel thanked the stranger for the information and for getting him up, even though he didn't feel particularly grateful for either, and then tried to find what served as the temporary camps communication system so that he could make his report.

"Once you've explained yourself..." Those words from the conversation stuck with him. Doubtless his senior Agents would want to be to be told about the entire attack in exacting detail; and even if they didn't try to find a way to pin some of the blame onto Phoenix the exchange could still take hours. Great.
Working as a government sanctioned superhuman had it's perks, but at least as a vigilante Phoenix Crimson never had to justify his actions or get tied down in bureaucracy.

---

Time passed, and too soon it was the next morning. Daniel woke up on a crash-mat, inside some kind of medical tent that he had no memory of entering. Despite his soured mood over the last nights harsh defeat Phoenix felt to be in physically great shape, or at least he did for someone who'd taken a laundry list of injuries less than a day ago.

Whatever Daniel felt like, he didn't look it. His jumpsuit was pockmarked with acid pits, scorches and shrapnel rends- and covered completely in ash or blood from a variety of sources. In places the kevlar undersuit had been shredded almost completely off, and in others it was slashed and scraped out of form. His trademark scarf was little more than a distant memory, and the remains of his armoured flight suit were cratered with bulletholes and burned out beyond repair. He scrambled for a mirror, and made a distressed noise of shock as he found that his face and hair had been streaked with the same filth covering his armour.

Bullet holes were fine, but he wouldn't be able to let himself be seen in public with his complexion ruined! To the disdain of many of his peers Phoenix Crimson had a vain weakness for showing off to the media, and when he played his celebrity games he played to win.

He got up with surprising urgency, and started searching through the tent. As he desperately started wondering where the hell he could find a bottle of conditioner in the ITSDA relief camp his eye's picked out a gym bag by the foot of his makeshift bed that made him from grin ear to ear. Some star had made sure his bug-out bag from the NYC HQ had been included in the one of the camps supply shipments!
Most Agents like Phoenix had some cache of emergency weapons, items or gadgets that they could bring into the field to replace any damaged or lost gear on extended missions- although Phoenix's was probably unique in that it was packed mostly with petty cosmetics. The bags were meant to be used to only transport the most urgent essentials, but Daniel had never been known for his sound sense of priorities...

---

A Crimson figure walked it's way casually out from the ITSDA's guarded compound, flicked a fresh red scarf over a shoulder that was clad in new unblemished armour, grinned eagerly, and tapped a finger against the side of it's headset mask.

"Crimson, reporting in! What's on the menu today?"

"Dan! Did you get the bag I sent down?"
The voice on the other side was light and bubbly, which was a stark change from the hard and practical voices that most ITSDA mission handlers seemed to adopt. Daniel immediately recognized the voice of 'Carol', and he mentally cheered. Besides having an eye for detail and a quick mind Carol was one of the few mission handlers who didn't mind enabling Phoenix's over the top style, and the two were known to perform well together. She was one of the few people that 'Dan' didn't mind using his wrong name on the job. -and from Phoenix's point of view missions were always a lot more fun without someone scowling down his mask every time a little property got damaged.
"I did! You saved me a lot of trouble, thank you!"
Phoenix's cocky grin turned to something genuine. He was already starting to get a good feeling that he could put the last days misfortune behind him.

"Unfortunately, Dan, the ITSDA want to keep a low profile in Chicago. Some parts of the city are still evacuating, and they don't want to start a Namidian scare by throwing Gifted around carelessly."
Carol didn't sound concerned, and Phoenix even fancied that he could hear a little of his own conceit working it's way into her tone.
"If you wanted me to keep a low profile why did you send me a new scarf and a set glowing armour?"
He spoke, brightly. He already knew the answer.
"Well-l-l..." Carol drew out and inflected the word as she feigned innocence. "...If the higher-ups really wanted to stop panic from spreading they'd make sure they had a reassuring Hero front and centre, right? On your map I've highlighted a looting in progress that the media are using in all their coverage. Up and at 'em."
This message was last edited by the player at 09:59, Wed 27 Jan 2016.

SEASON 2

For all it's lawlessness, Boura nonetheless operated on a series of unspoken rules. No one really 'ruled' Boura, but it's lack of law enforcement and high density of the criminal class had still given rise to a kind of informal hierarchy where the most dangerous of it's residents exerted influence over their weaker peers. Residents of the outlaw city either abided by such rules, and stayed out from under the feet of the 'big fish', or met with interesting ends.

Everyone knew not to set up shop downtown, where the battle that had initially levelled the city had been the fiercest. Visitors and non-residents tended to head there first, and no one wanted them to find anything that might otherwise draw attention.

Everyone knew that you should only approach the three-tall structure in oldtown if you had business. Claiming territory near the location was... discouraged.

Everyone knew that if you saw a group of vehicles, surrounded by armed men, blasting loud music, that it was an exchange of illegal goods. It was not advised to stay to watch how the proceedings played out, since characters involved in such activities seldom appreciated the attention.

-But over the last month or so a new rule had been established. One circulated by rumour and tall tales.
Everyone knew that if you saw red eyes watching you from what used to the be the city's nightlife district that you turned around to walk somewhere else. Rumours claimed that a new Gifted had claimed the area, and that any attempt to disturb her would be met with merciless force. Every attempt to verify these rumours by scouting and stealth had failed, which in and of itself was confirmation on it's own.

---

Oculus sat on a cloud of her familiars, which supported her mid air and buzzed through every corner of her club. Well, it had been somebody's club, once. Now it was more like a hive. One of her hands trailed lazily through the air, spitting out 'Sentrys' as it went, and the other tapped quickly over a notebook computer perched on her lap. Nearby a squadron of her drones were working together to keep a can of cheap beer within her reach.

The last two months had been interesting for her. She had been uncertain and unconfident with her abilities when she'd first used them, but now she had practice under her belt. Her eyes had penetrated every corner of the country and even now in some places beyond. She had been tracking down information like a bloodhound, and her new method made her old attempts at subterfuge seem bumbling and incompetent. After a long period of waiting and ammasing her strength she felt certain that now was the time for her to strike again.

An email pinged in her inbox, and a thin smile settled on her lips.

>From: Pierre. Subject: Major Namidian information cells.

A figure half walked, half climbed, over what had once been a multistory carpark. Nowadays it more resembled a huge towering mound of ruined concrete and rebar. The figure took a gulp from a travel canteen hanging from his side, and used the vantage point the ruin offered to get his bearings. In a lot of ways travelling Boura by foot was a lot more like survivalist hiking, than any kind of civilised walk. Certainly that was the case here, where the rubble was too thick to admit any vehicles to pass through.

The traveller wasn't the only one casting his gaze around. His eyes caught something watching him from the rubble beneath his feet, and he knelt down to appraise a small metal sphere that was returning the glare with an unblinking red pupil. He offered it a grin.

"Heya' little fella'. I've been searching for someone like you..."

The sphere shot up from the ground with sudden force, and hovered a few inches from his face. It's pupil narrowed into a blazing pinprick in, what the hiker assumed, was meant to be a warning.

"No. I'm not leaving. I want to speak with the person watching me right now."

The ground beneath his feet shifted, and dozens of miniature dust eruptions shot spheres into the sky around him. The entire ruin was seeded with the things! Each turned it's focus on him and the traveller quickly counted that he was surrounded by almost a hundred of the threats. He knew that many, many, more could be here in seconds- but the number already watching him was more than sufficient to carry out whatever guard duties they had been assigned. He bit his lower lip anxiously, but without saying anything he very slowly reached behind himself and pulled a computer tablet out from his travel bag. It flickered to life.

"Oculus, Peace. The man speaks for me. You're a difficult woman to find." The screen showed a pissed-off looking man dressed like some kind of historical general. He spoke carefully, and with measured words.

A moment passed as the eyes sat motionless, before they finally drew back far enough to take some of the tension from the scene. Eventually a pair of new drones made their entrance; one was a speaker, and the other had the ability to render Oculus as a crude red and black hologram. She appeared to hover infront of Commanders minion, her pupils burning impatiently even through a pair of thick sunglasses.

"That's deliberate, Commander. I don't make public appearances if I can't help it."
"I can respect that."
"What do you want? Information? Be specific."

If Oculus's brusqueness annoyed him Commander didn't show it. Business was the only thing on his mind for the moment.

"I need a rumour verified. The word is that some bright sparks have been putting their Gifts to good use- but that their latest developments are reminiscent of the late David Ort's 'Ring of light'. I would like to know whether such a device exists, and if it's a threat."

The corner of Oculus's mouth raised in a slight smirk.
"You're not planning to stand in the path of progress, are you Commander? Don't you think you're a little... understaffed... to start imposing your will on the rest of the world?"
"I will if it suits me. Mister Ort's blunder cannot afford to be repeated."
Commander responded icily.
"Ort's blunder created us. It's created worse, even, and still continues to do so."
"And what do I get for sharing my hard-earned information?"
Commander's image tapped a few keys offscreen, and a monitor placed behind him lit up.
"I am willing to give you a 'spectator' account to view the Namidian darknet. No data upload capabilities, and low level access only, but i'm sure that you'll find a use for just the surface information all the same. You did NOT get it from me, or even hear of it's existence. The account has one week before it's credentials expire."
"You could get in real trouble with 'Big N' for handing out something like that."
"A duplicitous Namidian? Perish the thought."
Commander inflected sarcasm, before returning to his flat business speech.
"-it's a good thing for both of us that this conversation isn't happening, then. Do we have a deal?"
Oculus considered the offer for a moment before nodding her head. It was a good deal, and Commander wasn't the type of man who would tolerate haggling over his demands.
"It's a deal. Here's what I know..."

Oculus told him what she knew, although she was careful not to let any unpaid for details slip. She spoke of a woman called 'Faye' and her accomplishment at CERN, and that the subjects of her released Academia journals circled around Human Genome Project, Applied Astrophysics, and Theoretical Physics. Most importantly she noted that a huge gross of grant money as well as private investments had been applied to her latest project- which was the source of the rumours that'd concerned Brett. When Commander asked if the device was a threat Oculus had to admit that she couldn't provide an answer.
"...The device has yet to have it's capabilities fully realised, and it's applications are too broad to suggest that's what they're working on."
"-or put another way; too broad to assume that that's not what they're working on. Not good enough, Oculus, I need more information."
Oculus sighed with mild frustration. She didn't have any more information worth sharing, but she did have rumours...
"The device is housed within the University of California, but it's too closley gaurded for me to gain entrance. You might have more luck- but rumours say that it's due to be relocated to Seattle, and that the project is likely to merge with the labs of a man named Brian Jameson. Have you heard of him?"
"Yes. He's been defending the ITSDA on the news, lately. His actions suggest that he's putting his own team of Gifted together, one who's main focus is on human advancement rather than political peacekeeping. I sincerely wish him well."
"...so long as he stays out of your way, I assume?"
"Yes. Obviously."

Their business concluded, and Commander passed Oculus the details of her payment. The eyes departed, and the Hiker marched back the way he'd come.

Commander considered this new development. If Faye's device was to be moved it would present a one-time chance for him to scrutinise it, and judge whether it was safe to allow it to remain on his planet. If the device could be used to manufacture cheap nuclear material, gravitational singularities, or trigger another 'Mass-Awakening' event he would have no choice but to act decisively...
Faye and her associates undoubtedly possessed far more fearsome intellects than Brett's, and he saw no shame in admitting that fact, but it didn't change that they were still human. Humans erred, it was fundamental to their nature. Worse than that; Faye, Brian, and the rest, were Gifted. Commander knew firsthand that even the most intelligent or iron-willed Metahumans held an urge to act on specific impulses, and that the drive to accomplish their goals caused them to act irrationally more often than not.
The Commander would not tolerate the supercollider's existence if it put his human race at risk- no matter the scientific possibilities.

Oculus looked over her new source of information, and continued her work. Her goals were smaller and less idealistic than The Commanders, but would require no less effort to implement. She got right to it.
This message was last edited by the player at 23:39, Wed 15 June 2016.

Brett slapped the side of his neck, and irately paced back and fourth in front of his men.
“Fucking Mosquitoes.” He complained to no one in particular. He paced his restless circuit again and wondered if the twinges he felt on his skin were really the work of insects, or just his imagination. He was certainly feeling twitchy enough to make that mistake. Besides; mosquitoes shouldn’t have had any business here in the dead centre of Bouras once great football stadium, which now lay parched and neglected.

He strode before a foldable camping table strewn thickly with loose leafs of paper. Over a dozen of men and women from his bodyguard patrolled around him, and even further afield a small but nimble-looking VTOL lay parked with gently idling engines. By the desk three figures knelt on their knees and shuffled uncomfortably against the cuffs clamped around their wrists and the bags obscuring their faces. Hostages.

In a few minutes Brett would need to consider execututing them, as well as his fourth hostage that he'd placed elsewhere. That’s what he’d threatened to do if the ITSDA and GTF ignored his parley attempt, and his threat was no use without the will to carry it through.

Commander desperately hoped that it wouldn’t come to that. He knew that the four deaths would weigh heavily on his already burdened conscience, but he also knew that- if he had to- he would still pull the trigger.  The last time he’d forced himself to kill someone his post trauma flared up, and he hadn’t slept for over a week. No wonder his mind was inventing phantom insects to plague him; it didn’t want to think too closely on the real problems he saw himself facing.

He was certain that his message had been intercepted by now, which only gave the forces of justice a paltry half-hour to act. Even by supersonic Songbird jet the distance from Seattle to Boura was not insignificant, and Commanders hair-thin schedule had been a deliberate maneuver to keep his intellectually Gifted enemies from drawing up any clever plans. That was his hope, at least. He was certain that if he gave the GTF any opportunity at all to incarcerate him without putting his hostages at risk that they’d take it- but at the same time he felt that the risk he was taking by conducting the exchange at all was a necessary one.

The Tactician in Brett suggested that if both parties played nice and didn’t do anything stupid that everyone would stand to gain something from the encounter. There was no reason at all for anyone to deviate from the terms he had laid out.

The Namidian in Brett scoffed at the idea, and Commander berated himself for even thinking that everything (no, anything) would follow his plans exactly. He counted down the contingency measures in his head to ensure that he hadn’t overlooked anything.
This message was last edited by the player at 13:33, Wed 07 Dec 2016.

"I have secured the hostage as you requested, in a place I assure you none but myself can reach. They are unharmed and well, of course until you say otherwise."

The voice belonged to a figure who was standing immediately next to Brett on the right, a space that had been unoccupied an instant before. The figure wore a closed  overcoat of high quality, a wide brimmed hat that left their face in shadow, and mirrored sunglasses. He looked around the stadium idly, while still speaking;

"A personal squad of armed soldiers on active patrol, a VTOL with the engine running, and the hired services of a reality manipulating teleporting criminal; I must admit that I'm not sure if you're a very prepared man, or simply paranoid..."
This message was last edited by the player at 23:16, Fri 09 Dec 2016.

Commanders fingers twitched reflexively towards one of his many holsters as Ivan appeared and spoke, before he caught the action and forced his hand away again. Brett was behaving twitchy! Even though the Namidian general had expected the hitman to report in his senses were still strained to anticipate the slightest hint of trouble.

"It's not paranoia if they really are out to get me."
He countered to Ivan.
"-and they ARE out to get me. I promise you."

He turned and regarded the man with an appreciative nod. He hoped that Ivan's services would not be needed, but his presence here would be absolutely vital if the GTF decided to turn out in force. Despite Ivan's words the single jet and bodyguard unit would not slow down the likes of Vandal or Faye for very long. UnGifted soldiers were the staple of Commanders military, and they had served him admirably, but he was only too aware that their usefulness rapidly diminished when deployed against the likes of Frank Jackson or Brian Jameson.

"With a little luck this should be a straightforward contract for you. If things turn sour I want the first priority to be the extraction of my men and equipment, rather than retaliating against the GTF."
This request had already been a part of Ivan's contract, and Commander was sure that Ivan was professional enough to stick to his word, but Commander also thought that the point bore repeating.
"Gifted agents have always had an annoying sense of irony, after all. I'd hate to end up with one of my own men becoming a hostage themselves."
This message was last edited by the player at 19:20, Fri 09 Dec 2016.

The Albino turned his hidden eyes to The Commander.

"If you are so worried about their safety, then why involve them at all? It would have been child's play for me to grab Meta, and take him to any location you might pick to be waiting for him at. No time to prepare, plan, just one place one moment and the next face to face with you. I could return him just the same, quick and quiet.

"As your men's safety, if I could not be counted on to do my job we would not be having this conversation would we Commander? I would think you would be keeping Mister Dieter company, enjoying some bland prison gruel."

"Maybe I would, maybe I wouldn't... Maybe the ITSDA's prison isn't as secure as they'd like it to be."

Commander smirked knowlingly. The expression looked strange on his particular set of features.

"If we kidnapped Mister Jameson I doubt that he would be very co-operative. This job requires a diplomatic touch."
A shurg, and then a wince as shifted his weight onto his bruised ribs.
"Besides, I've went to a lot of trouble to capture these hostages. I want to get some use out of them before they're given away."

Commander organised some of the loose leafs of paper on his desk that he'd disturbed and analysed during his wait. They seemed to be a strange mixture of technical graphs, mathematical projections, and pages of documentation. What he intended to use them for was a mystery, but there could be little doubt that it involved Faye's rumoured 'ring' device.

"I permitted Jameson and Loveliss to bring a bodyguard. Giving them the assurance that they weren't walking into an ambush seemed like a good idea at the time, but on reflection I wonder if I was being too kind..."
Commander chattered away and discussed strategy aloud. He checked a shatter-proof watch lashed to his wrist nervously and eyed his hostages again. Time was running out.
"Vandal is probably their most valid option if they're committed to turning this into a fight, but the magician would be their smartest choice if they wished to guarantee the hostages safety. Then again, they might surprise me and bring someone unexpected."
Commanders expression darkened slightly.
"If they decide to bring Jackson I may need to cut the talk short. That man offends me on a personal level, and I owe him a few bullets on behalf of Cimmeria and my 'Keepers'."

"If they intend to turn this into a fight, I would think all three would be used. The girl could be miles away and here in seconds if needed, while the magician can teleport. Meta is an intelligent man, no doubt he could make a commination device that would work even if you had some sort of jammer active. Then he could call them in, and after witnessing what the trio did at the Gaultown location, I can understand your worry.

"However, while Vandal is fast I move at the speed of thought itself. Their magician can teleport and manipulate reality, yet he wastes time with showmanship and unlike myself has a hero's failing of restraining himself from doing whatever needs done to accomplish a goal. The old man, all that can be said for him is he can take a beating and has some mundane skills aided by luck."

Ivan grew silent for a moment, and when again he did speak his usually monotone voice held a tinge of curiosity to it.

"In World War One, there was a very skilled German pilot by the name of Baron Von Richthofen. By the time he was shot down, he had achieved to his fame at least eighty kills. After he was dead, his enemies honored him with a full military funeral.

"Cimmeria is a deadly opponent to face, and attacked a civilian location of no military importance of her own free will. Your Keepers were trained for combat, and armed. There is a War being waged, and casualties are inevitable result of such an event. Frank Jackson have not only survived but overcome staggering odds more than once, and despite being on an opposing side I would think as a fellow Soldier you would hold some respect for him. Instead there is animosity, so might I ask why?"

"Cimmeria was an unrepentant assasin. The few times that we've interacted we got along well, but I've always known that it could only be a temporary arrangement. Our ideals were simply incompatible, and Jackson's saved me a lot of trouble by taking her out."
Commander confirmed bluntly.
"Likewise, Jackson exterminated my soildiers in open battle. Even if I don't like it, I can't judge him for protecting himself and his teammates."

"Your analogy to the Baron misses an important mark, however."
Commander turned his glare onto Ivan, and his tone took on a serious and unyielding edge.
"I don't respect Frank because he's a fellow soldier. It's the opposite, in fact. I loathe war with an intensity that's hard to put into words... my dislike for Jackson is purely ideological."

"My goal is to engineer a world which doesn't need monsters like him, or myself. Although I'll practice violence I also try to keep the damage I cause to a minimum. World peace... but by any means necessary."

Commander looked anxiously at his watch again. The forearm beneath it was marked by the scars sustained during the Gaultown incident, as well as a faded but instantly recognisable black tattoo. The tattoo was done in stylised text, and simply read 'Semper Fi'.

"Jackson, on the other hand, does not limit himself. He fights dirty when it pleases him, and kills whoever finds themselves in his sights without variation or mercy. He frequently uses warcrime-grade expanding ammunition against soildiers without even a quarter of his experience, and none of his invulnerability. He could walk into a battlefield armed with nothing more than a duffel bag full of handcuffs and still come out victorious, but choses not to... and he still has the GALL to claim the moral high ground!"

Commander slammed his palm on the table to illustrate the anger that'd begun to boil over within him. His voice had raised at the same time as he'd begun to lose his composure. The Namidian took a deep breath, recollected himself, and pulled his peaked military cap at a low angle over his eyes as though to hide the fact that he'd felt anything at all.

"...Not that I'm in any position to claim any kind of moral authority either, of course."

"The reason why I feel so strongly against him is that Jackson seems to represent everything I find rotten about the world. He spent his youth murdering who he was told, he's spent his awakening murdering to cover his personal tragedies, and in a thousand years he'll still be here... murdering our great-great-great-grandsons and granddaughters. I judge that to be an absolutely inexcusable lack of ambition."

Brian and the team worked their way through the rubble towards the collapsed side of the stadium. From there he waved like a madman at the Commander's team to signal it was them and not some random Boura denizens.

As he approached, he put his hands up as a sign he had no weapons of his own. He also wasn't in the mood for grandiose sentiments at this point, though he had been waxing philosophical over the last ten minutes. He simply cut to the chase as they approached. "We've come to take these people Commander, so tell us what this is about."

The Namidian warlords posture stiffened as he caught sight of Brian approaching. He put himself back onto high alert and diverted his mind away from the ideological thoughts he'd shared with Ivan and back onto the business at hand.
...despite his concentration he felt relaxed, or perhaps simply relived; He probably wasn't gong to have to kill any hostages today.

"Mister Jameson. Thank you for agreeing to meet with me on such... short notice."

The center of the football stadium was a ruin, but a competitively clear one compared to anywhere else in Boura. Notably only three of Commander's four hostages were visible. The combination of open sports grounds, and dense dilapidated stands surrounding them on all sides, suggested that Commander had probably hidden long range security personnel in addition to the few men surrounding him. None of Commander's men had raised their weapons to the GTF, but their wary manner suggested that they were all prepared for the worst.

"I will surrender my guests into your custody once we've discussed a few important matters, as promised in my message."

Brett looked over the group, counting the number of people Brian had brought along. A scowl touched his face.

"You've brought a bigger bodyguard than I expected. I hope for your sake that you weren't planning to need it. Where is Doctor Loveliess?"

 Meta made a dubious expression, "This young lady is Ms.Loveliss's proxy, she can be addressed as Brighteyes," Brian let a corner of his mouth grin at what Faye nicknamed Gwen, "and our two bodyguards Black Magic and Vandal, per your express instructions. Ms.Loveliss couldn't be here today."

 Brian swept a hand across his stubbled chin. Four of the hostages were being kept out of sight and for good reason, Black Magic or Vandal could easily sweep them up before the Commander could utter a word. Brian surveyed the crowd of Namidians and their minions as they flanked the Commander. He thought about telling the commander all about his anger that the project and Faye were dead, that they would've shared their discoveries with the world. Instead he gritted his teeth and swallowed his words.

 "So that important stuff you mentioned?"
This message was last edited by the player at 00:58, Fri 23 Dec 2016.

For her part, Gwen remained silent; although her face was set firmly in a scowl of disapproval. Fortunately for the Commander and his men, her brain remapping kept the lethal edge from that mood. Simply standing here, without tapping into her Gift, she could feel each person's thoughts and moods, could trace the lines of their focus and attention. As with all humans, their individual psyche affected the world around them, imperceptible vibrations filling the quantum 'space' between them; and similar to a spider in her web, Gwen had learned to read those vibrations and interpret them. As things stood, she simply monitored those arrayed around them, Commander in particular; yet should any of them even think for a moment of attacking or using Gifts, she would turn them all into gibbering children with a thought of her own. The time for peaceful interaction was long past. Gwen and Faye both had been pulled into this conflict, had entered it playing by a specific set of rules. With Faye gone, so too were the rules...
This message was last edited by the player at 20:05, Fri 23 Dec 2016.

"Doctor Brighton is an acceptable proxy, Mister Jameson."

Gwens Gift wasn't necessary for Brian to guess that Commander hadn't been amused by the switch-around. The stress he put into their respective names and titles rather than using their pseudonyms made that much obvious, and the not-so-subtle hint that he'd already done his homework on the GTF almost seemed like a veiled warning not to try anything further.

Gwens Gift did uncover a wealth of other data, however...

Commanders soilders were alert, but not on edge- they seemed to have already memorised their orders, and were focused solely on performing their respective tasks. No underhanded killing instinct could be sensed from them, although their cold sense of professional detachment sent up another set of warning flags altogether.

Commander himself, however, was a different matter entirely. The man's mind was dense with activity in such a way that it almost polluted the metaphysical psychic air around him, and although Gwens 'passive' mind-reading Gifts wouldn't be enough for her to snatch any fine details from his subconscious she would be left with the impression that the Namidian warlord couldn't silence his thoughts even if he had tried... The only time she might have seen such a mind was around other Gifted, who's thoughts had become so clouded by their obsessions that there was very little room for their original personalities to remain in. The intensity of Brett's intelligence wasn't derived from natural genius or willpower, but was a mere side effect of a his paranoid delusions and unsilencable ambition. It was the kind of insane ambition that had ensured that The Commander remained a major thorn in the ITSDAS side, and a major player in the Namidian organisation, even despite his comparably weak Gift compared to most of their other threats.

Commanders eyes flitted from Vandal to Black Magic, his thoughts pounded hard for a moment, and then Gwens sensed something unexpected...  A very slim flicker of satisfaction. The two bodyguards presence did not seem to perturb him; perhaps he had anticipated their involvement.
His eyes flickered onto Gwen, his thoughts raced hard for a moment as the tactical genius's mind accounted her into his calculations. She sensed annoyance radiate from the man, and then... Nothing! For almost a full second his loud thoughts froze entirely! A moment later they resumed, and at their same desperate haste. Gwen would be smart enough to realise that Commander had just used his Gift on himself mentally- doubtlessly in an attempt to scour his own psyce for possible intrusions. Trying to sneak a look into his direct consciousness could be risky if he was actively expecting and guarding against an intrusion in such a way!

"I assume your time is valuable, so I won't waste it."
Said Commander, straightforward and aloud. He waved a finger in the air and a moment later one of his three visible hostages was pulled carefully to their feet by one of Commanders henchmen. The bag was removed from their head along with all restraints barring their handcuffs.
"First, a show of good faith. You can have one of my prizes early, so that your bodyguards can satisfy themselves that the hostages are who I say they are- and that I haven't abused them, or fitted them with explosives, or anything else along those lines."
The hostage was handed to Black Magic. The soildier who transfered the prisoner was a young-looking sandy haired man with a pair of wicked looking Kbar knives strapped to his bulletproof vest. The sneer that he gave the performer suggested that they might have met before.

"I've asked you here to discuss your 'ring' project. I am sure that you know which project I mean."
A sweep of Commanders arm indicated the table beside him. Among the myriad notes on it were a number of rough and incomplete schematics that seemed to bear a worryingly close resemblance to the device that had caused everyone at the table so much strife so recently. It was as though Commander had tried to peice together an understanding of the machine through Chinese whispers and guesswork.
"Is it true that you were able to maintain and study a gravitational singularly for an entire four seconds? The first time a feat like that has succeeded, I believe. You must be very proud."

OOC: Reflex to Brett using his Gift xD Twas a good post, but you covered a lot of ground. The question is... does tinnitus kick off non-cannons?

Gwen silently studied the man as he addressed them, passively watching his mind slide around through perspectives as he took them all in. For a moment, Gwen felt the temptation to untangle all the lines and threads; intricate games like blacksmiths puzzles and other abstract reasoning devices had always been among her favorites to solve. Commander's mental state reminded her of such things, albeit on a far more complex level. Still, she had only too recently been drawn into a mind more chaotic and powerful than her own and was not too keen on the idea of risking a second such event. Even so, she picked a name from the swirl as a self-identifying thought manifested... Brett. That would be his name, she thought as his eyes swept to her.

She had an instant warning before his mind went blank as his mental state suddenly shifted. In the same instant every ear in attendance was filled with a loud, high-pitched squealing; every ear, that is, except for Brett's. Since Brian had stated that they had to hear this man's words for his Gift to work, Gwen had prepared a countermeasure. Regardless of the state of mind of his henchmen, this man held all the strings here. The countermeasure she had devised was non-lethal and familiar to all present, simply psychically flick the inner ears of most present. At the same time, she conceptualized a powerful barrier and put it a reflex away from being. It would be clear after a moment she had used her Gift, as the ringing faded after the Commander mentioned something about time.

"From what I understood of your message, Gifts were off the table," Gwen stated quietly before he continued, face remaining impassive despite a voice filling with menace. "You should know I'm the countermeasure to you here today, tactician. Next time you test your own rules, you will be a Commander of one."

Satisfied there was no misunderstanding, Gwen returned to silence, seemingly ignoring every person present but the one man who bore her icy gaze.
This message was last edited by the player at 23:38, Sat 24 Dec 2016.

 Brian raised a hand in a possibly pointless gesture to placate the warlord, a plea to stop before things spiralled out of control. "Brett, don't you get tired of the zero sum game? What have you gained?"

 He paused letting the question go unanswered, already he could tell he needed to make it quick, "I really do. Both of our time is valuable," he said predicting the man's words, "I want you to know, you don't have to do that. Truth be told, all cards now on the table, we didn't come here for them, at least not entirely."

Brian had analyzed the situation and was using truth to steer the conversation into more tractable waters. He hoped his quick thinking could change the tone of the encounter before lives could be lost, while at the same time airing greviances, ones they could all share perhaps.

 Brian jabbed a thumb towards the hostages, "Faye admitted that one or all of them were traitors, they aren't coming back with us...Just because we aren't Namidian doesn't mean we're the ITSDA. We aren't, Gwen's angry because the SA killed Faye, because someone thought that there was a good enough reason to kill Faye and with her, the Ring project. That's why you're here right? We're here because I'm curious if this idea will reach you, help us do things differently. I mean without Faye there's nothing, her Gift powered the thing. Humanity's greatest achievement, gone. I mean, who's next? I'm not your enemy Commander, never was. I want to work with you, to end this."

 He readied himself for the second more likely possible outcome, he switched his suit to begin recording his own movements with a mental impulse. At this point that simply consisted of Meta's outstretched hand, a look of appeal and a face that showed the Commander his respect.

 He barely registered the discomfort of his fellow teammates as he suggested such a thing, he hoped they would go with it.
This message was last edited by the player at 05:06, Sun 25 Dec 2016.

"I assume your time is valuable, so I won't waste i-"

Commander spoke, straightforward and aloud. He raised a finger to the air and seemed to be about to gesture to one of his men standing by the small group of hostages behind him. Instead, he suddenly spun on his heel to show Gwen and Brian his back and spread his arms wide as though to shield them! Brett shouted into his headset with panicked haste!

"All men stand down!- Huxley put down your FUCKING KNIVES!! Marksmen stand- !!!"
*BLAMNNN!* 
A flash of light from beneath one of the sports stadiums bleachers caught everyone, including Brett, by surprise. A moment later a thunderous roar washed past the group as a .50 cal anti-material round missed them all to plow a three foot long crater of displaced dirt into the stadiums turf.

Commander's headset buzzed a repeat of the message that it's played only a second before. It simply spelled out 'AE3' in morse, which was the encrypted call sign that Commander had made his men memorize which simply indicated that his soldiers had been escalated to level 3 security (out of 5 possible contingency levels). Contingency three was to clean house and to eliminate all hostages, enemy negotiators, and even any of Commanders soldiers who were behaving unusually. It was the highest contingency level that Commander had the means to undo by vocal order alone. Commander had been excluded from Gwen's mental probing so he didn't yet understand why all his snipers had sprung into action without apparent warning- but he could make some very easy guesses...

Brian's mind was the fastest of all the Gifted assembled, and he reacted first. His advanced eyeglasses automatically detected subtle hints of movement from every one of Commanders men which suggested they'd felt simultaneous pain, followed shortly by them reacting violently. Their unanimous reaction to level their weapons at him suggested that they had already been given orders not to take any risks involving the GTF. His IR vision mode even triggered itself, and showed glowing infrared points of invisible laser-sights mark themselves onto himself, Gwen, Black Magic and Vector. With this new information Brian calculated that Commander had four teams of snipers and spotters hidden further afield- although that information was unhelpful given that they had all taken aim. The one sniper that had misfired early had, disturbingly, been from the same team that seemed to be targeting himself. He wasn't certain whether the shot had missed it's mark because of Gwen's inflicted interference, or because of Commanders screamed counter-orders. Brian raised a hand in a possibly pointless gesture to placate the irate soldiers and their leader, a plea to stop before things spiraled out of control.

Gwen had simulated tinnitus in the minds of every soldier she could sense- and a moment later they had reacted. It was a simple equation, with a simple outcome. The professional calm that she'd sensed from all of Commanders men was gone now, and replaced with high-tension anticipation that they were about to have to fight for their very lives!- Commander and Brian were attempting to defuse them, but the soldiers combat instincts had been raised from nill to full in only a moment and it was going to be tough to re-establish a sense of calm. She could sense that Commanders mind had also shifted; his mechanically precise thoughts had given way to instinctive emotion and a desperate fearful urge to try to prevent his own men from carrying out his own orders. Her attack had obviously caught him by surprise...
Gwen sat in silence, seemingly ignoring every person present but the one man who bore her icy gaze.

Vector bounced on the balls of her feet. She had been ready to engage her super speed on a hair-trigger from the second she'd passed into Boura's airspace, but yet she hadn't engaged herself just yet. If she threw herself forward and started disarming Commanders men then the chance for a peaceful resolution would vanish irreparably... both Brian and even the Commander himself seemed willing to bring this meeting to a peaceful end, though, so she forced herself to remain at her normal speed. Her eyes, however, watched with hawk-like unblinking attention from another gunshot flash! The first stray misfire had taken her by surprise, but she was determined that to act before anyone would  have a chance to fire a second.

Black Magic hadn't moved. Only a mere second had passed and his reflexes were only mortal, after all. The knife wielding solider nearest to him had almost drove the point of his weapon into a hostages throat before Commanders Gift had disarmed him. An ace crackled up his sleeve, begging to be used.

Ivan watched the whole display distantly... and simply watched matters play out for now with stoic professionalism.

The echo of the failed gunshot faded away, and the whole stadium managed to fill with a thick sense of anticipation... Fingers bit triggers deep into their firing points, Gifts waited ready to be used, and almost everyone involved wondered why the almost civil exchange had turned so vicious so quickly!

"From what I understood of your message, Gifts were off the table," Gwen stated quietly before he continued, face remaining impassive despite a voice filling with menace. "You should know I'm the countermeasure to you here today, tactician. Next time you test your own rules, you will be a Commander of one."

Commander glared at her furiously, Gwen continued her cold stare.

"Brett, don't you get tired of the zero sum game? What have you gained?"

Brian paused letting the question go unanswered, already he could tell he needed to make it quick, "I really do. Both of our time is valuable," he said answering the man's statement, "I want you to know, you don't have to do that. Truth be told, all cards now on the table, we didn't come here for them, at least not entirely."

Brian had analyzed the situation and was using truth to steer the conversation into more tractable waters. He hoped his quick thinking could change the tone of the encounter before lives could be lost, while at the same time airing grievances, ones they could all share perhaps.

Brian jabbed a thumb towards the hostages, "Faye admitted that one or all of them were traitors, they aren't coming back with us...Just because we aren't Namidian doesn't mean we're the ITSDA. We aren't, Gwen's angry because the SA killed Faye, because someone thought that there was a good enough reason to kill Faye and with her, the Ring project. That's why you're here right? We're here because I'm curious if this idea will reach you, help us do things differently. I mean without Faye there's nothing, her Gift powered the thing. Humanity's greatest achievement, gone. I mean, who's next? I'm not your enemy Commander, never was. I want to work with you, to end this."

Brian readied himself for the second more likely possible outcome, he switched his suit to begin recording his own movements with a mental impulse. At this point that simply consisted of Meta's outstretched hand, a look of appeal and a face that showed the Commander his respect. He barely registered the discomfort of his fellow teammates as he suggested such a thing, he hoped they would go with it.

Commander slowly and very carefully moved his hand in the air and clenched his fist. A standard signal in the american military which simply meant 'stop'. The normal foot soldiers visible to Brian, Vector, Gwen and Black Magic all lowered their weapons by an inch or so- although they were clearly unwilling to leave themselves unprepared again.

"How would you know that I'd used my Gift, Brighteye's, if you weren't already inside my head?"
The question seemed mostly rhetorical, since it came out from clenched teeth and in a furious snarl.
"Mister Jameson, I would be happy to continue this discussion- but without your proxy. She is clearly unstable, and I have no way to be certain that she hasn't already interfered with my men with her little... stunt."
This message was last edited by the player at 23:37, Tue 27 Dec 2016.

 "She's angry, like I said," Brian said nonchalantly, "and I don't blame her. I'm angry too. Distance doesn't stop her Gift and it's passive, meaning she can't stop but she can keep to herself, so it's pointless to send her away. Rest assured that she won't do that again unless there is ample reason."

 He lied about distance being an issue but the Commander's own intel would tell him that she had been supporting Faye miles away. He then sent a coherent thought towards Gwen, he knew she was monitoring the team passively, "Thank you for your vigilance, but now we need to talk, not fight. Please reign it in. Keep it passive. Let me know if you sense anything first, unless you sense a game changing emergency. I'd like to keep you in this meeting. Cool?"

 He looked from Gwen back to the Commander, "Is that acceptable Commander?"

"Clearly you don't understand what it means to be psychic," Gwen sniped behind Brian, shoving her hands in her labcoat pockets and calmly stepping forward to stand beside him. "If I could possibly keep all of you out of my head, I would. Yet since it seems you are so cavalier as to break your own rule TWICE, knowing that I'm capable of sensing change in mind state..." she paused for a moment, turning her gaze toward the man who had been forced to drop his weapons, then his compatriots. Brian's message reached her loud and clear; but in order for her to do so she needed everyone present to understand that she would not tolerate another breach of the rules.

"Perhaps you all simply misunderstand the situation... Brian wants him. That is why all of you continue to breathe at this moment; but that man's Gift," she paused and pointed, pulling her hand out of her pocket and stabbing her finger at Brett, "is probable cause to me for putting all of you in the ground. The threat of imminent death or the destruction of our unique will clearly exists for us, something you are aware of and we are also aware of. Doubtless the very ground we stand on is littered with remote mines or some other such heavy overkill. We're not placing ourselves in the middle of a deathtrap for no reason, just like we're not walking into it without due countermeasure in place.

Commander," her eyes swiveled back to lock on Brett again, "I've seen you use your Gift twice now. I know exactly what triggers I'm looking for, still without looking. I reacted in self-defense in a non-lethal and harmless way against the first act, taking the best possible precaution that could be applied instantly and reacted to in a delayed fashion. For the second act you presented I felt the intent you manifested to direct it at another person, and so I refrained from reacting at all. Should I sense that intent again, directed at any person represented by Brian, I will kill every person under your command and fill your target's ears with ringing noises. Any other use of your Gift will be judged as it goes. Know that it's not my intent here to kill anyone. If Brian thinks you can help, then you can help. I'm simply not in the mood to tolerate any possible threat to people I hold dear to me. Now you know why. In that light, I believe I deserve to be present when what's on your table is discussed."

Brian had come here hoping to negotiate, which meant this man was not beyond hope despite the danger he represented and his past deeds. Regardless of what the Commander might think, Gwen was not nearly as furious or unhinged as she could have been. Had she not taken precautions, Brian simply mentioning Faye's death after the man broke his own rules would have tipped her past the edge. She would have justified slaying them all immediately as a global service; wiping out one of the more dangerous and elusive terrorist cells operating internationally in an instant was an easy sell to the media. So perhaps she wasn't perfectly together, yet she felt that for a man with a mind as clearly unhinged as Brett's to accuse her of simply being unstable... Whatever, black pot.
This message was last edited by the player at 16:12, Sun 01 Jan 2017.

At his father's insistence in his youth, Peter had been trained in a combative skill so his reflexes while still human were nonetheless faster than the average man. Despite this, he did not move when what amounted to a warning shot was fired; however when Brett attempted to stop his man from stabbing a hostage and found his command issued a hair's breath too late, the formerly deadly steel tip curled up upon contact with firm flesh as the lethal material was now but bendable rubber. While Black Magic's tricks tended to be a mixture of mental and physical actions, this one he did out of reflex at the speed of thought alone which outdistanced that of muscle and bone. Other than this act in defense of another however, he performed no other obvious signs of Magick.