Noncanon Battle Post


Frankie started her meandering walk trying to decide what she wanted to do on this fine day.  She had seen a notice yesterday at the library about a lecture on Medicinal Herbs at a nearby YMCA.  There was also an exhibit of large birds of prey at the park.  That could be very interesting also.  But then there was a show just set up concerning Colonial America at the museum of one of the universities.  She loved being spoiled for choice!  Then cane the demanding scream of sirens -- lots of them -- just ahead.  She sped up a bit and saw the sign for a financial institution.  Now what was more exciting than a bank robbery?  In this modern age and in New York City.   Someone was going Old School!

"Get bent Pigs!"

She wondered if they thought that they were being witty and why they had not just said "Fuzz" and be really Old School.

Frankie got to the crowd, and with a great use of elbows and bad manners, she moved to the front of the line.  There had been some hollering back and forth between the cops and the robbers, but she had missed it as she convinced people to get out of her way.  She was just in time to see the SWAT team  come around the corner and fire into the building.  She tsk-tsked; Hondo would never have pulled off such a dumb stunt.    A villain who looked something like Flash Gordon with that space gun of his came out and started melting things.  Then he was joined by the Tin Man who was beating up stuff.  One of them shouted about getting serious and calling in ... the what?  She shook her head; she must not have heard that right!    When the Tin guy threatened to slam down his big old fist on a cop, her ire came up as fast as did the whirlwind around her.  Her hair grew and snaked out to catch the wind.  By the time her feet left the ground, the crush of bystanders had retreated.  She hollered at the bully:

"Stop!  Maybe Ox never give ya nothin' ya didn't already have, but I got somethin' fer ya!"

Instead of driving his fist down into the cop on the ground, the bad man looked up at her and blinked.  What was she talking about?  He had straightened up and was preparing to leap; she actually let him get a few inches into the air when she slammed the bolt of lightening into him.  She actually got to hold it for several seconds until a burning ray broke her concentration.  She was patting out any little fires on her person and checked her hair as she turned her attention to Flash:

"I got sumethin' fer ya too Greedy!  Show him fellas!"

From out of a large storm drain, a veritable river of rats came swarming,   blanketing the ground and surging up and over the rifleman.  Ma sent them orders not to eat the guy, but she gave them permission to gnaw to pieces any of his gear.


Even though she was still peeved, her feet settled back to the ground as the doors flew open again and an unusual fellow came bounding out like  the male lead in Swan Lake.  Only he had silver hair and black skin straight out of a crayon box.  He had on a white suit and mask.  When he laughed and looked back towards the bank, she could see glowing green eyes.  A large, bald man came chasing after him, and the second man was very angry indeed.  Turning en point, the first fellow who was having too much fun waved and said:

"Toodles!"

and behind him a point of light shown out and opened itself both vertically and horizontally until it was a door.  The modern jester disappeared into it.  Just seconds before it winked out, the giant who was neither jolly nor green through himself through it.

Ma cackled and said aloud:

"Yeah, that's shit ya see every day!"

Her feet left the ground again, but this time motivated by surprise as two hands clapped down on her shoulders, one of them patting, and a somewhat familiar voice from behind her asked,

"Isn't it just my dear?  Like the earth opening beneath your feet and swallowing you!"

At that moment, approximately twenty-four inches of earth and paving disappeared beneath Frankie's feet, and she dropped.  She lost her balance and was in the process of falling onto her butt, but the pavement that had kept its place behind her was suddenly covered by a large Unjolly Not-Green Giant who was flat of his face.  When she landed on him, he whoofed out nearly all of the air in his lungs and started screaming. Ma decided that a hasty advance would best behoove her as the now thinnerer man shoved to his feet.  As he was turning his rage to vent on her, she luckily saw his original target standing by the building wall, bent over and holding his belly as he guffawed in riotous hilarity.

"THAR HE IS!"

Ma shouted,


pointing and hoping to distractBig Ugly who was so pissed at this point that he was beyond verbal. And even though she could not control the pathways of the stars, they blessed her so that it did indeed work.  Of course it could just be that the Creative Force in the Universe liked slapstick, but that is  a fthe subject best met with a   philosophical session down at the beer hall.

 The ginormous man thundered off towards his nemesis.  The very ground quaking beneath his feet as he made rapid advancement towards his goal, now inescapably in sight.    Now standing upright, the very merry fellow opened his arms in welocme and waved, calling out:


"Ciao!  Be careful now!"

as the door opened behind him and he stepped backwards into it.  Baldy was closer to  him this time,  and a wordless screech of victory raged out of him as he through himself at the doorway once more.  The doorway was, however, only a glowing remnant of its former dooriscosity .  But the wall was still there!  A third failed criminal was out for the count.
The door opened yet again, and a woman an with a helmet thingie on her head came out and headed towards Ma.  She stopped several feet away and addressed the older woman:

"All of the hostages are wired with bombs, and this ..."

she held up a small device about the size of a cell phone

"is the detonator.  I will make a deal with you: allow me to get out of here with my companions without any hassle, and I will give this to you.  deal?"

Ma stared at the youngster with a look of disbelief,

"And I'm suppsed ta believe that yer not gonna double-cross me an' kill them folks anyhow?  I didn't fall offa the turnip truck yestiddy sugar, but sounds ta me like ye was pushed offfa it!"

Sighing in disgust, the young woman decided that she did not really have time for this foolish old bitch.  When the SWAT team went down, the cops had begun pulling back and trying to get the lookie-lous back as well.  Who knew when the crap they were going to come back?  She turned her back and stalked off to gather her comrades.  Ma called to her once more:

"I'm mighty grateful fer this, but ya do recall thet I did not agree to it?"

Screaming in frustration, the last villain standing turned to berate the old 'hero'.  The two large eagles dove and hit her in the back at the same time.  She did go down, but not before flying forward several feet.

"Sit on her please."

Ma had remembered her manners.  Very carefully she picked up the detonator that the now unconscious felon had given her.  She paid special attention to NOT touching any of the buttons on it.

For a very brief moment, there was  as much silence as one could have in NYC until the sound of two horses came clattering down a side street and turned onto the one where Ma was standing.  One of the mounted cops had given up trying to control his animal and was just enjoying the ride.  A younger man on the other horse was standing in the stirrups and pulling back on the reins as hard as he could.  When the horses stopped by Ma, he very nearly went ass over tea kettle, but managed to save his ego from any real damage.  Ma looked up and smiled at them,

"You boys might wanna get the bomb squad in hyar ta take care of this here detonator what is hooked to bombs on the hostages in thuh bank -- only they ain't hostages anymore.  Better get the paddy wagon fer thuh crooks thar, thar, and thar.  Probably gonna wanna call something called the ITSDA too.  Call the ambulances also.  I will ride me in one of 'em ta get this burn looked at".

Her hair finished retreating to its normal length.

[21 blank lines suppressed]

Frankie started her meandering walk trying to decide what she wanted to do on this fine day. She had seen a notice yesterday at the library about a lecture on Medicinal Herbs at a nearby YMCA. There was also an exhibit of large birds of prey at the park; that could be very interesting as well. But then there was a show just set up concerning Colonial America at the museum of one of the universities. She loved being spoiled for choice! Then came the demanding scream of sirens -- lots of them -- just ahead. She sped up a bit and saw the sign for a financial institution. Now what was more exciting than a bank robbery? In this modern age and in New York City, someone was going Old School!

The cop cars had formed a little semi-circle around the bank. The air was thick with tension, and Ma decided to watch the situation play out rather than break whatever stalemate had formed between the building's robbers and the responding officers.

Seconds later, New York's finest made their move. A squad of SWAT officers make their way around the building's corner and take cover in the robbers' blind spots beneath the storefront. The observing crowd fell silent and a few faces turned away as they anticipated what would come next. Francine's eyes were alight with steely determination and utterly focused on the bank as she saw the SWAT members spring from their cover and place careful single shots into the building. A handful of rounds were fired, but they were instantly rebuked by a concentrated lance of searing red energy that sent them screaming to the ground with blistering skin.

The door to the bank kicked outwards, and the criminal who appeared risked taking several bullets to shout out a challenge.

"I thought that we said not to use any tricks! What happens next is on you!"

Saying that, the gunman let loose with his weapon. Compared to the officers' automatic rifles, his weapon was practically space-aged; it resembled a large scientific rifle with an ominously glowing barrel. Where the shooter's last shot had only sent a squad of armed men to the ground with superficial injuries, his second barrage was more concentrated, vaporizing the front of a police cruiser under a punishing barrage of infrared laser fire!

Police scattered, and their attempts to return fire at unbelievably well-armed robber fell short of a solid hit. As they regrouped, the crowd around Ma surged as a mixture of spectators tried to flee the scene or draw closer for a better look. A particularly heavy shove almost sent her sprawling to the ground, but she fought to keep her feet and watched on as the battle escalated...

By now, the burglar with the advanced microwave rifle had been joined by a second man, who wore some kind of mechanical battle suit. He leapt thirty feet through one of the banks windows and slammed two fists into a police cruiser as he landed. The attacker's armored joints whined and sparked as bullets bounced off of him, but it didn't seem to cause him any harm. He simply strode forwards to throw a policeman violently to the ground, before striding over to finish him off with a second attack!

"Do we look like we're here to fight salarymen?! Hurry up and call in the experts, you bastards!"

Ma reddened; her ire came up as fast as did the whirlwind around her. Her hair grew and snaked out to catch the wind. By the time her feet left the ground, the horde of bystanders had retreated. She hollered at the bully:

"Stop!  Maybe Ox never give ya nothin' ya didn't already have, but I got somethin' fer ya!"

Instead of driving his fist down into the cop on the ground, the bad man looked up at her and blinked. What was she talking about? He had straightened up and was preparing to leap; she actually let him get a few inches into the air before she slammed the bolt of lightning into him. She actually held the bolt on him for several seconds until a burning ray broke her concentration. She patted out the little fires on her person and checked her hair as she turned her attention to the "Flash Gordon" flunkie.

"I got sumethin' fer ya too Greedy! Show him fellas!"

From out of a large storm drain, a veritable river of rats came swarming,   blanketing the ground and surging up and over the rifleman. Ma sent them orders not to eat the guy, but she gave them permission to gnaw to pieces any of his gear.

While the rifleman wildly swung his heat ray wildly and vaporized dozens of rats, the exo-suited soldier sprang forwards in a powerful leap. Francine yelped at the death of her friends as she jumped back away from the mech-man, only to feel her face blister in heat as the other mercenary finally turned his laser-like rife on her. She reached out with her Gifts and made the earth under the stubborn rifleman's feet tremble to disrupt his aim and keep her from being flash-fried! The armored soldier took the opportunity to strike at her again. And this punch found it's mark on the side of her head - and hit with enough force to send her sailing through the air and crashing heavily onto the road a good ten feet away!

Ma got to her feet shakily, and spat out a gob of blood that had begun to pool in her mouth. She'd never been hit THAT hard before, but her robust constitution had kept her from passing out. She locked eyes with her two attackers furiously.

"So ye' think yh've got stones' do ye'? Ah'll have ye' know it'll take ah' lot more'n that t' keep me DOWN!"

With the last word she uttered, a wall of wind as tall as a building surged itself down the street and sent the nearby bystanders wailing to the ground and herself almost off her feet! The rifleman sunk to his knees and strained every muscle in his body to keep himself from being thrown back under the full force of Ma Nature's might, whilst the power-suited man had to anchor himself against her onslaught by driving his fist into the ground.

The rifleman sent another lance of energy at her, and Ma hissed in pain as her side was seared with first degree burns. She suffered through the wound and sent her attacker flying with a gesture that blew him screaming off his feet with a storm of ice-cold wind. The thug crashed through one of the banks reinforced windows with concussive force.

Francine's anger was unabated and she threw another typhoon down the street to knock out the second criminal, but inside the bank a spectator eyed the battlefield with a calm, content smile on his face...

Mister Khaos leaned back in one of the waiting chairs with one leg crossed over the other. He held a conical paper cup from the water cooler like a wine glass and sipped from it.

"Such fine choices to be made and choices that have been made, and it would appear that I have a backstage pass."

Killer Queen jumped at Khaos' sudden appearance.

"Who are you?" asked Killer Queen as she glanced at the interloper.

"Now that is a question that I'm afraid I don't have time to answer. As for you, you have many choices to make. Release the hostages or don't release the hostages? Fight or surrender or even run? Tell me what choice will you make?" What will you do now that a Gifted has appeared? How are you going to... entertain me?"

"I'm not," said Queen as she picked up the remote detonator for the hostage's bombs and whispered something into her radio. "That's his job."

"Very well, my dear. Suit yourself," said Khaos.

Bohemian, the tower of chemically-enhanced muscle that stood behind her, lunged at the odd stranger. But before his hands could grab the freak and throttle his puny little neck, Khaos suddenly appeared behind him. He left no trace of his previous location behind; it was like he was never there in the first place!

Turning instantly and charging at the teleporter, Bohemian again missed his target and smacked his fist against a window. Yet his bloodied, slashed fingers didn't seem to bother him one bit. He turned his head slowly to spot his enemy once again occupying a chair next to the teller's booth. With ferocious, catlike rage he somersaulted off the bank's wall, only to slam head-first onto a golden crowd control post that a gust of wind from outside just happened to move into his path.

A yawning Mister Khaos looked past the clever little thug and continued watching the battle between Ma and the others unfold.

"Don't be so limited in your thinking, my friend. Your possibilities are beginning to bore me. Perhaps that Gifted woman will prove more interesting...? One can hope."

Khaos' glowing green eyes locked on to Ma Nature. The earthly matron pelted Flash, the criminal boasting the newfangled powered armor, with massive hailstones. But before too long, the storm grew out of control. Truly titanic spheres of ice began to pouf down from the sky, crashing through skyscrapers like bunker-buster bombs and crunching police cars beneath their weight. A lucky cluster of spheres smacked Flash directly in the face, forcing him to kneel before nailing him to the ground.

**Ca-Krunch!**

Ma gasped; she'd never intended to put anyone else in danger through her actions. When she'd used her attack, she hadn't even expected her true target to suffer anything more than a few bruised ribs!

Bellowing with rage, Mister Farenheit shot as many balls of ice as he could out of the sky and very nearly drilled a hole into Ma Nature's stomach with his laser. But he missed by an inch. Ma's hand shook as she raised it and prepared to defend herself.

"What is your choice, my dear?" asked Mister Khaos to himself from inside the bank. "Spare the boy and perhaps your soul, or pay evil unto evil?"

At that moment, approximately twenty-four inches of earth and paving disappeared beneath Farenheit's feet, and he fell deep into the Earth. And before she could even try and stop the quake, Francine Underwood almost joined him! She slipped and fell, but called out to her eagle friends just in time for them to catch her!

Ma was dumbstruck. Had her Gift gone haywire? Had nature itself turned against her; had she spurned it so greatly?

The pitter-patter of boots on paved cement brought her back to her senses. She raised her fists instinctively as she saw a third felon approach her. This one was wearing some kind of holographic headpiece, and had a variety of strange gadgets on her person - yet another unexpectedly over-equipped criminal.

"One step closer an' ah'll fry yer' like ah' fish!"

Thunder crackled ominously overhead as Ma punctuated her words. She definitely didn't have the hot-blooded stubborn streak that she'd started the fight with, but she was still committed to stopping them, or trying to stop them... even if it meant drawing some blood.

"Peace. I have an offer for you."

The third criminal called out, and extended something in her palm. It looked like some kind of remote control.

"The hostages inside are wired with explosives. I will trade you the detonator for my two comrades here, and your non-interference for the rest of my mission."

The cyber-criminal indicated the rifleman and armored thug with two nods. Ma skeptically scanned the mechanical woman.

"And I'm suppsed ta believe that yer not gonna double-cross me an' kill them folks anyhow?  I didn't fall offa the turnip truck yestiddy sugar, but sounds ta me like ye was pushed offfa it!"

Sighing in disgust, the career criminal decided that she really did not have time for this foolish old bitch. When the SWAT team went down, the cops had begun pulling back and trying to get the onlookers back as well. Who knew when they were going to come back? With a resigned sigh, she threw the detonator underhanded to skitter along the road and come to Ma's feet.

"Don't be stubborn. Neither of us have anything to gain by blowing up innocents, and this fight proves nothing- I'm afraid that something else has been manipulating us."

The criminal left Ma and knelt to recover her two comrades and pull them of sight. Distant wailing sirens began to draw closer from a few blocks away.

"The mission has already gone out of control. Extending it only increases the chances of civilian casualties."

Ma looked down at the detonator with a scowl and picked it up with infinite care- she didn't know how it was wired, so she took special care not to touch anything on it at all.

"Righ'! Fine! We'll call this one ah' tie, then! Jus' cause yer' don't seem t' be takin' it seriously!"

Ma could, of course, zap the criminals in the back with a bolt of lightning - but  with the way things were, her Gift might only make things worse. Still, it didn't improve her mood to know that. Is this what normal people feel like all the time - helpless, afraid to make even the slightest move for fear of the world collapsing in on you? No wonder people get so pissed at each other...

After she'd heard a screech of rubber from the heist crew's getaway vehicle as it sped away, she let loose with a frustrated string of colorful curses and a savage kick that sent a chunk of rubble clattering down the street.

Mister Khaos now sat atop the railing of a nearby balcony that gave him a perfect view of the action. He waved at the getaway car as it took off with an unconscious Bohemian in the backseat and shook his head slightly.

"And she thought she wouldn't be entertaining me today... Hehe. How little they know, for all their confidence and bluster. How little they know."

Season 2

Phoenix Crimson had three major talents.
First, he was among the hardest-hitting agents the ITSDA could field. A fact that was only slightly diminished by the fact that he was among their least durable.
Secondly, he considered his Karaoke skills to be unsurpassed.

-But over the last few months it had been his third talent that he'd had to call upon the most. Over the course of his career he'd built up a public image that'd helped him spin the media, and to market himself.
The general public still seemed to be mostly unaware of his association with the ITSDA, but when he'd spoken out in defence of the actions of 'certain Gifted individuals' he'd nonetheless attracted a lot of the misplaced outrage that the world now seemed to have for his organisation.

As the situation worsened Phoenix had to spend less and less time defending the innocent, and more and more time defending himself and his fellow agents against scrutiny.
The ITSDA may have won Gaultown, sure, but the propaganda victory belonged to Namidias- and the villians had pushed that advantage relentlessly.

His most recent attempt to smooth things over took place in the recently rebuilt central park, and he has alerted various media agencies that he would be willing to field questions from the press and public for the morning. Crimson hoped that the setting would remind the press how valuable a team of sworn protectors could be, as lately most seemed to have forgotten.

---

"...what seems to have been left unreported is the fact that President Galvez's had already survived an assassination attempt that day, it was only the Namidian's second attempt that succeeded. To say that the forces of justice were, as the press put it, 'helpless and incompetent against Namidian forces' is a gross misrepresentation of the truth. If not completely wro-"

"Mister Crimson!"
-one of the many reporters cut him off. Phoenix knew that they weren't here to hear him make excuses. Spreads about the ITSDAs scandalous failures were popular media fodder, but Daniel was wise to their tricks and would offer nothing that they could print as ammunition.
"-Is it true that the Gaultown aggressors have been condemned by the United Nations?!"

It wasn't a question. The information was guarded but accessible knowledge, and the reporter was trying to goad him into embellishing the truth. No dice. Crimson grit his teeth in frustration, and answered back in the politest tone he could muster.

"The Gaultown peacekeepers have been granted permission to continue their work as normal, and the United Nations are working on closer terms with their organisation. This cooperation has been mutually beneficial..."

More questions followed. Phoenix did what damage control he could. The public had made up its mind about what to think of their protectors, but he tried to change their opinion in whatever small way he could. He hated the fact that the public had lost faith in their heroes. The dirty way that people now spoke of his team offended him on a personal level, and stood against everything he believed in.
This message was last edited by the player at 00:42, Sun 12 June 2016.

Vincent huffed a deep sigh as the van rolled along the street. He glanced to a window in the back doors and sighed. They were blacked out from the outside with various gang tags in layers. He looked around at the three men sitting with him and spoke aloud for the upteenth time, "I really hate this plan."

The men looked at him with sympathy. They weren't fans either, but you did as ordered and had faith in the leaders. Nigma and Dieter were masterminds and could lead them all to victory. Few understood the psychological aspect of ghoul training. Every single one of these men had sat down in a personal interview with Dieter at one point where he discussed why they worked for him. They weren't just criminals, there was a goal. Still, this mission was special; the team was comprised of the only four survivors of the Gaultown wars. It was important that SA still looked dormant; that it was not recruiting. Vincent as these men had to look like remnants not a surgical strike team.

Vincent shrugged in his own suit o ghoul armor. His was slate Gray and had a few additional features designed by Nigma herself. Her voice crackled over the internal comms, +You don't need to like it Mr. Gray. Just follow the plan.+

He grit his teeth but mentally repeated himself.

Glancing through the windshield showed him their destination was approaching. A large bank located a few blocks from the southern end of Central Park. "Equipment check." He barked the order and the men began to inspect their equipment one last time as the van came to a halt in front of the bank. The men piled out and the van took off. Three Ghouls in their characteristically insectoid armor, one Gray ghouls, and a Banshee. They hustled toward the door at a run while the van tore off down the street. In each man's HUD, a timer started and they moved according to the plan.

With military precision the team walked through the front door. One ghoul stopped long enough to usea grip of zip ties on each door to hold them shut. A second moved off toward the known secondary exits. The Banshee and third ghoul moved toward the stairs up. Vincent stepped into the middle of the room and fired three shots from his revolver into the air. "Ladies and gentlemen, we are desperate men. Survivors of Gaultown. We have come here to make a withdrawal. SO, please, if everyone could gather here?... NOW!"

At the last loud order, people began to calm down and follow orders. Some looked defiant, a few looked panicky, many looked angry, but most were scared stupid. Each was zip tied to another patron then tied to a railing of other object. Shortly, the bank employees from upstairs were escorted down and similarly tied. The ghouls then swept the building while the Banshee took up a position on the second floor the overlooked the main entrance. In their HUDs, the timer ticked to 0 then restarted. +Tactical confirmation. Main entrance overwatched. Secondary exits all mined and secured. Here is the bank manager's profile. Proceed with operation.+

Vincent nodded and sighed, "Hate this plan.", but gave the orders to locate the manager. At this point, a racket outside announced the arrival of the NYPD. For now, none of the men inside had displayed gifted ability so none of those organizations had been notified. Though, once their armor was identified, that might change; they were known gifted associates and chances should not be taken. Vincent stood as the men worked and looked through the various electronic devices they had confiscated. Some were the newest thing; all of them were subpar compared to SA tech. He picked one at random, an iPhone with a Hello Kitty case. He held it up for the crowd to see, "Whose is this?"

It took some coaxing and a gun to some granny's head for a 20 something woman to hold up her hand, a bank employee. She was fetched and he led her into a back room where he handed her the phone. "You will dial 9-1-1 and report that as the men invaded the bank security officer shot the man in gray armor and he healed miraculously." She looked at him in confusion. The timer in his HUD ticked to 0. He pulled the glove off his left hand and drew one of his 9mm. He grit his teeth as he set the muzzle against his palm and pulled the trigger; she screamed loudly. "Call or I will shoot you next and find a more willing subject. Say you hid when we entered."

The woman dialed and began to talk shakily while staring at him like he was a nightmare. "Hello... yes, uhm, an emergency. I work at the Central Park branch of Wells Fargo... yes, the one the men just took hostage. Yes. No, I hid in the back when they entered. No. No. Listen, one got shot and... and I watched him heal! He's one of those gifted! Yes, No. I am sure. Wait! NO! N..."

He voice cut off as he casually tore the phone from her hand, "Come here! Who are you! Thought you could hide, eh?" Her scream was surely cut off as he smashed her phone. The NYPD needed a sample of his voice to identify him as the gifted villain Vincent Lee. That job done, he dragged her back to the lobby and retied her. Any deep analysis of the phone call would know it was staged; it wouldn't matter. In the HUD of each man, the timer ticked away toward the next mark.

"...no. No! For the last time, the various Gifted burglaries in the area were not handled by the ITSDA. You can't blame them for-"

"Mister Crimson! If the ITSDA did not intervene at these events where the hell were they?!"
One Journalist, with a whirring dictaphone held high in the air, called out angrily to him.
"Where were you?!"
Another reporter chimed in.
Phoenix recognised that they were trying to get him flustered, and to blurt out a coarse quotable answer. Normally that kind of dirty tactic would work well against Phoenixes impulsive nature, but he swallowed his pride and resolved not to lose his cool, not while he was infront of a camera.

"At the time of those attacks I imagine that the rest of the ITSDA were dealing with the Chicago incident, either through subduing villains or assisting evacuations. I was doing the same. That's to say nothing of the cleanu-"

The muted sound of distant Police sirens cut across his senses. Their familiar wail triggered an almost pavlovian response of excitement in him, and he snapped his head around to face their direction. He turned back to the press and offered them a cocky smirk- the first that he'd given all day.

"People of the press- I'm afraid that's all I have time for this morning! Duty calls, but if you have further questions I can be contacted on my website at 'www-dot-PhoenixCrim-'"

The media writers barraged him with a flood of questions and demands as he begun his wrap-up. They'd been chasing the scent of blood all throughout the interview, and the fact that Daniel hadn't given them anything to confirm their current biases had agitated them. Phoenix turned his back on them, flicked his scarf over his shoulder, and took to the air with a running explosive leap that left the park behind.

---

Phoenix touched down with a bang, although not in his usual mortar-like fashion. His handlers had told him repeatedly that such flashy entrances were disruptive, but it'd only been recently that he'd taken their advice to heart. He'd needed to. It galled him incredibly, but even something as simple as disturbing the peace or cracking a little concrete without good reason was now enough to get him chewed out in an an uncomfortable meeting with the ITSDA's top brass. The 'Gaultown group' had taken on the worst of the flack for their recent actions, but other Agents such as himself were also being held on a short leash. Until the organisation had survived the UN's scrutiny, at least.

By the time he'd landed his handlers were already informing him that this was no simple robbery, and that a phone call placed from within the building seemed to confirm that at least one of the assailants were Gifted. The outside of the bank was set with responding officers, and Phoenix raised both hands to them in a gesture of pacification before seeking out the highest ranked among them. The Officer in question addressed him before he had a chance to speak.

"Phoenix Crimson. This falls under NYPD jurisdiction. Please get behind the cordon- with the rest of the civilians!"

Most people seemed to know Phoenix by appearance, nowadays. Even if this Officer in particular didn't seem to be a fan. Namidias's propaganda had, at least, gotten him out of the celebrity 'D-List'.

"Not any more, Officer. The ITSDA have reason to suspect that one or more of the criminals inside possess a healing Gift. I've been asked to standby."
Technically a lie. Crimson had left the minute he heard sirens, and hadn't been told the situation until he was already coming in for his landing. The fact that the situation did fall under ITSDA jurisdiction was nothing but good luck.
"Where do you want me?"

"Just stay out of the goddamn way."

Crimson was already pushing the limits of his handlers patience, and rather than shout out a speech toward the bank and address the burglars directly he decided to follow the orders of the police already at the scene. There was a time and a place for bold heroism which Phoenix decided, for once, was not now. The peacekeepers surrounding him made their preparations to follow out their own strategies.

Vincent wasn't enjoying the plan any more as the countdown moved toward zero again. He was going about his work though. THe bank manager was identified and brought before him. Vincent sighed heavily and motioned to a small device he had set on a table in the conference room, "Shut up and listen. Try to be smart, please?"

With an audible huff, Nigma's voice emitted from the speaker. "Do try and be cordial Mr. Gray, won't you? We wouldn't want to get a bad reputation, would we? Anyway, Mr. Holandale I presume. Our names and organization are unimportant. We know your bank's policies and operating manuals in these situations. If you wish, we can demonstrate that... "an immediate and lethal threat is imminent for bank personnel and patrons" if you wish, but could we please avoid that? I assure you that Mr. Gray is a very skilled and professional assassin."

Vincent glared at the speaker through his visor but waited quietly and obediently for the manager to stammer through his syllables, "Er.. well, I couldn't... but how could...?! Er, well, I suppose." Vincent was getting annoyed so he pulled the revolver from his kit, opened the cylinder to remove all but two bullets, then closed and spun it before pointing it at the man. He pulled the trigger: *click*. The man went from confused, to horror, to pissing himself in short order. "Yes, yes: of course godammit!"

"Brilliant and only a modicum of threat and force needed! Please lead my associate to the vault and open it for him, sir."

"Did it have to be him?"

"I am afraid so, certain timetables require it."

Shortly after that, Vincent watched as the man was opening the vault. He wasn't paying attention to the man reeking of urine but to the timer as it wound down to zero and flashed red. He closed his eyes briefly hoping that it the analysis of response times was off when the radio crackled, +Phoenix Crimson inbound as on the predicted timetable.+ It would be the sniper on the roof. "Bloody wonderful. I saw what that guy did to Scarlet. Fuck if I want to tangle with that."

The vault swung open and he stepped in. Lots of cash, which he ignored, and banks and banks of safe deposit boxes. He moved along them and tapped a series of six after checking the numbers, "Open... NOW!" The man obligingly informed him that he could not do so without the customers' keys. Vincent pulled a string of six keys out of his kit and handed them over. The man looked shocked, looked at the revolver, then moved about the business. +sir, they are requesting contact. Proceed as planned?+

+Yeah, fuck them.+

+Confirmed, sir.+ Vincent admired, as always, the cool professionalism of Dieter's soldiers even as he emptied the six boxes' contents into a bag and slung it over his shoulder. He closed each box, locked it again, then casually drew his revolver and shot the manager. No one was to know immediately which boxes had been looted. When the robbery was over, the boxes' contents would be checked, but that would take time, and not every one of the owners would cooperate.

He walked out of the vault and pushed it closed then headed for the main lobby. The hostages all had bags and earmufflers on. None had heard the shot. He looked at his men and sighed. He then walked slowly up the stairs and into the office where the Banshee was laid out with its rifle. He tossed the bag onto the table and sighed again, "Get going. Phase two on my mark... mark." The timer began to tick again. The banshee took the loot and made for the roof.

Vincent moved back down the stairs and picked up the phone as it rang, "Hi, this the guy with the bullhorn? Fuck you. Let me talk to the crimson popinjay..." He waited as the officer hesitated, then stated, "One hostage is dead, sir. Do you want to go for two today? Or six? Put Crimson on the phone, NOW." He waited again for the man to hand the phone over after a long silence. When the hero answered he grinned and said, "We want two dozen pizzas from Paulie's Pizzeria in Queens and 53 bottles of water. STAT errand boy." All part of Nigma's plan. He hung the phone up.

- Non-Cannon battle post -

Daniel unexpectedly received the police communicator, as the Officer handed it over urgently.
"Wh-"
The caller was already talking, and he had to interrupt himself to listen. The moment they'd finished he spat back a reply.
"Villain! You ha-"
The line clicked dead. The caller clearly wasn't interested in humouring any threats. Crimson swore in Malay as he returned the device.
[Pukimak!]

Crimson considered his options. For a ludicrous moment he wondered where he'd even be able to get 53 bottles of water, and how he could get them back to the building without them... well... exploding. He shook the thought from his head; it didn't make sense that the hostage takers needed him to gather supplies- it felt more like an insult, and it'd worked. He hesitated a moment to rethink, before speaking to the Officer.

"A taunt. They demanded food, but it didn't sound very sincere."

"Agreed. Criminals don't usually demand supplies the minute that first-responders make the scene. They're trying to delay us."
Oh! The policeman actually agreed with Phoenix on something! Even though he didn't seem to hold any love for Gifted there was at least a smart head on his shoulders. Good!
"My men are breaching now. - And you! -Boy!" A finger jabbed into Phoenix's chest  "-Are going to leave this to the professionals!"

Phoenix burned with impotent agitation, but held his tongue. He had to choke down an automatic and colourful reply. By now journalists would have found the sirens, and they'd love nothing more than to snap a polaroid of the senior Police Sergeant and Vigilante in the middle of a shouting match.

A group of armed policemen snuck around the buildings alleyways, through the banks blind spots, and divided into two units. Standard procedure. One unit took up position by a side service door, while the other prepared to storm the front entrance. A brave Vanguard from the 'front team' broke cover to blast the zip-ties securing the front door open with his shotgun.
Predictably, The attempt drew fire. A scythe of bullets tore through the buildings glass entrance to send the Vanguard to the ground as his body convulsed and sent puffs of red mist into the air. His comrades sprung from their positions and returned fire, before a second criminal gunman added his weight into the firefight. The sound of crackling gunshots filled the air for only a few second as both sides tried to eliminate each other- but the villains within the building refused to give ground, and somehow outfought their foes. None of the first team had survived, and all had been put down with tight efficient bursts of military-grade ammunition.

The Crimson crusader paced restlessly, and gathered his Gift to leap into battle. He knew that something was wrong, but a threatening look from the Officer forced him to stay rooted to the backlines even as his lack of patience was more than ready to boil over. The second squad made their move and battered down their entrance with a portable-ram, before the whole unit was annihilated by some kind of explosive trap.

"Right, that does it!- PHOENIX!-"
Daniel blasted himself toward danger without even bothering to trigger his 'flight mode'. The NYPD were obviously outmatched, and he couldn't bear spectating for even a second longer. Now that first-blood had been drawn the criminals would probably execute a few hostages, just to make their point! That couldn't be allowed to happen!

---

"-PUNCH!"
Phoenix burst into the bank through it's lobby window, and the toughened exterior glass didn't even slow him down. His momentum carried him sailing through the air, which let him cast practised eyes around the entire room to get a better look at what threats he was about to face:
The room was littered with hostages. All wore hoods and ear-mufflers, and many were zip-tied onto the sparse furniture that the buildings modern lobby contained.
There didn't seem to be many gunmen, but they looked well equi- Hey! Phoenix recognised those uniforms!
"DAMN!"
He swore in English for a change, and forced himself to the ground with a blast behind his back just as a storm of buzzing lead filled the air where he'd have been a microsecond earlier. He landed in front of some kind of ornamental fountain, and flattened himself into cover.

'What the hell are Schwartze Augen doing here?!'
His mind raced. He'd fought them before. He'd fought them a lot, actually. Each time they seemed to get better and better at predicting his tactics.
'No wonder the SWAT team were cut down so quickly!'
To say  that he felt fear would be an overstatement, but he was suddenly taking the fight a lot more seriously. If he'd been up against simple crooks he would have been able to take on twenty or more... but against Namidian soldiers he needed to exercise all the caution that he could.

*Mpppphm!*
A muffled scream of panic by his side demanded his attention, and he saw that a hostage had been zip-tied onto his cover. Heavy armour-piecing shells were already reducing the water feature to rubble, and without a second thought Phoenix explosively dived into the open to seek a new hiding spot. For the brief moment that he was exposed he heard a bullet sing past his ear, and another pluck a hole in his trailing scarf- when it came to dodging rounds he was generally quite lucky, but he knew that it wouldn't be wise to chance more than a split second at a time. He vaulted over some kind of decorative marble urn and tried to think up a strategy to take out the overwatching gunmen...
*MHRMArrhmm!!!*
"Oh! Come on!"
This piece of cover had a hostage tied to it as well! This time on the vulnerable side facing the gunmen! Phoenix didn't even waste time to draw breath as he dived out into the open again- he had to find a place where he could gather his Gift without putting anyone at risk!
Bullets blazed past Crimson, and he even felt one richoctte off his gauntlet with an impact that left his fingers numb. Ahead of him he could see a wide structural column! Perfect! He kicked another explosion behind himself and twisted midair to make himself as small a target as possible, but as he travelled the last few feet an armoured figure stepped out from the pillars far side, and levelled a revolver at him! This one was dressed in Slate Grey.

"I really wanted that Pizza, [Chìhóng]."

The voice spoke with tense focus. Despite the mocking sentence it was clear that 'Mister Grey' was taking the fight as seriously as his opponent. The cylinder was already cycling on his revolver.
Crimson redirected energy to the ball of his foot and shot himself eight feet into the air with a desperate hop. The heavy slug thundered as it flew underneath him, and he raised his fist to take out Vincent with an aerial downstrike! Revolvers were powerful, but against a foe as quick as Crimson you only got one shot- and he was a difficult target.

"PHOENIX!-"
Vincent stared into the same fist that'd made a mess of his comrade, and re-aimed his gun. It was obvious that he wouldn't be able to pull the trigger a second time, but instead of even trying he simply clenched his fist and activated some kind of device mounted onto his gauntlet. Flechette shells slashed into the air in a wide cone, and caught Phoenix in a cloud of stinging metal that stopped his attack dead in it's tracks.
"-PU-AUUGHH!"

E.Nigma had done her job well. Phoenix Crimson had been a persistent thorn in S.A's side for a while now; His talent for surviving against long odds and dealing crippling damage with a single punch made him a difficult foe to plan against- but the woman's ability to resolve large amounts of information had revealed his true weaknesses.
You see, Phoenix Crimson wasn't unlike other ITSDA operatives, who were asked to operate with subtlety and caution. Almost all of Crimsons major fights had been recorded, celebrated on the news, and then stored on a certain convenient fansite. Some of 'PhoenixCrimson.coms' archives dated as far back as to when the boy was fourteen. Figuring out how exactly he avoided damage, how he attacked, what his psychological triggers were, and how to exploit them had been pathetically easy. 'Nigma had planned this entire encounter down to a finely detailed script, and so far Phoenix Crimson hadn't stepped a millimetre outside her predictions.

Phoenix burned all over as his nerves struggled to tell him where he hurt most. The Heavy ceramic armour along his chest was pitted and nailed with slivers of metal, the weaker under-suit was shredded open along his side, and half of his face had been caught directly in the attack. If it wasn't for his mask he'd be blinded, but instead he was simply maimed.
Acting against his instincts to flinch and cry out in pain Phoenix saved his own life by redirecting the force of his attack back into his leg, and wallkicking himself high into the air. He saw a glass-fronted executive office overlooking the banks main lobby on the second floor, and with a second set of explosives he sent himself crashing through it into cover at last! Gunfire trailed behind him, and he pressed to the ground as they followed him into the office to tear great chunks out of the walls and ceiling. He looked up for a moment and saw that he wasn't alone in the room at all, and that a fourth Ghoul trooper was about to fire at him from the hip! He tried to dodge, but his injured muscles wouldn't oblige. Bullets tore up the carpet around him and Phoenix sent the soildier flying back with a gesture that detonated the air between them- the reactionary blast wasn't able to seriously injure the man, but it was enough to send him fleeing from the office.

Phoenix took a deep breath. The first real injection of oxygen he'd had since he'd entered the building. The Ghouls attacking him were relentless, and the entire battle that he'd survived downstairs had only lasted less than six seconds! He took another breath and tried to finally get his thoughts straight.
'Why is this so difficult?!' He thought desperately. 'I've fought these guys before! I've won, most of the time! These four should be nothing to me!'
It seemed that from the second he entered the building that his opponents had pre-empted his every move. This went beyond mere bad-luck, and made him suspicious. He pondered the problem for a leisurely half-second longer before another thought intruded in his mind.
'Wait- why hasn't that fourth guy tried to counter attack yet?!'
Phoenix's pupils narrowed in genuine panic, and he struggled to make his injured legs bear his weight.

*Ka-BLAMNN!*

The second floor office blossomed into a fiery explosion, and Phoenix threw himself back out the way he'd come a second too late to avoid the blast completely- but a second too early to be turned into charcoal. The bastards had even thought to lay booby traps, he realised!

Vincent watched as the blackened form of his opponent fell two stories and crunched pitifully into the dead centre of the banks lobby. Surrounded by hostages and no cover to spare- exactly as his schedule told him it would. The timer overlaying his vision counted down to '00:00', blinked once, and was replaced by one scheduled for ten more seconds. He knew that this timer was the signal for the other three ghouls in his unit to make their way quietly to the roof, and for one of S.A's extraction VTOLs to make their approach. They did, leaving Vincent alone with the injured ITSDA agent who was struggling to even stand.

"Villain! True justice will n-"

Phoenix began, but was cut off by himself as he coughed filthy black ash from his lungs.

"True justice will never be defeated- Not so long as heroes are willing to fight- Yeah? Heard it."

Vincent cut in. The savage look that Phoenix shot back at him prove that he'd guessed correctly. Probably more than ever before Vincent was amazed by Dieters resources- 'Nigma was a SCARY woman if she'd even been able to predict which of Phoenix's speeches he'd try to use. Emily had called his speeches a psychological intimidation technique, although here and now the Hero didn't seem very intimidating at all.
Vincent could hear the sound of jet turbines above him as his getaway VTOL touched upon the roof. He had no intention of boarding it. The countdown in his vision spun unstoppably toward it's own '00:00' mark. He raised his pistol, which still held five bullets.

The last part of 'Nigma's script was going to hurt, which was why Mr Grey'd hated this plan from the start.
Once the timer ran out 'Nigma had predicted that so too would Phoenix's nerve, and that he'd charge Vincent in one last death-or-glory attack. Vincent was not to shoot the Agent, but was to unload his weapon into the crowd of hostages placed strategically behind Crimson's landing zone. Vincent would be captured, but he was assured that the legal measures were already in place so that he would be sent to the same facility as Mister Green and Mister Sievold- and that he would not have to wait very long at all for his release. Meanwhile S.A employed actors within the pool of hostages, and a number of pre-written anonymous press tipoffs, would implicate Phoenix as dangerously irresponsible- with the dead hostages, and any witness's who could disprove the accusations being bagged and ear-muffed, the Agent (and by extension the ITSDA itself) would be absolutely crucified by the press. Given the timing Augen analysts predicted as much as a 24% chance that the outrage fallout may be enough to topple the organisation entirely, with an almost guaranteed chance of inflicting irreparable political damage. Even while this two-pronged plan was underway the remainder of his team on the roof would be free to escape with the contents of the vaults strongboxes. It was a vicious three part attack, and he wondered how many pieces had needed to be moved before now  to make it possible...

'00:00' -Phase four
The Agents face flushed bright crimson with desperate fury, he visibly recoiled from the pain of his injuries and forced himself into action. With the last of his strength gone Vincent knew that his enemy was only good for one more attack- which was, after all, the plan.
"PHOENIX!-"

The Agent took to the air like clockwork. By now he'd been exerting himself so much that the lines of his armour were already glowing a solid white before the attack was even prepared. Vincent consoled himself with the knowledge that his imminent beatdown would be instant and probably painless, as he drew a bead on the family of tightly clustered hostages in his line of fire.
Phoenix's delirious anger was focused entirely on trying to win his battle, to finally strike back at the foes that had been dominating the fight so far, but as his masked eyes followed the line of The Grey Ghouls gun a dim part of him realised something... A sense of understanding passed over his mind as it processed the situation against Vincents aim, and his own suspicions...
*Bla-Bla-Bl-Bla-BLAMMmn!*
Phoenix spent the energy built for his punch, and blasted it into his side. He veered off course, and his armour sparked and shattered as he interposed Greys attack. His leftover momentum bounced him off the floor once and then let him lie still- save for his ragged and laboured breath.

[Diu!]
Vincent swore in Cantonese. Crimson wasn't the only multi-lingual in the room, after all. He had contingency plans for if the schedule failed, of course, but he hadn't expected to need them at the literal last moment of his mission. Vincent cursed again, mentally.
'He was supposed to be enraged! Damn it! The plan won't work if we don't have someone to pin it on!'

+ Mr. Grey! Focus! +
'Nigma cut across his senses, and startled him back to the present.
+We are moving to contingency Sigma. You are to regroup with the rooftop squadron and evacuate with them. Just the boxes will have to do.+

Part of Vincent considered disobeying the order to reload and shoot some of the hostages, or to ensure that Phoenix was truly defeated. He disregarded the ideas immediately- Phoenix could be defeated at any other time, so long as he didn't learn any new tricks 'Nigma didn't anticipate, and trying to salvage the original plan was a desperate strategy.
A new timer overlaying his vision told him that he had '00:22' seconds to run up four flights of stairs and regroup with his team. He hustled as fast as he could.

+ Miss Nigma. ITSDA backup has arrived as you said it would. +
His Banshee sniper spoke on the teams radio, for the first time. At this stage in the plan it was his duty to stand watch against new threats. He had found one, but one that had been statistically anticipated.

+ That's fine, we're well in the green. Who have they sent? +

+ Miss. They've sent Sue. +
Suddenly the raidio dropped dead quiet. For once Emily didn't respond immediately, and as Vincent pounded up the stairwell to his escape he saw his timer suddenly drop ten seconds from '00:16.52' to '00:06.51'. He would have swore again, but he suddenly didn't have the breath to spare.

+ Move it or lose it Vincent! We WILL leave you behind! +
+ Acknow- +
+ MOVE! +

---

Sue Steel flew fast enough to blur the sky around her. She'd been given the call to help Phoenix Crimson settle a minor Gifted incident mid-town less than a minute ago, but since her HeadQuarters was so closeby she'd made the journey in moments. As the building finally came into view between the city's skyscrapers she saw that the incident may not have been so minor after all... dead policemen ringed the area, as black plumes of smoke poured from the buildings upper floor, and some kind of small aircraft was lifting off from it's roof. As she watched a figure sprinted from the rooftop entrance and threw itself into the vehicle's hold before it snapped it's cargo hatch shut and began to liftoff. She realised that it was building speed in the exact opposite direction from herself! She'd been spotted already!

"Oh. Heck no!"
Sue fired herself forward to close the distance.

'Sue' was one of the most dangerous ITSDA agents on record. If not the most dangerous. Her powers weren't exotic in the least; strength, flight, durability, speed... but all of these attributes were far above what other agents could boast, and left her with very few weaknesses at all. (Ex)Agent Jackson may have been able to outlast her, Agent Jump may been able to outmanoeuvre her, and Agent Crimson may be able to throw heavier punches- but she was stronger by virtue of being able to do all those things almost as well, all at the same time.

She was fast, and with her arms pushed forwards to make herself as aerodynamics as possible she was as fast as the jet itself- but only just. Already it was building to maximum speed and climbing to a higher atmosphere where it'd be able to travel faster sill. The jets path took them screaming out of Manhattan and over the empty air above the Hudson. -With a physical exertion she managed to soar close enough to enter the Namidan jet's slipstream. The woman's velocity increasing sharply, and she dared to reach out a hand to seize her targets tailfin...

Suddenly the Namidian jet tore downwards, and the cross-stream of air as she broke free of it's wake hit her painfully like a punch. She redirected herself toward it's howling engines as it plummeted downwards to lose her by bending beneath the George Washington bridge, she followed nimbly, but the action made her lose ground. She strained herself to catch up again, but at the height of its ascent the Jet stalled it's engines to spin on it's nose in a insane suicide-turn. Her eyes widened as she saw the concealed barrel of an Anti-Tank gun flare beneath the vehicles fuselage.

*Ker-BLAMMMNn!*

Something the size of a drinks-can hit her in the gut at several times the speed of sound. Her vision fluttered as she double over and almost lost consciousness, a moment later she recovered and gasped as she pulled a bent 30 mm shell from her bruised stomach. Distantly she saw the enemy jet in the far distance shed a circle of water vapour, and a long moment later she heard the distinctive noise of a sonic boom. Damn! It'd gotten away!

Still hovering midair she looked down angrily to the missile that'd injured her before she remembered her task.

"Dan!"

---

Gale was all but pissing herself in fear. Her wrists were rubbed raw from where a set of zip ties had bit into it, even through her ear-mufflers she'd heard the sound of gunfire and explosions, and through her bagged face she was certain that she could smell smoke. A few minutes ago bullets had thundered over her head, and at one point she'd been covered in falling glass. Things were silent now, but whether that was a good or a bad thing remained to be seen.

Suddenly there was a flash of heat at her wrists that weakened her ties enough for her to break free, and someone pulled the sound-reducing headset from her ears.

"You're s-"

She screamed and used a free hand to lash out against the voice, which she managed with a weakly clenched fist. Her other snapped to her head and wrenched the bag free from her face. She blunk here eyes rapidly in the sudden brightness, and took in her surroundings. She was still in the bank, of course, but every window in the building seemed to had been destroyed. Thick tar-like smoke was pooling above her from a nearby fire, and a blood-soaked figure had it's hand reached out to her. She screamed again.

"You're safe now! Citizen! [Tak guna]!"

The figure grabbed her by the arm and pulled her to her feet, before spinning her around to face the exit. She bolted immediately, and the figure lent heavily for support on the display cabinet that she'd been attached to. Crimson had unfastened his armour, since it'd gotten too heavy for him to carry, and had used his wadded up scarf to staunch the flow of blood that'd started to seep from a gut injury- but nonetheless exhaustion was beginning to creep up on him. Of the five bullets three had penetrated his armour and only one had passed completely through, despite his absurd tolerance for pain he knew that if he didn't get help soon that he wouldn't live to see the next day. He resolved to get out the building soon and find an EMT, but not before he'd finished freeing the hostages from the burning building... He only hoped that he could hold on long enough to do even that.

"...You know, someday it'd be nice for you to walk into a building without completely demolishing it. Or without getting blown to pieces."

Phoenix looked for the source of the voice, and found Sue Steel picking her way through the building towards him. He offered a thin smile, which was all he could manage.

"It's not my fault! These guys were smart. One of them had a device that was designed to keep me out of punching range- and the other three were all working off some sort of plan."

Crimsons tone turned defensive, and he winced in pain as something shifted in his side. He'd need to find a Gifted healer- a vicious wound like the one he'd suffered would get worse before it got better. He decided that it would be wise not to talk so much, considering that the only thing keeping him breathing at the moment was stubbornness and shock.

Sue helped Daniel to the exit, although it was less 'supporting him' and more 'dragging him'.

"Only four guys did this? I've seen you take on dozens at a time. It won't look good in your reports when you have to say that you lost to such a small number, and captured none."

They finally made it outside. The spectating crowd had grown, and although there was still the morbid sight of the two failed police assaults at the edges of everyone's vision it was generally a happy scene. All the hostages, save the Bank Manager, had been rescued.

"I'm not sure that I'd call this a loss."
This message was last edited by the player at 17:59, Tue 14 June 2016.

The police sergeant, having just told the young hooligan off rather effectively and resoundingly, was forced by something beyond his control to go almost immediately back on the orders. At the sideline, Phoenix Crimson was approached by a rookie NYPD officer who told him that the fugitives were asking for him. Given the phone, the man on the other side snapped the order into his ear and Daniel felt the heat rise on his neck. "errand boy1"! He opened his mouth to retort but was met with only the tone of a dead line.

"He demands some pizza and water..." The sergeant and Daniel both cast looks of supreme doubt at the Bank in unison then looked at one another a bit startled. Both chose to ignore that they had apparently agreed on something, "That's a big no. Every single ounce of my experience tells me this shit is off by a mile. Most bank jobs try to be in and out of the bank before the cops arrive. They're researched. They chose a bank within shouting distance of your little show where they knew we were strongly present and you... are you. They didn't even try to get out fast; they waited for us and asked for you. Fuck these guys. We're breaching as soon as the AGTF gets here."

As if summoning them, NYPD's Anti-Gifted Task Force rolled in rising their massive armored vehicles. Each man was highly trained, heavily equipped, and experienced dealing with gifted individuals. Three teams of the men headed to the designated breach points even: the alleyway side entrance, the front doors, and the roof. At the signal, the front team placed a large concave device facing the doors. A second man struck it with a breaching ram and the device detonated blowing the doors in. Even as it did, the men on the side breached more conventionally. AGTF agents swarmed through the openings.

---

Inside, the SA operatives were ready. +AGTF agents inbound on schedule. Repulse using pattern Sigma.+ The Ghouls, Banshee, and Mr. Grey all acted without sounds. Twelve men at front, six at the side, and six through the roof. Mr. Grey moved up the stairs drawing his second revolver. The thing was designed with him in mind. It kicked like an elephant hoped up on meth, but his healing factor could handle the damage it caused. He hated using it though. He preferred his first revolver, a more standard .44 or a 9mm. But, his HUD told him that the stopping power of this was needed for AGTF agents.

On the ground floor, even as the doors blew in, the Banshee lined up his first shot and sent the man with the ram spinning as he tried to duck back from the opening. The second man survived as his shot rang of the breaching explosive. ten more men flooded the killzone. Each of two ghouls picked a target but waited as a timer in the HUD ticked down to 00:00. At the point, the stairs the men were climbing erupted. The ghouls had trapped it and then covered the whole mess in kerosene. It was an inferno; the AGTF reacted with admirable swiftness; and the ghouls mowed down three and wounded two more with tight bursts from armor piercing rounds from their M4s. Another 4 were incapacitated by the explosion. The last two took cover at the entrance to the bank.

At the side entrance, the corridor was much narrower and the AGTF breached more carefully. Martin watched them coming without glancing toward his partner Cassie. The timer for the lobby went to zero and they tensed but watched. Their own timer had five seconds left. They watched and, as predicted, as the chaos and screams erupted in the lobby the AGTF hesitated. They were well trained and experienced but not nearly as hardened to atrocity and loss as the ghouls were. At that brief hesitation, Martin pulled the pins on two grenade and sent them tumbling toward the men. They reacted half a second slower than normal, but that was enough and several of them were incapacitated by chunks of debris and the explosion itself. Cassie stepped out and sent a tight burst of fire down the hallway and downed another.

On the roof, two men dropped through the skylight and hit the ground. Even as they reached for their weapons, Vincent stepped out and leveled the handcanon at the first and pulled the trigger. He was used to the feeling of the bones in his arm snapping under the recoil, but the armor on that arm was specifically designed to brace his arm. BOOM!! The slug hit the man in the chest and that chest exploded. The second man swung his rifle at Vincent and pulled the trigger. Vincent spun to the side and felt one of the round hit his leg. He dropped but kept the spin going on the bad leg's knee even as he leveled the canon again and put the second man down. BOOM!! Four more men were coming down even as he felt his leg and arm re-knitting. He quick drew his .44 with his off hand and put three rounds into a third man then dove for cover. The AGTF men had pulled their dead and wounded behind a set of desks. Vincent felt really bad for them. He sent a signal and the desks exploded. He sighed then grunted as his arm reset itself yet again.

Seconds after it had begun. the AGTF were in full retreat, dragging wounded were possible. The SA operatives let them go. +All parameters within acceptable deviations. Phase three imminent. Nu configuration.+ Vincent went downstairs and picked up the phone. "This will cost you dearly. Put the popinjay on the line again."

---

Outside, Daniel watched in horror as good, highly trained men were shredded by the criminals inside the bank. Of 24 men, 15 were dead and another 5 wounded. Whoever was in that bank were armed, professional, and ruthless. He moved to talk to a survivor staring at where one of his wounded comrades moaned helplessly at the entrance. "What the hell happened?!" The man looked at Daniel and registered the armor, the scarf, the face: "No fucking clue, sir. Armed like black beetles, the bastards. Had the place rigged, knew our routes and operations. They were bloody well waiting for us."

Daniel squinted at the bank. That description... it sounded familiar. he looked back in time to see the sergeant waving him back. The man was visibly paler as he handed over the phone, "This is..."

"I know who it is. I asked for you popinjay. Every single one of those dead men is your fault." Again, Daniel's retort was cut off by a dial-tone. He knew it was a taunt, he knew what its goal was, he could hear his superiors drilling restraint, control, and reason at him. None of it helped; as ready as he might be to normally follow that advice, it stung when the taunt felt true. As well trained as AGTF was, they were no comparison to a full fledged ITSDA field agent like himself. The sergeant saw the look even as the phone dropped from his hand, "Son... that's what they wa..."

"I know officer, let's just hope they're as ready for it as they think."

---

Nigma watched her bank of monitors like an owl. She noted VIncent's camera was moving back toward the lobby area. She saw Martin's camera watch as he threw three more grenades given specifically to him. They detonated and the hall filled with hard foam. The operative then moved back toward the lobby. She noted the two timers running at the moment, then hit a button and a third green timer started. The Banshee started moving toward its next firing point. She watched as the first timer itcked to zero, +Primary target inbound.+ She didn't have to check the bank cameras still monitoring the exterior to know she was correct, but she did anyway. Confidence and arrogance separated the victorious from the dead

---

The team was set up to catch the target in a crossfire even as he erupted through the glass window over the lobby entrance. Vincent fired his .44 even as his team opened up with their M4s. It was a testament to Nigma that he came in exactly as predicted; it was a testament to the man himself that even so they fired where he had just been. They had the stats for how fast he was and had trained on clay dummies, but it was a different thing to actually see it in all its flashy glory.

Vincent watched the man land and hit cover fast. He held his fire as he noted a hostage nearby but the team did no such thing. The stand normally reserved for people filling out deposit and withdrawal forms began to splinter. Vincent noted a timer had started in a slate gray color. He began to move to a coordinate as he popped a round into the empty chamber of his revolver.

For his part, Crimson seemed to have the same reservations as Vincent about harming innocent by standers. Vincent was probably more ruthless than Crimson and would kill anyone part of the job, but firing at a desk with kids tied to it was beyond him. He doubted Nigma saw the people there as more than resources. her brain was so far above the actual combat into tactics and logistics that she forgot that even her own agents were people. Pheonix Crimson was one of the few heroes Vincent respected; the man ahd conviction and sincerity. it was obvious as he darted from cover toe cover that he was trying to save these people. Crimson was not a man of high-minded causes and noble intents, but a person trying to save people. Too bad those people were going to hate him for this. Vincent stepped onto a mental X on the bank floor even as the ghouls flushed the man from his cover yet again and he snapped of the shot. He watched Phoenix Crimson twist sideways as the .44 slug connected. Then man landed and looked straight at Vincent. The Chinese assassin felt a shiver go up his spine.

+Phase Four.+

He moved to pull the trigger even as the man exploded toward him. He snapped another shot, but the man twisted in mid air. Vincent marveled. For a man who was basically firing himself like a gun at things, he was a nimble fucker. He tried to track for a third shot but knew it was futile, so he flipped the revolver in his hand end-for end. He grinned inside his helmet as the man bounced off the pillar next to him, "Phoenix!-"

Vincent had been told how much force was in that punch. Letting it land was a terribly bad idea. However, one factor that Nigma had made a point of and the main reason Vincent was here was that one of Crimson's major weak points was his martial prowess. Few people could go toe to toe with Crimson in melee and hold their own let alone come out on top: Dieter maybe, Kane maybe, a few others. Vincent was not one of them either, but this particular scenario had been set up to favor him. Thus the X marks the spot maneuvering, thus why even as fast as Phoenix was Vincent knew exactly where the trajectory of the blow was. His HUD overlaid the prediction on his vision. Vincent had been picked because he was also a master of Wing Chun martial arts.

Smoothly he raise the arm with the specially rigged brace on it. The one that acted as a cast for his arm when he fired the boomstick and parried Crimson's arm. He felt his arm shatter at the force he was only trying to redirect. At the same time, his other arm brought the revolver's reinforced grip against the other man's helmet. He watched with satisfaction as the visor shattered. "Pun-AuUUgh!!"

Vincent winced as the superhero went tumbling like a rock right into the center of the lobby beneath the massive dome. The hero was tougher than that though and soon started to stand chuckling. "Well done bu-" He was interrupted as a sniper round blasted through the meat of his right bicep. "AuUUgh!!" Vincent only shook his head. This was like beating up a child. Still, Nigma wasn't perfect. Vincent's arm was damaged far beyond the calculations. He was supposed to fire the boomstick now, but that was beyond him so he flipped the .44 in his off hand again. Ba-Bam!! Two more slugs chunked into the hero's abdomen. The man looked wounded in body as well as spirit.

"Oh? Did you think this was the part for witty repartee and one-liners? We don't have time for that shit. You're going to fail again..." He shifted his aim over Crimson's left shoulder.

+Contingency 6A inbound.+

---

Daniel was in pain. Not more than he had ever experienced, but enough to know that he would be in dire straits very soon. He was trying to not look down where his left hand was trying to keep the guts in his armor, so he was tracked Gray's aim to see that other than the hostages, he and MR. Gray were alone in the lobby. The other four... were gone. His mouth fell open. His right hung almost useless at his side. He was glaring at the slate gray Namidian. "True justice will never be defeated- Not so long as heroes are willing to fight."

"True justice will never be defeated- Not so long as heroes are willing to fight- " The man spoke the same words with the same intonation in exact time to his own phrase. Crimson blinked. Was he so utterly predictable? These men had been one step, three steps ahead of him the entire fight. Everything had been designed to have him here, now, like this. How could it be? Daniel wasn't as naive as most of his corny lines, but he did believe in justice, truth, and honor to his core. Being defeated hurt like nothing else. This man had thrown him around like a rag doll. He struggled to stand as the man aimed his weapon at innocent citizens but fell to his knees again as his abdomen spasmed.

"Don-!" He choked on his own emotions and another wave of pain.

The man looked at him. Crimson silently pleaded with him. His eyes watered as he felt a dizzying spin of denial flood up through him from his core. His mind reeled. This wasn't happening. NononoNOnoNONONO! rat-ta-ta-tat! He blinked. That was not the sound of the man's revolver. He looked up as gray staggered then swung his revolver toward the entrance. The remaining four AGTF agents were there scattered in cover and opened fire again. The gray ghoul staggered, stepped back, then exploded. Crimson was caught in the blast as the man's own armor went up like a powder keg. It sent him into blackness.

---

The ITSDA medic eyed the mess that was Phoenix Crimson and grunted as he stabbed the syringe of healing drugs into his chest. The man started awake. "NO!!"

"Calm yourself, Agent. You are safe... or as safe as anyone can be with these injuries. We were forced to use something slightly experimental on you. A gift from a man with a... gift for chemicals." For some time, the hero lay there in his ruined armor and the medic watched as his skin began to blacken, flake, then new skin emerge from underneath. It was a disgusting process; like watching a man shed his skin. But, his injuries were healing rapidly. "You'll shed like that a couple more times but it will take months off the hospital visit. Unfortunately, it only works on gifted."

"The agents? Schwartze Augen?"

"AH, them? Well, the leader is in custody but the rest managed to escape through the roof in a VTOL even as the AGTF saved your bacon. The NYPD has the scene and are investigating. We have been... politely... asked to leave. The explosion... casualties are high, agent. Too high." The hesitation made it seem anything but polite. Crimson looked sideways wo where the AGTF sergeant was sitting. The man's face was black with soot but marred by clean lines, paths traced with salty tears. He looked ashamed at the "polite" business. Phoenix Crimson had saved a few of his men today. Some knew and honored what he did; most would hate him after this.

---

Nigma sat back in her command chair and reviewed the outcome for the fourth time. She reviewed surveillance videos, analyzed micro movements and evidence. She monitored NYPD and Interpol chatter in the aftermath. She would not be confident for hours yet but she smirked as she pulled a keyboard in front of her and type a message and sent it to a very secret darknet mailbox, +Operation: Atlantis, Phase one complete. Monitoring aftermath. Phase two, commencing in T-Epsilon.+

The police sergeant, having just told the young hooligan off rather effectively and resoundingly, was forced to almost immediately rescind his orders. At the sideline, Phoenix Crimson was approached by a rookie NYPD officer who told him that the fugitives were asking for him. Given the phone, the robber on the other side snapped the order into Phoenix's ear. Daniel felt the heat rise on his neck.

"Errand boy?!" He opened his mouth to retort, but was only met with the tone of a dead line. Crimson then swore in Malay as he returned the device.
[Pukimak!]

"He demands some pizza and water..." said Phoenix Crimson, his voice betraying his befuddlement. The sergeant and Daniel both cast looks of supreme doubt at the bank in unison then looked at one another a bit startled. Both chose to ignore that they had apparently agreed on something.

"That's a big no. Every single ounce of my experience tells me this shit is off by a mile. Most bank jobs try to be in and out of the bank before the cops arrive. They're researched. They chose a bank within shouting distance of your little show where they knew we were strongly present and you... are you. They didn't even try to get out fast; they waited for us and asked for you. Fuck these guys. We're breaching as soon as the AGF gets here."

As if summoning them, NYPD's Anti-Gifted Task Force rolled in on their massive armored vehicles. Each man was highly trained, heavily equipped, and experienced in dealing with gifted individuals. Three teams of the men simultaneously headed to the designated breach points. The groups coalesced near the alleyway side entrance, the front doors, and the roof. At the signal, the front team placed a large concave device facing the doors. A second man struck it with a breaching ram and the device detonated, blowing the doors in. Even as it did, the men on the side breached more conventionally. AGF agents swarmed through the two openings.

---

Inside, the SA operatives were ready.
+AGTF agents inbound on schedule. Repulse using pattern Sigma.+ said Emily Nigma.

The Ghouls, Banshee, and Mr. Grey all acted without making a sound. As expected, there were twelve men at front, six at the side, and six on the roof. Mr. Grey moved up the stairs and drew his second revolver. The thing was designed with him in mind. It kicked like an elephant hopped up on meth, but his healing factor could handle the damage it caused. He hated using it though. He preferred his first revolver, a more standard .44. But his HUD told him that the stopping power of this was needed for the AGF's armor.

On the ground floor, while the doors blew in, the Banshee lined up his first shot and sent the man with the ram spinning to the ground as he tried to duck back from the opening blast. The second man survived as the Banshee's shot rang off the breaching explosive. Ten more men flooded the killzone. Several pairs of Ghouls picked a target and waited as a timer in the HUD ticked down to 00:00. At that point, the stairs the AGF men were climbing erupted. The Ghouls had trapped it and then covered the whole mess in kerosene. It was an inferno; the AGF reacted with admirable swiftness. Still, the Ghouls mowed three down and wounded two more with tight bursts from armor piercing M4 rounds. Another four were incapacitated by the explosion. The last two agents standing took cover at the entrance of the bank.

At the side entrance, the corridor was much narrower and the AGF breached more carefully. Martin, a Ghoul clad in their standard "insectoid" armor, watched the troops come in without glancing toward his partner Cassie. The timer for the lobby went to zero and they tensed, but kept on watching. Their own timer had five seconds left. They watched and, as predicted, the AGF troops slowed as the screams of anguish from the lobby filled their earpieces. They were well trained and experienced, but not nearly as hardened to atrocity and loss as the Ghouls were. Noting their brief hesitation, Martin pulled the pins on two grenades and sent them tumbling toward the men. They reacted half a second slower than normal, but that was enough. Several of them were incapacitated by chunks of debris, a few more were taken down by the explosion itself. Cassie stepped out from behind her pillar and sent a tight burst of fire down the hallway. One more down.

On the roof, two men dropped through the skylight and hit the ground. Even as they reached for their weapons, Vincent stepped out, leveled the handcannon at the first man, and pulled the trigger. He was used to the feeling of the bones in his arm snapping under the recoil, but the armor on that arm was specifically designed to brace it for the impact.

BOOM!! The slug hit the agent in the chest and his chest simply exploded. The second man swung his rifle at Vincent and pulled the trigger. Vincent spun to the side and felt one of the rounds hit his leg. He dropped but kept the spin going on the bad leg's knee, aimed the cannon, and put the second man down.

BOOM!! Four more men were coming down; his left-leg was knitting itself back together. He quick drew his .44 with his off hand and put three rounds into a third man and dove for cover. The AGF men had pulled their dead and wounded behind a set of desks. That was a big mistake; Vincent pitied them. He sent a signal and the desks exploded. He sighed, then grunted as his arm reset itself yet again.

Seconds after it had begun. the AGF were in full retreat, dragging away all the wounded that they could as they ran. The SA operatives let them go.

+All parameters within acceptable deviations. Phase three imminent. Nu configuration.+

Vincent went downstairs and picked up the phone once more.

"This will cost you dearly. Put the popinjay on the line again."

---

Outside, Daniel watched in horror as good, highly trained men were shredded by the criminals inside the bank. Of 24 men, 15 were dead and another 5 wounded. Whoever was in that bank were armed, professional, and ruthless. He moved to talk to a survivor, whose eyes were locked on his wounded comrade, who moaned helplessly near the entrance.

"What the hell happened?!" The man looked at Daniel and registered the armor, the scarf, the face:

"No fucking clue, sir. Armed like black beetles, the bastards. Had the place rigged, knew our routes and operations. They were bloody well waiting for us! I'm calling in - we need backup, now!"

Daniel squinted at the bank. That description... it sounded familiar. He looked back in time to see the sergeant waving him back. The man was visibly paler as he handed over the phone.

"This is..."

"I know who it is. I asked for you, popinjay. Every single one of those dead men is your fault." Again, Daniel's retort was cut off by a dial-tone. He knew it was a taunt, he knew what its goal was, he remembered his superiors drilling restraint, control, and reason into his thick skull. None of that helped; as ready as he might normally be to follow their advice, the taunt stung. No, it burned with truth. As well trained as AGF was, even they were no match for a full-fledged ITSDA field agent like himself. The sergeant saw the look in his eye as the phone slipped out of Daniel's hand.

"Son... that's what they wa-"

"I know officer, let's just hope they're not as ready for it as they think."

---

Nigma watched her bank of monitors like an owl. She noted Vincent's camera was moving back toward the lobby area. She saw Martin's camera watch as he threw three more grenades given specifically to him. They detonated and the hall filled with hard foam. The operative then moved back toward the lobby. She noted the two timers running at the moment, then hit a button and a third green timer started. The Banshee started moving toward his next firing point. She watched as the first timer ticked to zero.

+Primary target inbound.+ She didn't have to check the bank cameras still monitoring the exterior to know she was correct, but she did anyway. Confidence and arrogance separated the victorious from the dead.

---

"-PUNCH!"

Phoenix burst into the bank through it's lobby window; the toughened exterior glass didn't even slow him down. His momentum carried him sailing through the air, which let him cast practiced eyes around the entire room to get a better look at the threats he was facing:

The room was littered with hostages. All wore hoods and ear-mufflers, and many were zip-tied onto the sparse furniture that the building's modern lobby contained. There didn't seem to be many gunmen, but they looked well equipped. Definitely SA.

"Damn!" He swore in English for a change and forced himself to the ground with a blast behind his back just as a storm of buzzing lead filled the air where he'd have been a microsecond earlier. He landed in front of some kind of ornamental fountain, and flattened himself behind cover.

"What the hell are Schwartze Augen doing here?!"

His mind raced. He'd fought them before. He'd fought them a lot, actually. Each time they seemed to get better and better at predicting his tactics.

To say  that he felt fear would be an overstatement, but he was suddenly taking the fight a lot more seriously. If he'd have been up against simple crooks, he would have been able to take on twenty or more. But when pitted against Namidian soldiers, he needed to exercise all the caution that he could.

*Mpppphm!*

A muffled scream of panic by his side demanded his attention, and he saw that a hostage had been zip-tied onto his cover. Heavy armor-piecing shells were already reducing the water feature to rubble, and without a second thought Phoenix explosively dived into the open to seek a new hiding spot. For the brief moment that he was exposed, he heard a bullet sing past his ear, and another pluck a hole in his trailing scarf. When it came to dodging rounds, Phoenix was generally quite lucky. He knew, though, that it wouldn't be wise to chance more than a split second of movement at a time. He vaulted over some kind of decorative marble urn and tried to think up a strategy to take out the waiting gunmen...

*MHRMArrhmm!!!*

"Oh! Come on!"

This piece of cover had a hostage tied to it as well! This time on the vulnerable side and facing the gunmen! Phoenix didn't even waste time to draw breath as he dived out into the open again - he had to find a place where he could gather his Gift without putting anyone at risk!

Bullets blazed past Crimson, and he even felt one ricochet off his gauntlet with an impact that left his fingers numb. Ahead of him, he could see a wide structural column! Perfect! He kicked another explosion behind himself and twisted midair to make himself as small a target as possible. However, as he traveled the last few feet an armored figure stepped out from the pillars far side and aimed a revolver at him! This one was dressed in Slate Grey.

Vincent scowled as the gray timer in his HUD ticked its way down to zero all too quickly. He rapidly bounded toward an "X" his HUD projected onto the bank floor, the Ghouls blocked off his escape with concentrated fire, and Vincent hit the spot Nigma predicted he'd jet toward. Mr. Gray watched carefully; Phoenix Crimson twisted sideways as the .44 slug connected. Then man landed and looked straight at Vincent. The Chinese assassin felt a shiver go up his spine.

+Phase Four.+

He moved to pull the trigger again even as the man exploded toward him. He snapped another shot, but the man twisted in mid air. Vincent marveled. For a man who was basically firing himself like a gun at things, he was a nimble fucker. He tried to track for a third shot but knew it was futile, so he flipped the revolver in his hand end-for end. He grinned inside his helmet as the man bounced off the pillar next to him.

"Phoenix!-"

Vincent had been told how much force was in that punch. Letting it land was a terribly bad idea. However, one factor that Nigma had made a point of and the main reason Vincent was here was that one of Crimson's major weak points was his martial prowess. Few people could go toe-to-toe with Crimson in melee and hold their own let alone come out on top: Dieter, Kane maybe, a few others. Vincent was not one of them, but this particular scenario had been set up to favor him. Thus the X marks the spot maneuvering, thus why even as fast as Phoenix was Vincent knew exactly where the trajectory of the blow was. His HUD overlaid the prediction of this blow's trajectory on his vision. Vincent had been picked because he was also a master of Wing Chun martial arts.

Smoothly, he raised the arm with the specially rigged brace on it and parried Crimson's arm. He felt his arm shatter at the force he was only trying to redirect. At the same time, his other arm brought the small revolver's reinforced grip against the other man's helmet. He watched with satisfaction as the visor shattered.

"Pun-AuUUgh!!"

Vincent winced as the superhero went tumbling like a rock right into the center of the lobby beneath the massive dome. The hero was tougher than that though and soon started to stand; the freak was even chuckling!

"Well done bu-" He was interrupted as a sniper round blasted through the meat of his right bicep.

"Aghh!!" Vincent only shook his head. This was like beating up a child. Still, Nigma wasn't perfect. Vincent's arm was damaged far beyond the calculations. He was supposed to fire the handcannon now, but that was beyond him so he flipped the .44 in his off hand again.

Ba-Bam!! Two more slugs chunked into the hero's abdomen. The man looked wounded in body as well as spirit.

"Oh? Did you think this was the part for witty repartee and one-liners? We don't have time for that shit. You're going to fail again..." He shifted his aim over Crimson's left shoulder.

+Contingency 6A inbound.+

---

Daniel was in pain. Not more than he had ever experienced, but enough to know that he would be in dire straits very soon. He was trying to not look down where his left hand was trying to keep the guts in his armor, so he tracked Gray's aim to see that other than the hostages, he and Mr. Gray were alone in the lobby. The other four... were gone. His mouth fell open. His right hung almost useless at his side. He glared at the slate-gray Namidian.

"True justice will never be defeated- Not so long as heroes are willing to fight."

"True justice will never be defeated- Not so long as heroes are willing to fight- " The man spoke the same words with the same intonation at the exact same time. Crimson blinked. Was he so utterly predictable? These men had been one step, three steps ahead of him the entire fight. Everything had been designed to have him here, now, like this. How could it be? Daniel wasn't as naive as most of his corny lines, but he did believe in justice, truth, and honor to his core. So being defeated hurt like nothing else. This man had thrown him around like a rag doll. Worse, he made a mockery of everything he stood for! Daniel struggled to stand as the man aimed his weapon at innocent citizens but fell to his knees again as his abdomen spasmed.

"Don-!" He choked on his own emotions while another wave of pain rolled over him.

---

The last part of Nigma's script was going to hurt, which was why Vincent hated this plan from the start.

Once the timer ran out, Nigma had predicted that so too would Phoenix would charge Vincent in one last death-or-glory attack. Vincent was not to shoot the Agent, but instead unload his weapon into the crowd of hostages placed strategically behind Crimson's position. Vincent would be captured, but he was assured that the legal measures were already in place and that he would be sent to the same facility as Mister Green and Mister Sievold. He was also assured he would not have to wait very long at all for his release. After his capture, S.A employed actors within the pool of hostages, alongside a number of pre-written anonymous press tipoffs, would implicate Phoenix as dangerously irresponsible. With the dead hostages and dead AGF soldiers' blood on his hands, and any witness's who could disprove the accusations being bagged and ear-muffed, Phoenix (and by extension the ITSDA itself) would be absolutely crucified by the press. Given the timing, Augen analysts predicted as much as a 24% chance that the outrage fallout may be enough to topple the organization entirely, with an almost guaranteed chance of inflicting irreparable political damage. Even while this two-pronged plan was underway, the remainder of his team began their magnificent escape. A VTOL escape aircraft was inbound in 5, 4, 3, 2, 1, 0!

'00:00' +Phase Five+

The Agent's face flushed bright crimson with desperate fury. He visibly recoiled from the pain of his injuries and forced himself into action. With the last of his strength gone, Vincent knew that his enemy was only good for one more attack. That was, after all, the plan.

"PHOENIX!-"

The ITSDA Agent took to the air like clockwork. By now, he'd been exerting himself so much that the lines of his armor were already glowing a solid white before the attack was even prepared. Vincent consoled himself with the knowledge that his imminent beatdown would be instant and probably painless, as he drew a bead on the family of tightly clustered hostages in his line of fire.

Phoenix's delirious anger was focused entirely on trying to win his battle, to finally strike back at the foes that had been dominating the fight so far. But, as his masked eyes followed the line of The Gray Ghoul's gun, a dim part of him realized something. A sense of understanding passed over his mind as it processed the situation against Vincent's aim and his own suspicions...

*Bla-Bla-Bl-Bla-BLAMMmn!*

Phoenix spent the energy built for his punch, and blasted it into his side. He veered off course, and his armor sparked and shattered as he interposed Vincent's attack. His leftover momentum bounced him off the floor once and sent him flying deep into the hard foam Martin placed. The only sound that could be heard from the hard foam that now entrapped him was his ragged and labored breath.

---

[Diu!]

Vincent swore in Cantonese. Crimson wasn't the only multi-lingual in the room, after all. He had contingency plans for if the schedule failed, of course, but he hadn't expected to need them at the literal last moment of his mission. Vincent cursed again, mentally.

'He was supposed to be enraged! Damn it! The plan won't work if we don't have someone to pin it on!'

+ Mr. Grey! Focus! +

Nigma's voice cut through his other senses and startled him back to the present.

+We are moving to Contingency Epsiolon. You are to regroup with the others squadron and evacuate with them via the VTOL aircraft. Understood? +

Part of Vincent considered disobeying the order to reload and shoot some of the hostages, or to ensure that Phoenix was truly defeated. He disregarded the ideas immediately; Phoenix could be defeated at any other time, so long as he didn't learn any new tricks Nigma didn't anticipate. And trying to salvage the original plan was a desperate strategy, anyway.

A new timer in the right corner of his helmet's visor told him that he had "00:22" seconds to run up four flights of stairs and regroup with his team. He hustled as fast as he could.

"Roger!"

+ Miss Nigma. ITSDA backup has arrived as you said it would. +

The Banshee sniper spoke on the teams radio, for the first time. At this stage in the plan it was his duty to stand watch against new threats. He had found one, but it was one that had been statistically anticipated.

+ That's fine, we're well in the green. Who have they sent? +

+ Miss. They've sent Sue. +

Suddenly the radio dropped dead quiet. For once, Emily didn't respond immediately. As Vincent pounded up the stairwell to his escape, he saw his timer suddenly drop ten seconds from "00:16.52" to "00:06.51." He would have swore again, but he suddenly didn't have the breath to spare.

+ Move it or lose it Vincent! We WILL leave you behind! +

+ Acknow- +

+ MOVE! +

---

Sue Steel flew fast enough to blur the sky around her. She'd been given the call to help Phoenix Crimson settle a minor Gifted incident mid-town less than a minute ago, but since her Headquarters was so close by, she'd made the journey in moments. As the building finally came into view between the city's skyscrapers, she saw that the incident may not have been so minor after all; dead policemen ringed the area, thick plumes of smoke poured out of the building, and some kind of small aircraft was lifting off from it's roof. While she watched, a figure sprinted from the rooftop entrance and threw itself into the vehicle's hold before it snapped it's cargo hatch shut and began to liftoff. She realized that it was building speed in the exact opposite direction from herself! She'd been spotted already!

"Oh, heck no!"

Sue fired herself forward to close the distance.

"Sue Steel" was one of the most dangerous ITSDA agents on record. If not the most dangerous. Her powers weren't exotic in the least; strength, flight, durability, speed. However, all of these attributes were far above what other agents could boast. Additionally, she had very few weaknesses at all. (Ex)Agent Jackson may have been able to outlast her, Agent Jump may been able to outmaneuver her, and Agent Crimson may be able to throw heavier punches. But she was stronger by virtue of being able to do all those things almost as well, all at the same time.

She was fast; and with her arms pushed forwards to make herself as aerodynamic as possible, she was just about as fast as the jet itself. Already it was building to maximum speed and climbing to a higher atmosphere where it'd be able to travel faster still. The jet's path took them screaming out of Manhattan and over the empty air above the Hudson. With great physical exertion, she managed to soar close enough to enter the Namidan jet's slipstream. The woman's velocity increased sharply and she dared to reach out a hand and seize her target's tailfin...

Suddenly, the Namidian jet tore downwards! The cross-stream of air as she broke free of its wake hit her painfully like a punch, but she cried out in anguish and flung herself toward its howling engines anyway. It plummeted downwards to lose her by bending beneath the George Washington bridge and she followed nimbly, but the action made her lose ground. She strained herself to catch up again. Shockingly, at the height of its ascent, the jet stalled its engines to spin on it's nose in a insane suicide-turn. Her eyes widened as she saw the concealed barrel of an Anti-Tank gun light up beneath the vehicles fuselage.

*Ker-BLAMMMNn!*

Something the size of a soda can hit her in the gut at several times the speed of sound. Her vision fluttered as she doubled over and almost lost consciousness; a moment later, she recovered and gasped as she pulled a bent 30mm shell from her bruised stomach. Distantly, she saw the enemy jet in the far distance shed a circle of water vapor. A long moment later, she heard the distinctive noise of a sonic boom. Damn! It'd gotten away!

Still hovering midair, she looked down angrily at the missile that had injured her before she remembered her task.

"Dan!"

---

A shining, fresh trail of blood ran across the bank from the foam in which Phoenix Crimson was just trapped to the closest hostage. A near-death Daniel lay face down in front of that hostage, a young woman named Gale. The woman was sobbing in fear as the stench of death lingered in her nostrils.

Sue Steel arrived just as twenty additional AGF agents began to secure each and every inch of the building, strategically moving from room to room whilst freeing hostages and checking for threats. A single AGF Commander swung his arm out to block her path as she neared the building. Sue simply stared at him, her mouth agape in shock.

"We have your associate inside. We will deliver him to your momentarily. Please do not interfere with our operations, ma'am.

"Your operations? Our duty is--"

"I'm aware. But your renegade interference in our operations cost us many lives today."

"What do you mean? Phoenix saved--" Sue got up in the guard's face and balled her hand into a fist.

"--Prevented us from using our EMP missiles and moving in while they were recovering, agent.

Sue Steel instinctively loosened her tightly balled fist and turned her face away from the guard. Her mind raced with thoughts of a comeback; she wanted to say something, anything to make him realize that Dan was a hero! But she couldn't; she had no ammunition to fire back at him with.

"With all due respect, ma'am... We saved him."

"But I-- That doesn't... Just deliver him to me. He needs attention, now!"

The Commander pointed his thumb back at two AGF officers in the doorway behind him. The officers carried a mangled, beaten, partially armored body out of the building on a stretcher. A soft movement of the chest served as the only indication that he was alive.

"Careful with him, got some nasty bullet wounds," said one of the medical officers. Sue nodded, wrapped Phoenix Crimson in her arms, and flew off to the ITSDA medical center at headquarters.

---

The ITSDA medic eyed the mess that was Phoenix Crimson and grunted as he stabbed the syringe of healing drugs into his chest. The man started awake.

"NO!!"

"Calm yourself, Agent. You are safe... or as safe as anyone can be with these injuries. We were forced to use something slightly experimental on you. A gift from a man with a... gift for chemicals." For some time, the hero lay there in his ruined armor and the medic watched as his skin began to blacken, flake, and give way to new skin emerging from underneath. It was a disgusting process; like watching a man shed his own skin. But despite the hideousness of the process, his injuries were healing rapidly. "You'll shed like that a couple more times but it will take months off the hospital visit. Unfortunately, it only works on Gifted."

"The agents? Schwartze Augen? What happened?"

"Ah, them? Well, they managed to escape through the roof in a VTOL after leaving you for dead. AGF backup has hit the scene and are investigating. We have been politely asked to leave. The explosion... casualties are high, agent. Too high."

The emphasis made it seem anything but polite. Crimson looked sideways to where an AGF sergeant was sitting. The man's face was black with soot but marred by clean lines, paths traced with salty tears. He looked ashamed of the "polite" business. Phoenix Crimson had saved a few of his men today. Some knew and honored his heroism; most would hate him for ruining their plans.

---

Nigma sat back in her command chair and reviewed the outcome for the fourth time. Though not even the new Mr. Gray truly understood this, the battle's order and outcome did not deviate more than .01% from her and Dieter's plans. She reviewed surveillance videos, analyzed micro movements and evidence. She monitored NYPD and Interpol chatter in the aftermath. She would not be confident for hours yet, but she smirked as she pulled a keyboard in front of her. She typed a message and sent it to a very secret darknet mailbox,

+Operation: Atlantis, Phase One complete. Monitoring aftermath. Phase Two, commencing in T-Epsilon.+

Vincent was still breathing heavily as the pilot reported they were over international waters. It wasn't too much protection from ITSDA, but it meant that no national security agencies could legally touch them. Of course, they would be going a bit out of their ways before making the effort to lose the tracking systems, but the job was done, "Fuck! That was Sue bloody fucking Steel out there! She could ahve ripped this thing apart!"

A calm voice came over the internal speakers, "Her intervention was not expected. It was a less than 1% chance. Still, her attack patterns and capabilities are well known and easily negotiated. Confirm the items."

Vincent smirked as he considered the PR firestorm that the superheroes would be dealing with over this. Loss of life was minimal really, but public servants with an honorable track record and several civilians had died. And it had all been a rather convenient and beneficial cover-up. He caught the bag out of the air as the Banshee tossed it and opened it. "How long have you been tracking this shit down?"

"The individual items? They took me hours to find. Orchestrating them to all be in the same place at the same time... that took effort."

If Nigma said something took effort, that meant that it would have been impossibly hard for anyone else. He regarded them each as he took them out. "One... microchip. One microfiche. Interesting. One manilla envelope with... oh, those are interesting Polaroids. Another envelope with, looks like secret CIA documents. Some blueprin... are these what I think they are? How does this shit even exist? And lastly, one bag of stupidly expensive collectibles. ETA on Lady Crimson?"

"Excellent. Leverage, information, and finances all covered. And those blueprints are what happens when you piss off the man who designed your facility. It cost me a lot of money and time to convince him to open that account. Hah!"

A shiver ran up Vincent's spine and not just because they were about to break the sound barrier. He buckled himself into the seats and considered the next phase. It was only half as scary as a fist fight with Phoenix Crimson had been. Only half...

With a warfair minded anti-gifted organization looking for him, the attention of a very dangerous looking CEO with his own private army, and maybe the Namidian Wave poking around for him, Lee did his best to lay low. He had slowly intigrated his life into the smaller University as student pushed ahead a few years into collage early. He attended various classes to incress his knowledge in computing and engendering, and he was volunteering at the library. The later helped him keep an eye on the computer systems to make sure his deceit wasn't noticed and counter any actions that might uncover it, when you assist computer maintenance you can insist on doing things yourself... not many people are ageist some one eager to do there job for them.

His efforts to translate the alien coding of the artifact however was causing some disruptions in the schools network and hiding the fact was getting harder and harder to do. There was even the possibility that alien code flashing up on peoples monitors here and there might have actually awoken a gifted.... This was bad and he was now stuck in a computer lab trying to build a memory drive powerful enough to contain all the data he had collected.

His plan was a holographic volume, it wouldn't be able to write in it over and over but once stored it would be the most durable and smallest means of storage and one very few would recognize. The problem was building the equipment to do it, it was requiring an awful lot of research and slow work but he would be done soon and could download all the progress he had made and wipe his work off the computer systems.

For now he settled with stopping the computers from doing further research, and just bounce the data around keeping it hidden.

Meanwhile, elsewhere on the same campus, Francine Underwood left her part time job at the campus clinic and headed for the library.  She had been accepted as a nurse tech due to her lack of formal training in the medical field, nbut her practical experience made her more than qualified to take temperatures and mop up various and sundry efluvia.    However, she had another part time job working with a Professor in the English Dept. whose specialty turned out to be  folklore.  Due to Fran's work with midwives and root doctors in the Appalachians, she was a very valuable resource for Dr. Grey who took advantage of this source of folk medicine and lore.


Francine was now on her way to the media center within the library  where she had an appointment to meet with one of the grad students who was going to record another session of information gathering.  The woman who was Ma Nature was enjoying the sabbatical.

The campus was very much an ivory tower for her though she was occupying a basement apartment.    Actually, she was subletting an efficiency apartment from the good Doctor within walking distance of the campus.  And even though the wanderer  had managed to settle a bit into a peaceful valley that was not at this point a part of the wonderful world of weird shit, she kneew that this state of affairs could end at any moment.

Ma had likely seen this kid around the library a lot, and always on a computer away from other people. He was working on some code, again.

Franny entered the library and headed for the back stairs which led down to the floor where she would meet the grad student.  today's topic was to be harmful plants that were often mistaken for more benign ones.  This was interesting as Ma had a long list of tales about potential murders and horrid accidents that would give the student plenty to think about.

She preferred these stairs as they were set off in an area that was avoided by many of the patrons.  Steps were a healthy alternative, especially the down ones where gravity fif most of the work for ya; all you had to do was control the speed at which descent was made.  And if no one was around, she would play around with the air, trying to float using only the air circulating through the library.  Not so very effective, but at least she had not busted her butt yet.

And she could not play again today as that same skinny kid was parked at a back computer station.  She had noticed him from other times where she had been hurrying to an appointment.  This time she took note of his shirt __ Led Zepplin, really?  This kid could not even be a wet dream when that band was hot.  Checking her watch, she noted that there was ten minutes before she had to be downstairs.  She walked over to where the kid was deeply involved in something.  She tapped him on the shoulder and asked:

"So you like shopping in thrift stores or what?"

He gave her that look kids give old people when they say something they think is so stupid they are just utterly flabbergasted by it. He blinks a few times a raises a brow. "You realy know nothing about computers do you?"

Ma blinked once in utter confusion and then bent over so that she was at eye level with the brat:

"First of all, do not give me that look; I INVENTED that look for use with my dumb Dad.  Secondly, I was asking about yer tee shirt, Mr. Smart Aleck, not the freakin' computer.  Are you that focused in so that nothing else exists or did someone drop ya on yer head too many times?  Now we can be friendly like,  or we can be crabby at each other.  Wanna grow some manners?  It is up to you"

"Oh... well that makes sense... I was going to say it would have been less confusing for you to walk up and start speaking in tongues, but yah... sorry, this is some complicated and distracting stuff." He says closing down the files.

Fran nearly cracked a smile, but that might have blown her cover as a tough bitch or suffering from early onset dementia or menopause.

"You really should come out of those machines every now and again.  There is this whole worldd out her.  But anyway, where did you get the acid rock tee from, your grandfather?"

"I got it myself, what band shirts are cool."

In reply to Lee McDouglas (msg # 311):

A smile spread across her face and she held out her hand to the boy

"It is that!  My name is Fran, but you can call me Ma if you wish.  What is your name?"

He shook her hand and bit his lip. "um... Jimmy."

In reply to Lee McDouglas (msg # 313):

Ma watched as somethig on the screen  recaptured the boy's attention and sucked him back in.

She shook her head and thought,
'Jimmy my tan fanny!'

She quietly withdrew and headed up the stairs to meet the grad student.  After this, she was going to have to find something interesting and fun to do.  Life was starting to get a bit too dull.

Went back to work relaxing a little this was starting to bother him.... transitions were picked up in the same computer code as the alien langue he still could not brake down the langue as it was clearly jot as simple as human...more akin to haxadcimal where a combination of a list of characters makes up a much much much larger list of coded characters. It was trying to brake a code with out a cipher.. something he needed a real super computer for.

But a signal of the same kind means the same kind of tech active and running somewhere....

Gunshots. Screams. An explosion.

As Kane stepped out of the shattered store window and tossed the security tags from his clothes aside, he had to mentally pat himself on the back for making it this far in the tattered remains of his jumpsuit-straightjacket. Straightsuit? Jumpjacket. It wasn't his color, it dragged everywhere he went, after a while it started to smell, and he was just... not about that.

Now, a pair of blue jeans and a white t-shirt? Nice. Plain and simple. He thought to himself. I can afford to go barefoot though. Better grip.

Glass grated and crunched between scar-riddled, calloused feet and the sidewalk as he began to make his way down the street. " Ah, New York! The Big Apple! N-Y-C! It's been too long... where to start? Empire State Building? Eh. World Trade Center! No, that's been done before-- damn! Statue of Liberty? New York Times? C'mon, I should be able to think of... something..." Glancing down the street, he saw something that caught his eye.

A hotdog stand.

"Score!"
This message was last edited by the player at 19:04, Fri 15 Feb 2019.

"Gee Kane," Kane giggled, "How come your mom lets you have TWO weiners?"

Cradling a pair of hotdogs and some fries in a cardboard tray and toting a soda can in his free hand, the maniac hopped up on the edge of a fountain with a grin of glee. He was aware that many people in the square who actually saw him ran off in terror, but he wasn't interested in chasing them just then.

One hunger first, then the other. Hopefully the DA headquarters nearby isn't dispatching agents to deal with me... yet.
This message was last edited by the player at 19:04, Fri 15 Feb 2019.