Inside the ambulance, the two army medics serving in the capacity of EMTs produced sidearms and activated security measures; the vehicle was designed not only to bring life saving relief to agents in the field, but also keep them secure and safe in the event of an attack. At the moment for Frank and Brianna, it was a little like sitting in a sealed bank vault. Jackson tried to threaten the men into letting him outside, but the pair knew the rare truth that there were people in the Agency even scarier than the war hero they'd have to answer to.

Outside, the eight heavily armed, equipped and trained figures immediately snapped into action; the ITSDA didn't take green boys and build them into soldiers, instead they took a strong foundation and honed it as close to perfection as a mortal soul could be. Every one of these troops present had served with distinction in their home countries, had fought in combat, were experienced and ready to do what had to be done to win the day and save civilian lives. Nothing more was needed but a slight gesture from their sergeant to get them moving, three breaking left and another trio right while the remaining pair faced the van. There was a cursory shout of;

"HALT! ITSDA! YOU ARE ALL UNDER ARREST!"

...but it hung hollow and ignored in the air as all involved knew it would be.

The thugs thought themselves invincible on their high, as though by detaching themselves from the world it could no longer hurt them; Fire Axe was the first to realize this assumption was false, as three assault rifle rounds tore into his upper chest, throat, and head. Nail Board took his lethal injections in his right lung, heart, and left shoulder. At the sight of his buddies going down, Empty Gun's brain managed to pry a couple of brain cells free from the mire he had liberally soaked them in, and he had presence of mind enough to realize something was wrong; unfortunately, the only action that accomplished was him opening his mouth to say something about it to his now deceased companions. They would have the opportunity to comment on his effort however, for since he was still waving his weapon and charging the troops, he did an involuntary failed and messy attempt at Black Magic's bullet catching trick. In the same amount of time, the other side of the street was ironically coated in the color these fools had loved so much in life...

The man and woman facing the van flipped their rifle selector switches to grenade instead of a three count, and launched one right at the windshield as another slammed into the grill. Glass exploded inward, flying like knives through all those not outright killed by the blast while the hood flew up, belching fire and smoke. Out of control, the vehicle swerved sharply losing some of its wild momentum; there was still enough left, however, for the metal beast to fall onto its solid side and skid a few feet to a stop. One very injured man poked his head out of the open door/turned makeshift sunroof, and tried limply to lift a gun despite orders to drop it; instead he was dropped. Two others had managed to fall by chance out of the back, but as with the others they squandered their new lease on life at the behest of the drug demon they had sold themselves willing to.

When the doors to the ambulance closed, Brianna turned her head sharply and looked at them with a wary expression. At the sound of gunfire outside of the van, she swallowed audibly and took a few steps away from the door, looking aghast.

“Uh oh.”

Wonderfully put. Seriously, is that all you have to say?

What else am I supposed to say?

You’re asking a voice in your head what to say.

Not helping.

Not hurting, either.

…touché, I guess.

After the gunfire stops, Brianna goes to leave the van and Frank locks an iron grip onto her shoulder and stops her. He feels the girl freeze up in her grasp, save for her breathing and heartbeat... a little disappointing, but also a bit of a pleasant surprise. Frank expected Brianna to try and protest, as she should've. After all, she should've wanted to go and help, but instead she simply folds her hands in front of her and stands still as though she got the message. No argument is made and no protest is voiced…externally.

Aren’t you going to do something?

...no...

A~nd dare I ask why?

Because I’m scared…

Of course. Why do I even bother to ask anymore?

I’m serious! He knows I can heal, so why isn’t he letting me out?

Search me. I’m not clairvoyant.

Something bad definitely happened outside and he knows I can heal, so why did he stop me? Is he trying to save me?

Well I don’t know! You’re the one who can talk to him! Why don’t you ask?!

...because I’m scared...

*Mentally Facepalms* U~gh…

The silent moment is interrupted by a nearby panel in the ambulance, lighting up and calling out:

MISSILE IMBOUND! EVACUATE THE VEHICLE NOW!!

The shock of that information somehow renders Brianna immobile even further, out of sheer fear. Frank has to tackle Brianna from the ambulance in order to avoid the rocket, which crashes straight into the former safe haven and detonates a massive payload. However, as Frank fell towards the pavement, inches away from a wall of flaming shrapnel, it seems someone else decides to save him as his fall is broken by a burst of orange light and a vindicated cry.

"DEFENSOR AETERNUM!!!"

Two long arms made of pure light burst out of Brianna’s back, between the cracks of Franks arms and wraps around the aged war hero and his charge, forming a shell patterned like feathered wings. The shrapnel and fire from the ambulance’s explosion peppers and washes over the shield, but it holds and also breaks the fall of both agents, allowing them to tumble away with relative ‘comfort’, all things considered. And just when they thought it wouldn't get any worse...

There was the sound of assault rifles firing on full auto, the remaining squad members were opening up on this new enemy. The two agents lifted their heads up as the shell around them faded to see something that looked to them like it came out of a science-fiction movie. Even from this prone position, the two of them could see the rounds spark as they bounced harmlessly off the hide of this crimson, bipedal mechanical monstrosity. It measured about fifteen feet tall, was broad, and put those who had ever seen one in a mind of an anime robotic combat suit, with a smoking missile launcher attachment on one arm and a minigun on the other. Then, everyone heard a voice booming from it;

"WHAT UP, BITCHES! THE SMITH'S FEELING FINE AND READY TO PAR-TAY! YOU LIKE MY NEW RIDE? IT COMES WITH ALL THE EXTRAS; RAILGUN, MISSILE LAUNCHER, INDIVIDUAL TARGET IDENTIFICATION AND LOCK, AND, WELL HELL I DON'T KNOW ALL OF IT. I JUST LIKE PUSHING THE BUTTONS!"

This was demonstrated as the mini-gun spun up and fired, not aimed at any particular person or thing, but wildly like a drunken cowhand out on the town in the days of Western yore.
Frank rolled off of his fellow agent and he groaned.

Great. Someone's given that blockhead his Holiday gift early...

He attempted to find a spot for cover, but didn’t need to as a remaining aura around Brianna sprouts a massive wing that blocks the stray bullets, taking the hit like a tank. When Frank looks at the novice agent, though, she seems completely the same; not concentrating or physically maintaining the barrier in any way, but the aura around her has collected and almost looks like another person, with fierce, glowing gold eyes.

The Smith almost instantly sees this disturbance, which distracts him from the remainder of the ITSDA forces as they seemingly wink out of existence. He turns and plants one of his feet in the pavement, causing it to crack as he sneers at what he thinks is a pitiful lightshow.

“AWW, ISN'T THAT CUTE. TELL YOU WHAT; I’LL THROW YOU A BONE!"

Then he levels his reloaded rocket launcher at the two fallen agents, sneering.

“FETCH!!”

With a flash of flame, the rocket sped towards the two agents. However, before the ballistic reached its target, there was a sudden displacement of air and in the time it would take to blink, Brianna and Frank were gone, the orange wing flickering and fading like a snuffed candle. Frank and Brianna were now in someone's backyard surrounded by the other ITSDA members and a stranger dressed in dated evening ware. Jump groaned, swayed on the spot and sunk to the ground; he looked haggard and beaten. No one could blame him, considering he had just displaced around a dozen people in the nick of time. The only one who could was the raging man in the mechanical suit. After a distant explosion, he could be heard complaining in the distance:

"OH, COME ON! I EVEN THOUGHT OF THAT ONE-LINER OF THE SPOT!! COME ON OUT, YOU SISSIES!"

As he gets up, Frank spares a glance towards Brianna, who’s propped up on her elbows in the grass next to him, but he sees no trace of that fiery light that protected the two of them from the ambulance’s explosion. The war-hero decided to dismiss it for now. There’d be plenty of time for talking later after they weren’t in mortal danger. Taking out a pocket-radio, Vandal tried to contact anyone who could help.

"Any ITSDA units respond, this is Assault Team Bravo. We are facing an unknown threat and have taken casualties, request immediate support. Repeat, this is Assault Team Bravo, to any friendlies in the area. We are pinned down, and require assistance. Does anyone copy?"

"Give it up, you're just wasting your breath. A piece of machinery that fancy, it's going to have a jammer."

The woman looked at Frank, her composure cool and solid as all the others of her squad, and gave him a quick nod.

"Understood. We're on our own, boys and girls. We are outgunned, severely under equipped, and up against a dangerous Unkn-"

"His name's The Smith, big guy with muscles everywhere including between his ears. He's a Namidian Gifted, can take a helluva lot of punishment. Last time I tangled with him, he just had a sledge hammer; looks like Junior's stepped up his game."

"Ma'am, what can we do? I haven't heard a second explosion, maybe when the enemy's distracted we could make a run for the transport."

"Don't be a fool. It's still there for bait so The Smith doesn't have to track us down. Although I'm sure his new gismo suit can, and he will when he both gets bored enough and can figure it out."

The man who spoke shot a displeased glance at Frank, and tried again;

"Ma'am, if we-"

"I said no, you little pantywaist. Disregard your commanding officer again, and see what it gets you."

Confused looks were shared commonly among the remaining squad members.

"But, Agent Jack-"

"SERGEANT JACKSON YOU INSIGNIFICANT SNIVELING PISS ANT!"

"Sorry, uh, Sergeant Jackson, she's our acting CO since he was KIA."

"Really? OK, here's three questions for you, son; is her rank higher than mine, is she senior to me, and can her combat experience beat a Congressional Medal of Honor? No? Didn't think so, so zip it."

He knew he had little time, but the immortal fighter took what he needed to look into the eyes of each squad member.

"I know that thing is big and scary, but I want to tell you a little story; a long ass time ago, there was a guy who was this mighty warrior. No one could outfight him, or even scratch him, and in this big war he was racking up the kills. Then, he got hit in the foot, and he croaked."

"Let me tell you another one; I was kept in a death camp for two years, worked over day and night, and I made my escape using the remains of vermin I hunted in my cage for food. The guards were healthy, strong, had weapons, and it made no damned difference in the end."

"Yeah, that things got a lot of bells and whistles, but like I said before the guy driving it is an idiot A one first class. So here's the plan;"

"Vandal, I need recon of the area, especially the street. Troops, dump all of your smoke and teargas grenades on the ground in front of you. Medics, if you got any adrenaline, pump it into Jump; I hate to do it to the guy since he saved our asses best he could just now, but we'll need him again. Dapper Dan, what can you do?"

The man in questioned bowed in a condensed version of his usual manner.

"Black Magic sir, we informally met earlier when that unpleasant man shot you, yet that hardly qualifies as an introduction. Though I pride myself on being eloquent, I fear we have not the minutes that would require. So, concisely, I am a real prestidigitator, a true form of what has been done by trickery on stage for generations. I can make cards appear, smoke, fire, water, colored scarves, in short any of the traditional things including vanishing and reappearing."

"He can make copies of himself too, not solid though. Illusions."

Vandal had returned, actually before he had fully finished the sentence after the one telling her what he needed. She had even had the presence of mind to snag the map, the one offered to Peter earlier to help locate the enemy base. Frank nodded and she pointed to it, the two of them studying where the woman pointed and conversing quietly among themselves.

As the other gifted are doling out the tasks to the ITSDA soldiers, Brianna sits there catching her breath and trying to calm down while wrapping her head around the situation. Unlike all of the battle-hardened soldiers and other Gifted here who returned to business with nary a second thought, she had no experience dealing with anything like this before. After all, this mission was supposed to be a simple medical operation and then suddenly, the war came to her. In a way, she expected this to happen eventually, but dreaded it ever coming at all. So in the time it takes for a plan to be made, Brianna just sits in the same spot, silent except for her slowing breathing.

The squad was doing as ordered and piling up the grenades requested, but when the medics tried to head toward Jump with a needle, Brianna managed to overcome her shock and call to them to stop.

“H-hold on. I can help him. S-save that for later."

Having forgotten about her, the medics are surprised. She didn’t sound authoritative or confident, but they had worked with her long enough to know that her healing powers were far beyond any conventional medicine. So the medics gave Brianna the benefit of the doubt long enough for her to channel that sterile, white and gold light she used to heal Frank and infuse Jump with it.

…Val?

I’m here.

Thank you.

I wouldn’t do anything less.

Frank was swiftly moving about the group filling everyone in on their part of his plan, nodding his approval at the pile he ordered before telling them to make another of explosives. Black Magic got to play too it seemed, as the sergeant pointed out something to him on the map. Vandal knew her part, and Jump did as well once he regained consciousness. Things had only taken several minutes to get ready, but from an eruption of gunfire they knew their time was up. Jackson gave a nod, and his slapped together brainchild was put into motion;


The Smith, per Frank's guess, was getting bored; he couldn't figure out why none of his targets were falling for the bait of the transport he'd left intact, after all he'd go for it. Then he saw something, or to be more accurate, he did but the war machine didn't. According to its sensors there was nobody standing in front of it, even though the thug was sure there was a guy wearing funny clothes smiling at him. Obviously the stupid hunk of junk was broken, so the villain took manual aim and fired; now there were two of the stranger instead of just one. Of course, the operator could have spent a few seconds pondering this, and realize this guy matched the description of the one who he was told rescued Frank Jackson, but for an individual like this Namidian, excessive force solves all problems. He opened up on the pair before him, and then there were four. He growled as he equipped the grenade launcher, and attempted to blow up the quartet; suddenly smoke billowed out in front of his view, then to the left and right as well as behind.

As this was happening, Jackson used the distraction to do his part in the plan. Laying things out, thinking them through in any form really went against the grain for him, and he would have loved to charge that monster guns blazing. But he could make plans once, and it had saved more than just his life. He knew what they said about old dogs and new tricks, but he told himself it didn't count if he were just chiselling dinosaur dung off one he'd learned as a pup. He put on a strong front for the troopers, but in the back of his mind he hoped this worked; after all, he got a get out of jail free card so they'd be the ones to pay for any mistake he might have made.

He looked up to see things were progressing as hoped, and ran in a crouch out of the center of the street. As he left his previous position, he discarded the crowbar he'd borrowed from the garage of the empty house Jump had dropped them behind.

The Smith was physically blinded now, and worse yet the expensive machine he'd helped himself to was telling him he was surrounded; readings kept appearing and vanishing as though people were there and suddenly someplace else; which was exactly what was happening, thanks to Vandal and Black Magic. The villain couldn't get a lock on anything out in the pea soup he was suddenly swimming in, so he tried spraying the area with his mini-gun; he had no way of knowing that a sneaky man in eveningwear was turning those deadly projectiles into harmless down feathers. Well, he did have a way, but the readings only helped to confuse him all the more. He kept moving, away from the crowds that were and not there at the same time, beating on the display with a free hand as though breaking his weapons system would solve everything. Suddenly, the metal beast he had been assigned to guard safely out of town lurched hard to the left, and the leg on the side flashed red on a diagram in the cockpit. The smoke finally dissipated, and he realized he had stepped into an open manhole cover. What he didn't know was the visibility was intended, since Vandal had removed the smoke bombs from around the metal construct.

Suddenly, the seven remaining members of Bravo Attack Squad appeared by the monstrosity, guns loaded and at the ready. Together, they blasted all rounds they had left in their grenade launching attachments at the knee joint of the still fully exposed leg, exploiting a weak point Vandal had noticed on her recon sweep. Lights and alarms started erupting in front of The Smith, battered reinforced metal began to groan from weight it wasn't meant hold, circuitry and servos thought in the design to be well protected started to crack, and then the mighty modern Goliath fell thereby damaging its trapped leg as well.

The Namidian felt a lump of solid fear rise in his throat; he and Lee had been assigned to escort this battle suit out of town, just in case things didn't go as planned with the decoy base. The project had required massive resources, the kidnapping and forced cooperation of numerous scientific minds, and a few years to realize a fully operational prototype; it had been colored crimson, for the woman who'd been picked to test pilot it. He had decided to have some fun, shot Vincent in the back of the head and taken the thing for a joyride. His partner bounced back from it, and some ITSDA pelts under The Smith's belt would go well toward smoothing ruffled feathers; now he had exposed a top secret project, gotten it badly damaged from the series of warnings he was getting, only managed one kill, and instead of his dad he had someone far, far worse to answer to for this 'joyride'. He could take physical punishment, a very great deal of it, but he didn't relish the thought of his limit being tested repeatedly.

Then, out in front of him several hundred feet away, he saw a familiar sight; a big man with white hair glinting in the streetlights, dressed in a white tee-shirt, black leather jacket, and jeans. He looked straight at the fallen death dealer, kissed the palm of one hand, and slapped it against his rump. The Smith howled with both rage and triumph; Jackson was the cause of all of this, it was HIS fault, and he was going to pay. The grunt managed to win a fight with the control system and armed a rocket, then locked onto the old geezer and hit the fire command...

Rockets generally have a safety feature, in that they're not armed until immediately before firing; this is to prevent accidental explosions and loss of life. The standard count on a grenade after the pin is pulled and handle released is ten seconds, and to detonate a rocket with one, it would have to be in the same location as the former within the millisecond it was armed but not launched, and the latter device would have to be deposited with less time before it explodes. Of course, knowledge of all of this would be required as well. An absolutely impossible task, unless of course an unaging immortal soldier told a super fast speedster how to do it right before she got him on the ITSDA transport waiting for them so the blast missed them.

It was actually pretty, Lee thought, as the first explosion set off the grenades meant for the launcher and the rounds cooked themselves in a firework-like way. Close to a billion dollars in R&D, gone in exchange for a few minutes' visual enjoyment. Well, he told himself with a very slight smile, if they collected it for scrap perhaps it would buy a medium soft drink. Rousing himself from his thoughts, Vincent took out his phone and did what had to be done.

"Lee reporting in. Prototype Crimson One Battle Suit totalled. The Smith attempted to use it, allowing the escape of both targets Frank Jackson and Black Magic. Status of Smith unknown."

Meanwhile, safe aboard the transport in the sky over Gaultown, the whole contingent of ITSDA agents and operatives buckled in and prepared for the flight. Peter took his time studying the map he was given. Only after he was beyond certain did he give the location of his detainment, then he found a vacant seat and within seconds of claiming it he was sound asleep. Vandal smirked to herself as she looked at him, and then turned back to Frank as one of the troopers radioed in the location.

"He did pretty good out there today, saved your butt and helped stop that anime reject."

"Yeah, we don't need to toss him out a hatch just yet."

Vandal gave the other agent a hardy slap on the back of one shoulder.

"You did OK too you know, for a guy who's not known for strategy. You know, this is a damn fine attack squad, and they'll be needing  new CO."

"Thanks for the vote of confidence, but I dipped a big toe in a pool I haven't swam in for something like five plus decades. I don't think that qualifies me for the deep end, with my track record."

"Can I ask you something?"

"Shoot."

"How did you come up with that idea, trapping the robot like that? I can't imagine you tangled with many of those things in Nam."

"Robocop."

The female gifted looked at her friend expecting a joke, but his look remained serious.

"Come again?"

"Robocop, the original first movie. He was one idea for robotic law enforcement; there were these other machines with big clunky legs competing against him or something like that. Eventually they were used for evil, and he had to fight them. One giant flaw they had, the things couldn't handle stairs. So, I just manufactured a like situation, and used what you told me about the chink in its armor."

"That was no big, all armor has a weak spot. Even yours, big tough war hero. I'll find it someday, I just need time."

"And here I thought I was the immortal one..."

In one of the seats behind the two friends and next to the sleeping Gifted, Brianna sits with a very troubled look on her face, silently mulling this turn of events over as the remaining passengers take their own breathers and check their equipment. The transport changes its bearing and makes headway to its new destination.

Inside the ambulance, the two army medics serving in the capacity of EMTs produced sidearms and activated security measures; the vehicle was designed not only to bring life saving relief to agents in the field, but also keep them secure and safe in the event of an attack. At the moment for Frank and Brianna, it was a little like sitting in a sealed bank vault. Jackson tried to threaten the men into letting him outside, but the pair knew the rare truth that there were people in the Agency even scarier than the war hero they'd have to answer to.

Outside, the eight heavily armed, equipped and trained figures immediately snapped into action; the ITSDA didn't take green boys and build them into soldiers, instead they took a strong foundation and honed it as close to perfection as a mortal soul could be. Every one of these troops present had served with distinction in their home countries, had fought in combat, were experienced and ready to do what had to be done to win the day and save civilian lives. Nothing more was needed but a slight gesture from their sergeant to get them moving, three breaking left and another trio right while the remaining pair faced the van. There was a cursory shout of;

"HALT! ITSDA! YOU ARE ALL UNDER ARREST!"

...but it hung hollow and ignored in the air as all involved knew it would be.

The thugs thought themselves invincible on their high, as though by detaching themselves from the world it could no longer hurt them; Fire Axe was the first to realize this assumption was false, as three assault rifle rounds tore into his upper chest, throat, and head. Nail Board took his lethal injections in his right lung, heart, and left shoulder. At the sight of his buddies going down, Empty Gun's brain managed to pry a couple of brain cells free from the mire he had liberally soaked them in, and he had presence of mind enough to realize something was wrong; unfortunately, the only action that accomplished was him opening his mouth to say something about it to his now deceased companions. They would have the opportunity to comment on his effort however, for since he was still waving his weapon and charging the troops, he did an involuntary failed and messy attempt at Black Magic's bullet catching trick. In the same amount of time, the other side of the street was ironically coated in the color these fools had loved so much in life...

The man and woman facing the van flipped their rifle selector switches to grenade instead of a three count, and launched one right at the windshield as another slammed into the grill. Glass exploded inward, flying like knives through all those not outright killed by the blast while the hood flew up, belching fire and smoke. Out of control, the vehicle swerved sharply losing some of its wild momentum; there was still enough left, however, for the metal beast to fall onto its solid side and skid a few feet to a stop. One very injured man poked his head out of the open door/turned makeshift sunroof, and tried limply to lift a gun despite orders to drop it; instead he was dropped. Two others had managed to fall by chance out of the back, but as with the others they squandered their new lease on life at the behest of the drug demon they had sold themselves willing to.

When the doors to the ambulance closed, Brianna turned her head sharply and looked at them with a wary expression. At the sound of gunfire outside of the van, she swallowed audibly and took a few steps away from the door, looking aghast.

“Uh oh.”

Wonderfully put. Seriously, is that all you have to say?

What else am I supposed to say?

You’re asking a voice in your head what to say.

Not helping.

Not hurting, either.

…touché, I guess.

After the gunfire stops, Brianna goes to leave the van and Frank locks an iron grip onto her shoulder and stops her. He feels the girl freeze up in her grasp, save for her breathing and heartbeat... a little disappointing, but also a bit of a pleasant surprise. Frank expected Brianna to try and protest, as she should've. After all, she should've wanted to go and help, but instead she simply folds her hands in front of her and stands still as though she got the message. No argument is made and no protest is voiced…externally.

Aren’t you going to do something?

...no...

A~nd dare I ask why?

Because I’m scared…

Of course. Why do I even bother to ask anymore?

I’m serious! He knows I can heal, so why isn’t he letting me out?

Search me. I’m not clairvoyant.

Something bad definitely happened outside and he knows I can heal, so why did he stop me? Is he trying to save me?

Well I don’t know! You’re the one who can talk to him! Why don’t you ask?!

...because I’m scared...

U~gh…

Brianna had the feeling that Valorum was trying to face-palm.

The silent moment is interrupted by a nearby panel in the ambulance, lighting up and calling out:

MISSILE INBOUND! EVACUATE THE VEHICLE NOW!!

The shock of that information somehow renders Brianna immobile even further, out of sheer fear. Frank has to tackle Brianna from the ambulance in order to avoid the rocket, which crashes straight into the former safe haven and detonates a massive payload. However, as Frank fell towards the pavement, inches away from a wall of flaming shrapnel, it seems someone else decides to save him as his fall is broken by a burst of orange light and a vindicated cry.

"DEFENSOR AETERNUM!!!"

Two long arms made of pure light burst out of Brianna’s back, between the cracks of Franks arms and wraps around the aged war hero and his charge, forming a shell patterned like feathered wings. The shrapnel and fire from the ambulance’s explosion peppers and washes over the shield, but it holds and also breaks the fall of both agents, allowing them to tumble away with relative ‘comfort’, all things considered. And just when they thought it wouldn't get any worse...

There was the sound of assault rifles firing on full auto, the remaining squad members were opening up on this new enemy. The two agents lifted their heads up as the shell around them faded to see something that looked to them like it came out of a science-fiction movie. Even from this prone position, the two of them could see the rounds spark as they bounced harmlessly off the hide of this crimson, bipedal mechanical monstrosity. It measured about fifteen feet tall, was broad, and put those who had ever seen one in a mind of an anime robotic combat suit, with a smoking missile launcher attachment on one arm and a minigun on the other. Then, everyone heard a voice booming from it;

"WHAT UP, BITCHES! THE SMITH'S FEELING FINE AND READY TO PAR-TAY! YOU LIKE MY NEW RIDE? IT COMES WITH ALL THE EXTRAS; RAILGUN, MISSILE LAUNCHER, INDIVIDUAL TARGET IDENTIFICATION AND LOCK, AND... HELL, I DON'T KNOW ALL OF IT. I JUST LIKE PUSHING THE BUTTONS!"

This was demonstrated as the mini-gun spun up and fired, not aimed at any particular person or thing, but wildly like a drunken cowhand out on the town in the days of Western yore.
Frank rolled off of his fellow agent and he groaned.

Great. Someone's given that blockhead his Holiday gift early...

He attempted to find a spot for cover, but didn’t need to as a remaining aura around Brianna sprouts a massive wing that blocks the stray bullets, taking the hit like a tank. When Frank looks at the novice agent, though, she seems completely the same; not concentrating or physically maintaining the barrier in any way, but the aura around her has collected and almost looks like another person, with fierce, glowing gold eyes.

The Smith almost instantly sees this disturbance, which distracts him from the remainder of the ITSDA forces as they seemingly wink out of existence. He turns and plants one of his feet in the pavement, causing it to crack as he sneers at what he thinks is a pitiful lightshow.

“AWW, ISN'T THAT CUTE. TELL YOU WHAT; I’LL THROW YOU A BONE!"

Then he levels his reloaded rocket launcher at the two fallen agents, sneering.

“FETCH!!”

With a flash of flame, the rocket sped towards the two agents. However, before the ballistic reached its target, there was a sudden displacement of air and in the time it would take to blink, Brianna and Frank were gone, the orange wing flickering and fading like a snuffed candle. Frank and Brianna were now in someone's backyard surrounded by the other ITSDA members and a stranger dressed in dated evening ware. Jump groaned, swayed on the spot and sunk to the ground; he looked haggard and beaten. No one could blame him, considering he had just displaced around a dozen people in the nick of time. The only one who could was the raging man in the mechanical suit. After a distant explosion, he could be heard complaining in the distance:

"AW, COME ON! I EVEN THOUGHT OF THAT ONE-LINER OF THE SPOT!! COME ON OUT, YOU SISSIES!"

As he gets up, Frank spares a glance towards Brianna, who’s propped up on her elbows in the grass next to him, but he sees no trace of that fiery light that protected the two of them from the ambulance’s explosion. The war-hero decided to dismiss it for now. There’d be plenty of time for talking later after they weren’t in mortal danger. Taking out a pocket-radio, Vandal tried to contact anyone who could help.

"Any ITSDA units respond, this is Assault Team Bravo. We are facing an unknown threat and have taken casualties, request immediate support. Repeat, this is Assault Team Bravo, to any friendlies in the area. We are pinned down, and require assistance. Does anyone copy?"

"Give it up, you're just wasting your breath. A piece of machinery that fancy, it's going to have a jammer."

The woman looked at Frank, her composure cool and solid as all the others of her squad, and gave him a quick nod.

"Understood. We're on our own, boys and girls. We are outgunned, severely under equipped, and up against a dangerous Unkn-"

"His name's The Smith, big guy with muscles everywhere including between his ears. He's a Namidian Gifted, can take a helluva lot of punishment. Last time I tangled with him, he just had a sledge hammer; looks like Junior's stepped up his game."

"Ma'am, what can we do? I haven't heard a second explosion, maybe when the enemy's distracted we could make a run for the transport."

"Don't be a fool. It's still there for bait so The Smith doesn't have to track us down. Although I'm sure his new gismo suit can, and he will when he both gets bored enough and can figure it out."

The man who spoke shot a displeased glance at Frank, and tried again;

"Ma'am, if we-"

"I said no, you little pantywaist. Disregard your commanding officer again, and see what it gets you."

Confused looks were shared commonly among the remaining squad members.

"But, Agent Jack-"

"SERGEANT JACKSON YOU INSIGNIFICANT SNIVELING PISS ANT!"

"Sorry, uh, Sergeant Jackson, she's our acting CO since he was KIA."

"Really? OK, here's three questions for you, son; is her rank higher than mine, is she senior to me, and can her combat experience beat a Congressional Medal of Honor? No? Didn't think so, so zip it."

He knew he had little time, but the immortal fighter took what he needed to look into the eyes of each squad member.

"I know that thing is big and scary, but I want to tell you a little story; a long ass time ago, there was a guy who was this mighty warrior. No one could outfight him, or even scratch him, and in this big war he was racking up the kills. Then, he got hit in the foot, and he croaked."

"Let me tell you another one; I was kept in a death camp for two years, worked over day and night, and I made my escape using the remains of vermin I hunted in my cage for food. The guards were healthy, strong, had weapons, and it made no damned difference in the end."

"Yeah, that things got a lot of bells and whistles, but like I said before the guy driving it is an idiot A one first class. So here's the plan;"

"Vandal, I need recon of the area, especially the street. Troops, dump all of your smoke and teargas grenades on the ground in front of you. Medics, if you got any adrenaline, pump it into Jump; I hate to do it to the guy since he saved our asses best he could just now, but we'll need him again. Dapper Dan, what can you do?"

The man in questioned bowed in a condensed version of his usual manner.

"Black Magic sir, we informally met earlier when that unpleasant man shot you, yet that hardly qualifies as an introduction. Though I pride myself on being eloquent, I fear we have not the minutes that would require. So, concisely, I am a real prestidigitator, a true form of what has been done by trickery on stage for generations. I can make cards appear, smoke, fire, water, colored scarves, in short any of the traditional things including vanishing and reappearing."

"He can make copies of himself too, not solid though. Illusions."

Vandal had returned, actually before he had fully finished the sentence after the one telling her what he needed. She had even had the presence of mind to snag the map, the one offered to Peter earlier to help locate the enemy base. Frank nodded and she pointed to it, the two of them studying where the woman pointed and conversing quietly among themselves.

As the other gifted are doling out the tasks to the ITSDA soldiers, Brianna sits there catching her breath and trying to calm down while wrapping her head around the situation. Unlike all of the battle-hardened soldiers and other Gifted here who returned to business with nary a second thought, she had no experience dealing with anything like this before. After all, this mission was supposed to be a simple medical operation and then suddenly, the war came to her. In a way, she expected this to happen eventually, but dreaded it ever coming at all. So in the time it takes for a plan to be made, Brianna just sits in the same spot, silent except for her slowing breathing.

The squad was doing as ordered and piling up the grenades requested, but when the medics tried to head toward Jump with a needle, Brianna managed to overcome her shock and call to them to stop.

“H-hold on. I can help him. S-save that for later."

Having forgotten about her, the medics are surprised. She didn’t sound authoritative or confident, but they had worked with her long enough to know that her healing powers were far beyond any conventional medicine. So the medics gave Brianna the benefit of the doubt long enough for her to channel that sterile, white and gold light she used to heal Frank and infuse Jump with it.

…Val?

I’m here.

Thank you.

I wouldn’t do anything less.

Frank was swiftly moving about the group filling everyone in on their part of his plan, nodding his approval at the pile he ordered before telling them to make another of explosives. Black Magic got to play too it seemed, as the sergeant pointed out something to him on the map. Vandal knew her part, and Jump did as well once he regained consciousness. Things had only taken several minutes to get ready, but from an eruption of gunfire they knew their time was up. Jackson gave a nod, and his slapped together brainchild was put into motion;

The Smith, per Frank's guess, was getting bored; he couldn't figure out why none of his targets were falling for the bait of the transport he'd left intact, after all he'd go for it. Then he saw something, or to be more accurate, he did but the war machine didn't. According to its sensors there was nobody standing in front of it, even though the thug was sure there was a guy wearing funny clothes smiling at him. Obviously the stupid hunk of junk was broken, so the villain took manual aim and fired; now there were two of the stranger instead of just one. Of course, the operator could have spent a few seconds pondering this, and realize this guy matched the description of the one who he was told rescued Frank Jackson, but for an individual like this Namidian, excessive force solves all problems. He opened up on the pair before him, and then there were four. He growled as he equipped the grenade launcher, and attempted to blow up the quartet; suddenly smoke billowed out in front of his view, then to the left and right as well as behind.

As this was happening, Jackson used the distraction to do his part in the plan. Laying things out, thinking them through in any form really went against the grain for him, and he would have loved to charge that monster guns blazing. But he could make plans once, and it had saved more than just his life. He knew what they said about old dogs and new tricks, but he told himself it didn't count if he were just chiselling dinosaur dung off one he'd learned as a pup. He put on a strong front for the troopers, but in the back of his mind he hoped this worked; after all, he got a get out of jail free card so they'd be the ones to pay for any mistake he might have made.

He looked up to see things were progressing as hoped, and ran in a crouch out of the center of the street. As he left his previous position, he discarded the crowbar he'd borrowed from the garage of the empty house Jump had dropped them behind.

The Smith was physically blinded now, and worse yet the expensive machine he'd helped himself to was telling him he was surrounded; readings kept appearing and vanishing as though people were there and suddenly someplace else; which was exactly what was happening, thanks to Vandal and Black Magic. The villain couldn't get a lock on anything out in the pea soup he was suddenly swimming in, so he tried spraying the area with his mini-gun; he had no way of knowing that a sneaky man in eveningwear was turning those deadly projectiles into harmless down feathers. Well, he did have a way, but the readings only helped to confuse him all the more. He kept moving, away from the crowds that were and not there at the same time, beating on the display with a free hand as though breaking his weapons system would solve everything. Suddenly, the metal beast he had been assigned to guard safely out of town lurched hard to the left, and the leg on the side flashed red on a diagram in the cockpit. The smoke finally dissipated, and he realized he had stepped into an open manhole cover. What he didn't know was the visibility was intended, since Vandal had removed the smoke bombs from around the metal construct.

Suddenly, the seven remaining members of Bravo Attack Squad appeared by the monstrosity, guns loaded and at the ready. Together, they blasted all rounds they had left in their grenade launching attachments at the knee joint of the still fully exposed leg, exploiting a weak point Vandal had noticed on her recon sweep. Lights and alarms started erupting in front of The Smith, battered reinforced metal began to groan from weight it wasn't meant hold, circuitry and servos thought in the design to be well protected started to crack, and then the mighty modern Goliath fell thereby damaging its trapped leg as well.

The Namidian felt a lump of solid fear rise in his throat; he and Lee had been assigned to escort this battle suit out of town, just in case things didn't go as planned with the decoy base. The project had required massive resources, the kidnapping and forced cooperation of numerous scientific minds, and a few years to realize a fully operational prototype; it had been colored crimson, for the woman who'd been picked to test pilot it. He had decided to have some fun, shot Vincent in the back of the head and taken the thing for a joyride. His partner bounced back from it, and some ITSDA pelts under The Smith's belt would go well toward smoothing ruffled feathers; now he had exposed a top secret project, gotten it badly damaged from the series of warnings he was getting, only managed one kill, and instead of his dad he had someone far, far worse to answer to for this 'joyride'. He could take physical punishment, a very great deal of it, but he didn't relish the thought of his limit being tested repeatedly.

Then, out in front of him several hundred feet away, he saw a familiar sight; a big man with white hair glinting in the streetlights, dressed in a white tee-shirt, black leather jacket, and jeans. He looked straight at the fallen death dealer, kissed the palm of one hand, and slapped it against his rump. The Smith howled with both rage and triumph; Jackson was the cause of all of this, it was HIS fault, and he was going to pay. The grunt managed to win a fight with the control system and armed a rocket, then locked onto the old geezer and hit the fire command...

Rockets generally have a safety feature, in that they're not armed until immediately before firing; this is to prevent accidental explosions and loss of life. The standard count on a grenade after the pin is pulled and handle released is ten seconds, and to detonate a rocket with one, it would have to be in the same location as the former within the millisecond it was armed but not launched, and the latter device would have to be deposited with less time before it explodes. Of course, knowledge of all of this would be required as well. An absolutely impossible task, unless of course an unaging immortal soldier told a super fast speedster how to do it right before she got him on the ITSDA transport waiting for them so the blast missed them.

It was actually pretty, Lee thought, as the first explosion set off the grenades meant for the launcher and the rounds cooked themselves in a firework-like way. Close to a billion dollars in R&D, gone in exchange for a few minutes' visual enjoyment. Well, he told himself with a very slight smile, if they collected it for scrap perhaps it would buy a medium soft drink. Rousing himself from his thoughts, Vincent took out his phone and did what had to be done.

"Lee reporting in. Prototype Crimson One Battle Suit totalled. The Smith attempted to use it, allowing the escape of both targets Frank Jackson and Black Magic. Status of Smith unknown."

Meanwhile, safe aboard the transport in the sky over Gaultown, the whole contingent of ITSDA agents and operatives buckled in and prepared for the flight. Peter took his time studying the map he was given. Only after he was beyond certain did he give the location of his detainment, then he found a vacant seat and within seconds of claiming it he was sound asleep. Vandal smirked to herself as she looked at him, and then turned back to Frank as one of the troopers radioed in the location.

"He did pretty good out there today, saved your butt and helped stop that anime reject."

"Yeah, we don't need to toss him out a hatch just yet."

Vandal gave the other agent a hardy slap on the back of one shoulder.

"You did OK too you know, for a guy who's not known for strategy. You know, this is a damn fine attack squad, and they'll be needing  new CO."

"Thanks for the vote of confidence, but I dipped a big toe in a pool I haven't swam in for something like five plus decades. I don't think that qualifies me for the deep end, with my track record."

"Can I ask you something?"

"Shoot."

"How did you come up with that idea, trapping the robot like that? I can't imagine you tangled with many of those things in Nam."

"Robocop."

The female gifted looked at her friend expecting a joke, but his look remained serious.

"Come again?"

"Robocop, the original first movie. He was one idea for robotic law enforcement; there were these other machines with big clunky legs competing against him or something like that. Eventually they were used for evil, and he had to fight them. One giant flaw they had, the things couldn't handle stairs. So, I just manufactured a like situation, and used what you told me about the chink in its armor."

"That was no big, all armor has a weak spot. Even yours, big tough war hero. I'll find it someday, I just need time."

"And here I thought I was the immortal one..."

In one of the seats behind the two friends and next to the sleeping Gifted, Brianna sits with a very troubled look on her face, silently mulling this turn of events over as the remaining passengers take their own breathers and check their equipment. The transport changes its bearing and makes headway to its new destination.

Dieter regarded the various pieces of information coming in and was just about overwhelmed. That should say something. He was processing data from theaters around the world though. He focused and shut out the data from Boura and left it to others in his consortium. What was most troubling was Commander's assertion that the feint was not taking. It had been a long shot at the beginning, but he had hoped it would work. Still, the moves made were simply not herding the enemy as he wanted it to. He eyed the movements of the redcaps and regretted their use. It had been a miscalculation.

He nodded and spoke, "Acknowledged, Commander, the strategy is not taking hold.as planned. Still, we secured the asset of that base, so let's use it. We are currently setting up and making ready to sacrifice part of the facility, Durin Facility. Please, find some way to direct the assets obtained via your efforts toward that facility. Lets see if we can't stage our little tete-a-tete there instead."

He then calculated as best he could what his remaining forces could do and ordered a retreat of all SA assets to the main base. It was now or never to set up the battleground he desired and finish his plan, even if it was Plan K.

Inside the Songbird transport that currently carries a squad of battle-weary ITSDA soldiers and a team Gifted Agents to their new destination, be it a safe haven or another Namidian hot spot, Brianna has sat almost completely silent and still. She's fixed one spot on the far wall of the transport with a vacant, thousand-yard stare since she got in and has barely moved. An observer would be hard pressed to tell if she's breathing or if she's even blinked for that matter.

Even her mind is simultaneously silent and in shambles. Valorum is sitting in the center of Brianna's thoughts, or lack thereof, and feels suspiciously alone for the first time in a while. In front of him is the withdrawn, crushed shell that remains of his host, curled up in the fetal position in the confines of her mind and silent as death, wanting nothing but time to not think at all or process the things that just occurred. It's all he can do to hope someone else helps, his own thoughts sounding exhausted as he tries to stave off the dullness of this silence.

I really hope someone out there notices how unsettled she is. Otherwise, we aren't going to do that much good for anyone.

Commanders tablet chimed, and as he looked over the message it'd received his lips set into a thin grimace. Himself, 'Nigma, Destoyer and Scrap had all been anticipating a reply from Dieter's tacticians and Commanders expression betrayed the situation to his comrades. Bad news.

"A portion of my reserve force in Chicago has been captured by the ITSDA." He sighed with more than a hint of irritation. "...Leaving Tudor in charge was a mistake. He's a reliable soldier, but he only see's the battlefield... not the war. He should have left the mop-up operation to S.A, it doesn't set my plans back if some of them get taken in."

"'Don't care."
Destroyer cut through Commanders lamentations in her usual direct way. Like most human traits the monstrous woman had seen no use for empathy, and had cut it out of her system long ago.
"Have we got orders?"

Commanders tablet chimed again.
"Yes, actually."
He read over Dieters instructions and his expression lifted slightly. Despite his low opinion of his fellow Namidians expandability he certainly couldn't fault their tactics.
"Dieter's not going with our plan, or at least not entirely. He's going to cede part of his own facility and confront the ITSDA there. He wants us to assist him."

"That's dumb." Scrap complained.

"That's brilliant." 'Nigma corrected.
When Scrap shot her a glare of irritation she elaborated:
"We've been on the back foot this whole engagement, but this way Dieter finally gets a chance to dictate the battlefield. Even better, an actual Namidian base will be a far more convincing a cover than our own position. The cost is higher, but it's far more reliable than the old plan."
"Also-" Commander interrupted "-He wants to trick our unwitting government goons into joining the battle. It'll be a three-way shootout."

"That's still dumb!" Scrap repeated. Louder. "It'll be chaos! How are we meant to defend multiple fronts?!"
Scrap might have considered himself more a fake engineer than a tactician, true, but he was far from unintelligent and to him the strategy reeked of desperation.
'Nigma and Commander responded to his criticism simply by widening their already smug grins, they had seen something in the plan that he'd missed and he suddenly realised that they were baiting him for a reaction.
"Well you've already settled on the decision. Apparently!" he resigned himself. "Bastards."

"The trick is..." 'Nigma started to explain, although more for her own ego's benefit than Scraps comprehension. "...that we'll only have to defend the one front. If we move ourselves correctly it'll be the ITSDA who get's trapped between two forces. Even better, of the three factions it'll only be the Namidians who know what's going on; if a three way battle'd be chaotic for us it'll be ten times worse for them."

"Yeah, but ITSDA agents are used to chaos. They practice it every day." Scrap retorted. "We should still assume something will go wrong."
None of the other three could fault that logic, at least.

---

General Patton was the leading officer of the Gaultown research facility. Today he was hot under the collar, and his day was only getting worse.
He was locked in the command room at the very heart of the goverment facility- where he could cast an all-seeing eye across his men and issue his orders from within the safety of a bomb-proof vault. It was probably the safest and most secure room within the entire facility, and even a (hypothetical) quartet of supervillians wouldn't be able to sneak him and take him without a fight, not here.

He was responsible for maintaining the secrecy and integrity of his facility, which had recently been compromised as the experimental subject 'Lee.M' had managed to force it's way through his security. He was already under heavy scrutiny from his superiors for this mis-step, and even though he was technically employed by the United States Government he doubted that the kinds of ruthless monsters who had ordered him to oversee a human experimentation lab would be forgiving if he screwed up a second time.
To top it all off one of his units, Charlie, had gone rouge. His technicians had reported numerous minor faults with their electrical systems. There was some kind of fracas happening in Gaultown itself, and his own communication systems had suddenly stopped responding.

"Patton here! Engineering, respond! What the HELL is going on up there!" He called out through the flagging communication system, uselessly.
Suddenly, the communication system sprung back to life. A stern voice talked through the rooms speakers.
"Engineering, responding. Technical difficulties. We had a software update."
"A software update?" Patton questioned, sceptically. Whoever was talking through his systems didn't sound like any of his engineers... "You expect me to believe that?!"
"Do you have a gun on you, Patton?" the 'technician' responded with a non-sequitur and Patton flushed with indignation.
"Who want's to know?! I'M SENDING SECUR-" "Answer the question."
The generals outraged exclamation was cut off as the 'technicians' tone shifted into something not-quite human. The General suddenly felt his willpower slip away for a few seconds as his mind fixated on the words he'd just heard.
"...Yes. I have a gun." The general shook his head, which was suddenly clear again. What the hell had come over him?!
"Fantastic. Shoot half your bullets into the Command room lock, and the rest into the communications terminal."
The technicians sharing the room with Patton scrambled in every direction as their leader calmly drew his side-arm and unleaded a storm of lead. Ten bullets demolished the mechanism for the rooms only exit and sealed them in, and before his thoughts returned the General had already destroyed the communications system with another five.

With his ears ringing from firing the gun in the enclosed space he called out angrily.
"How did you do that?!"
No response. He had just destroyed the only communication system that lead outside his strongroom, as well as the only exit out of said room. It's bombproof and hermetically sealed walls were too thick to let a cellphone signal pass through, and was inescapable by design. Until he, or someone on the other side, could repair the strongrooms door he was trapped.
"...shit."
It would be hours until he'd be able to reconnect with the outside world. Moments later the room plunged into absolute darkness as someone cut it's power.

Back in the armoury Commander, 'Nigma, Scrap and Destroyer were getting ready to leave. Commander and Scrap were holding the group up as they fiddled with a scavenged communicator and Scraps voice modulator.
"[This is General Patton.]" Said Commander, speaking with a stolen voice through the voice modulator. "[The situation in Gaultown has gone out of control. We have orders to intervene; All guards are to standby for orders.]"

---

Some minutes later the four supervillians stamped their way up the boarding ramp of Dieters crimson Command APC and took up positions. 'Nigma and Destoyer had worked together to rig Scraps tablet into the government bases communication and surveillance grid- and the remainder of the battle would be fought remotely.

Even now his forces were converging on Durin, and as 'Nigma took position by the APC's intercom to communicate with Dieters tacticians Commander watched his own stolen forces move into position through the thermal eyes of his drone.
A scout car was already pressing into visual range of the ITSDA's landing point, but the larger force was being held back to hammer the agents of justice from behind the minute they started their attack.

Most importantly he had resolved to join the fight himself, once the time came. Commander'd learnt from hard experience that normal unpowered soldiers rarely stool a reliable chance against Gifted, especially ITSDA agents. If he wanted his attack to take hold he'd have to be on the front lines himself...
...besides, he had promised Dieter that he'd put a bullet into Jackson for what he'd done in Chicago. After hearing about Tudors losses he decided that he'd spare a few rounds for whoever else happened to get in his way as well.

Vandal herself stared straight ahead as the Songbird began its descent toward the suspected location of the Wave's Gaultown HQ; unusually for her, her eyes weren't rapidly twitching back and forth, jumping up and down, or running in circles. Instead, they (and she) were simply still.

"There's not enough--" said the ever-confident young woman.

"Ma'am?" asked one of the ITSDA guards readying himself for combat near the back of the plane.

"We're low on manpower, and the hits just keep on coming. They're wearing us down, and they don't care how many chunks we rip out of 'em. They can take it, we can't. And they're bettin' on that. "

"So what do we do? Let them stay here, let 'em keep on getting stronger, and keep getting our asses kicked? How about we build a hotel for them--" said a different guard.

"Shut up! That ain't it. All I'm sayin' is that we're on the defensive; let's start acting like it." said Vandal, who then crossed her arms indignantly.

The ITSDA Guard Commander finally leaned forward and spoke. As the words rushed out of him, he loaded and cocked his specially-designed assault rifle.

"I respect your experience, ma'am. So respect mine. A decisive attack is the only way to solve this. Once we break their army's back, we can lick our wounds while our B squads mop up the rest of this shit."


"They lose here, they lose a base. We lose here, we lose our best soldiers!" Vandal's eyes suddenly drifted toward the young nurse hiding away in the corner of the Songbird's passenger area.

"You okay, kid?" asked Vandal as she instantly appeared behind Brianna and carefully placed her hand on the young girl's shoulder.
This message was last edited by the GM at 04:58, Fri 15 Jan 2016.

Frank himself remained silent after his chat with Vandal, and was busying himself with a spare laptop he dug out of storage aboard the transport; the ITSDA had access to the latest and greatest technology available from their sponsor countries, of which this machine wasn't. It was in fact old surplus, part of the original batch assigned to the vehicle as a spot gap measure until the flashy new models arrived just in case computers were required in the interim. All the rest of its kin had been donated to inner city schools or some such, but this little orphan had been overlooked and that suited the old man just fine. It's ISP had been registered with the Security Council which the ITSDA had replaced, and he figured any information on it had been purged as redundant and unneeded when the system had been vastly updated and switched over to its new owners.

One of the goodies he had access to as an international agent was a highly advanced code cracker, contained on a highly durable thumb drive he tended to keep on his person along with other little tools of his trade. There was of course the issue of civil liberties and abuse of power if it was found out he had such means available to him, but then gain he was a probationary agent who was out on his ear from the Agency every other week so a better scapegoat he couldn't imagine. His use of it now he didn't think had been foreseen upon its creation however, as he was presently logged in as a workaholic state employee named William Dover. It was easy to get the name, from a simple look at the time logs of the state system. Mister Dover was a low rank records clerk, tasked with transferring reams of outdated paper information into a database where it would be equally ignored no doubt. He had general access to enable him to do his job, and currently he was offline so a certain war hero remotely boosted his home network signal and logged in as him.

From there, the vet began reviewing old sales records and deeds, starting with the location the magician had pointed out to him and the rest of the squad. The same company that purchased that plot of and didn't buy any locations in or around the township, however about the same time other businesses did. That in and of itself might have been plain chance, but the former NYPD detective wasn't done yet. He also helped himself to old utility bills as well, which provided him with something he found interesting; the water and power consumption was completely within norms for the homes and businesses listed, however they were also constant. Not day in and day out, but the draw was twenty four hours a day everyday. It seemed weird to him that a restaurant that would have been closed for business for two hours was still using about the same electricity and water as at peak times, or that homes were drawing juice when parents should have been at work and kids in school.

Frank looked for the areas of highest constant use, and drawing on an old trick from his time in 'Nam he began researching for a location generally an equal distance from those points. While he was at it, he double checked the latest given location for the enemy base his side would be attacking; that tract of land was bought up by the US Military in the 1950s and never sold. After that, it ceased to exist; though he didn't handle such jobs himself back during his service to Uncle Sam, Frank caught a stink of Black Ops. From the report he read while waiting for the laptop to power up, the fighting style used by the supposed 'Namadians' earlier fit in that category as well. The only other thing he had to do was log in as himself to the ITSDA database, request information on that location, and see the Seal of the US Military above the giant, bold word 'Classified'.

Jackson didn't like the way all of this was adding up, first the enemy strikes out of nowhere and hits Chicago hard, and then one of their major bases was discovered from a couple of at best weak leads complete with a giant flashing neon sign made up of rather overstated attacks? He thought Vandal in part was right, their opposition didn't care how big a chunk the agents tore out of them; but what if the good guys were being led about by the nose to the exact spot they were to sink their teeth into?

Frank logged off, walked to the cockpit and gave a new heading with orders to radio HQ about the active target being a possible US Military installation but nothing else, then returned to the main area to address the squad he'd 'adopted'.

"Okay people, listen up; as of now, I'm taking this team dark on an independent mission. That means no intel support, no backup, and if I'm wrong our asses will be the new HQ wallpaper. I'm not saying we'll be out and out court-martialed with this thing goes sideways, but I suspect the words 'abuse of power' will be used freely, and the majority of your future years with the ITSDA might well involve scrubbing toilets.

"I believe we're being misled, and the target handed to us on a silver platter is in fact one of Uncle Sam's own. I've figured out where I believe our fox has really gone to ground, and I'm going to use everything from my badge to my boots to find out.

"I want to be absolutely clear on this, this mission is volunteer only. I'm not going to ask any of you to risk yourselves or your livelihoods on my intel, and if you all want to stay behind, I'll leave you with my goodbyes and take only a parachute. Yay or nay, no wrong answer here but let me know quick as we'll be over my possible drop zone in a few minutes."

Meanwhile, there was another computer program hard at work; it wasn't fancy, in fact hose who had requested its creation probably often forgot they'd even made it. It sought out key words used in searches and information requests, and sent the results daily to a statistics company which was in itself completely legit and above board; they didn't know their owner however wasn't, or that one of their software 'updates' included a well disguised worm virus that shunted this information off to servers that encoded and shot it around the world to other machines that did the same. In the end, it ended up in a daily report delivered to the email account owned by the alias of a certain German businessman.

Dieter would be told, if he bothered to read something that usual contained no real information, that a state employee named William Dover logged on to review records which he had full and legal access to. He often worked from home at night, his job was records, so it could have been only chance that his research involved Gaultown; unless a check was down on ITSDA vehicles in the area, and one transport suddenly went silent and was currently heading for the surface location that laid a blanket of deception over the true base being sought after. Worse yet, onboard that craft was Frank Jackson, an old war dog who dug relentlessly for a bone if he thought he smelled one. The Commander could have tried to order them off pretended to be a person of high command, Dieter could have speed dialed some of his expensive lawyers, but trying to hide behind the rules was pointless, when you were facing a man who made a hobby out of breaking them...

Hearing Vandal's voice echo through Brianna's mind, Valorum looks up and around like he'd been trapped in a hole and someone just threw a rope to him.

FINALLY. It's about time someone noticed something was amiss.

With a look at the curled up ball of Brianna in front of him, he reaches a leg out and gently kicks her in the shoulder.

Rise and shine, my scarred little friend. Someone asked you a question.


Vandal shakes Brianna's shoulder and it takes her a few seconds, but she shakes her head and blinks, looking confused. She looks up at Vandal and looks a little spooked that someone's staring her down all of the sudden, saying uncertainly:

"Oh. Um...hi? Sorry, did you say something?"

"I just wanna know if you're okay, kiddo, " she said softly while trailing her eyes over the young girl's frightened face and trying her best to keep her facial muscles calm, still, and sympathetic-looking.

A few seconds later, she rapidly poked Brianna in the back and pointed at Frank until she got the hint.

"'Cuz we got anotha' mission in front of us. Maybe even worse than the last one. So we wanna know if you're up for it." Vandal's gaze turned towards the eyes of the brilliant old war-wolf standing at the center of the Songbird.

"And their ain't no shame if you tap out now. Ain't that right, Frankie?" Her eyes filled with fire while her face froze into an icy wall of determination.

"We can handle this..." she whispered, hoping that the living legend would read her lips. "No one else has to die for us..."

Scrap suddenly smashed his way into the conversation with a bold announcement.

"Better make this quick, guys. ETA is 5 minutes!"

Frank didn't miss his cue, and turned his usua lip-curled smile on the girl as the magician started to shift about as though the commotion about him was easing him from the grips of slumber.

"She's right kid, you proved yourself beyond any doubt and we're not going to ask anymore from you. You can sit this next dance out, and no one would think any less of you."

Brianna's face carries an expression that is simultaneously blank and deep in thought. She looks like she doesn't know how to answer.

**********

Valorum 'looks' at Brianna expectantly, who seems extremely uncertain.

Well?

...I don't know...

It's like they said; there's no shame in dropping them off and taking this thing back to a safe haven. You've seen a lot today.

...

Besides, you couldn't take what happened back there, and they probably face that kind of stuff down by the day. They can handle this without you.

...so you're saying I can't help them?

What? N-no! I'm saying that you are way too rattled to take a full blown assault on an enemy compound! Besides, they even said that it was a direct violation of ITSDA policy! You could lose the last safe haven you have!

...do nothing out of selfish ambition or vain conceit. Rather, in humility, value others above yourself.

Oh for-. Don't bring scripture into this...

**********

Upon hearing Franks words, Brianna's expression solidifies, and she now wears this look of an almost naive determination as she looks at possibly the two bravest people she's met and speaks with ironclad conviction in her voice:

"No one except me, you mean. I'll lose sleep tonight after what I've seen, but I'll sleep better knowing I helped you every-which-way I could. So count me in."

Among the wreckage of Crimson One were a lot of things, but as the ITSDA aircraft turned to leave, they probably didn't think that a third terrorist-level threat had entered the fray. But up from The Smith's charred crater stood a figure, with a 3-foot rifle on his back, dusting off his hands. Looking at The -definitely dead- Smith, Kane sighed. "Well. Better luck next time."

He shrugs, walks over to a Redcap's body, kicks it, and starts walking, clearly following the ITSDA's Agents. Upon reaching a building, he jumps, using the power he'd only partially absorbed (that piece of shit Dollhouse to blame) a short time ago from an ITSDA agent in Vegas. Air rushes around him as the Gift's power flung him through the air, landing him on top of the aircraft with only small dents where each foot met the metal.

"Showtime." He giggles, cranking the handle on his giant gun and crouching low on the hull of the aircraft.
This message was last edited by the player at 14:02, Fri 29 Jan 2016.

Dieter was monitoring the various ITSDA forces closing in on the During facility and smiling like a cat with a toy. Things were not ideal, no, but they were within acceptable norms. The sacrifice of the single facility would serve to throw the ITSDA agents off the scent of his real holdings and the location of and use of the military base was good. It might have future uses as well.

He was just giving orders to coordinate the tete-a-tete between the two forces when his phone rang. He finished giving the orders and then picked up the device and hit the single button. He was shocked when a live voice emitted from the speaker, "One little mousey has not been fooled. Check the blacksite."

It was deeply, deeply risky for anyone in the inner circle of Schwartze Augen to contact the others. It risked tipping their hand as to their true secret. Still, if the message was that important..

He quickly opened the access to the darknet website they used and entered his credentials. One message was in the inbox and he opened it to see the information on a certain man's activity. Someone had been doing key research about Gaultown, research that had been flagged and monitored since the bases founding. He growled as he realized what it meant, someone knew that Durin facility was a ruse. True, it was a satellite facility of this place and thus part of it, but someone should know that this base and Durin facility were not the same location. He felt a strangely alien urge to panic and bark orders but then he looked at the screen and saw the movements of the ITSDA agents again. They still closed in on Durin, so whoever knew was not acting overtly. He calmed and eyed the readouts. Is this all ITSDA asset movements? Confirm."

A flurry then a buzz and then one of his operators reported, "Sir, all assets known in the area confirmed. One anomaly, the asset marked here looks to be moving in formation at first glance but it is actually off course just barely. This trajectory puts them within a margin of error of a strike at this facility if they were able to locate one of the secret entrances."

Dieter eyed it long and hard and then gritted his teeth, "Operate under the assumption they know. Lockdown entrances alpha, delta, and gamma. Entrance beta is to be put under Ultraviolet security protocols." Ultraviolet wasn't his highest security, but it was the highest with a low profile. He needed the other asses to continue on to the trap of Durin. He couldn't give them a reason to rerout. Even if they knew and were just setting the trap with their maneuvers, he would make them pay dearly for underestimating SA.

Finally, he sent a message to the Commander, "Someone has done some key research about the area and has likely sniffed out this location. I am going to use final protocols at Durin once the players are in place. I need Nigma at Durin facility but the rest of your team should converge on this location." Commander was given the location of a restaurant/bar in town that had an entrance to Dieter's facility in back: Tommie's Place.

Dieter stood from his chair and grunted, it looked like it was time for him to get involved as well. That bar was about to get torn apart...

The Commanders borrowed APC rocked as its engines revved and it's wheels cut through the rough terrain that the discrete and indirect route back to Gaultown demanded. Commander himself had his eyes glued to the APC's information system as he continued to throw numbers and fresh information around in his head, in an effort to build better and more robust plans in his head. In his current situation he could do little else, and the situation was too high-stakes to let him drop his thoughts for even a second.

His tablet chimed again, and displayed two new notifications.

First of all the orders that he'd put into place before his departure to Gaultown had been executed; his prerecorded message to Chicago had been aired and the relevant hostages had been released after several of his demands had been ceded to. That was good news, although Commander would have preferred to have been in his bunker to see the broadcast live.

Secondly, Dieter had new orders. The tactical situation had changed, yet again; and pieces were being repositioned, yet again. Commander typed off a response into the tablet confirming that he'd read both articles before he put the tablet down, stood up, and covered his face with gloved hands as he briefly stifled a scream of frustration.

The self-proclaimed master tactician shouted out a variety of colourful expletives before falling silent. 'Nigma picked up the tablet and read the information herself, a small frown wiped across her features but her reaction wasn't as severe as Commanders.
"It looks as though we have to reposition again."
"...yep."
"Once they hit the main facility, which they almost certainly will, your distraction will have amounted to nothing."
"...yep."
An evil smile spread across 'Nigmas face as she saw another opportunity to kick her rival in the ego. "That's a shame!" She said, to enthusiastically to be convincing. "-and after you gambited that Lieutenant of yours, and spent all those hours skulking around making plans! It looks like the actual battle's just going to be thrown together at the last second after all! Hard lines!"
Commander didn't give her any more ammunition by answering, instead he irately ground his teeth together and physically felt his blood pressure double. He wondered if this was part of the ITSDA strategy; to keep hopping around the battlefield irrationally until he got frustrated enough to just hand himself in. It was starting to seem plausible. In either case his effort at the Goverment facility had been a wash, or at very least poorly-invested time.

Commander stood up and stamped away from his jeering comrade and to the Armoured Cars driver compartment to issue his new orders.
"Take us to this Durin entrance, by this treeline here... Sievold wants his hussie back.-"
"I'm not his!-." 'Nigma interrupted, before being again interrupted herself.
"-Afterwards we need to drive as close to the town as we can without letting the APC give away it's position. Besides a driver, and Huxley who's still injured, we're all to dismount and meet at this strongpoint. I think that's where Dieter means to make his stand."

Still furious Commander stamped his heavy tread back into the APC's main compartment, and started rifling through the vehicles and stolen supplies as he began checking, loading and reconfiguring the varied and powerful weapons he carried.
"-I wanted to execute a nice elegant battle! One that everyone could walk away from in one piece and with most of their limbs still attached, but NO-o-O-o!"
The Commander ranted to everyone and no-one in particular. He drew one of his half-dozen pistols out from the lining of his coat, and pulled its clip before ejecting an orange rubber bullet from the chamber. He reloaded it with a clip of hollow-points stolen from a Schwarze Augen equipment rack. He then removed a pair of tear-gas and EMP-pulse grenades from his belt and replaced them both with incendiaries.
"I guess we're going with plan 'Kill all the witnesses' after all!"

The APC continued on it's ordered path. Eventually dropping off 'Nigma at her destination before circling around to take the long and quiet route to the Gaultown border, and ultimately, Tommie's.

On the long drive back something Caught Scraps eye on the APC console, and he broke the tense silence following Commanders outburst and 'Nigmas absence by pointing it out.
"Chief! Leviathan has a bead on the stray target- something's not right..."
Commander finally got over his temper, and glared over to the display Scrap had indicated. It was a thermal-vision view of one of the ITSDA planes that'd disrupted their plans, Leviathan was keeping distant so as not to be seen- but through the grainy ultra-magnified infra-red vision it was obvious that something was amiss. The tail of the jets heat signature was dominated by it's engines and exhausts, but an errant signature seemed to be attached to the vehicles roof... it almost looked like someone was standing ontop of the vehicle.
"Keep an eye on that transport."
Commander commanded. He squinted at the display as he tried to guess who the new Gifted was. There were a few gifted on the ITSDA 'first response' roster who could withstand the damage that a high-altitude high-velocity flight would incur, but not many who could also get into such a strange position. Commander scowled at the display... he didn't like this new development one bit...
This message was last edited by the player at 23:45, Thu 04 Feb 2016.

As the bullets shot forth, they bounced off the armored hull and ricocheted back at their owner; with his healing ability, Kane paid them no mind at all. What did catch his attention, however, was the fact that suddenly his barrel was aimed at concrete and not metal. He looked around him, and noticed two things. One was that he was now standing on a sidewalk with the transport was just on overhead, and the second was despite the ghost town vibe Gaultown seemed to embody, he was no longer alone.

There was another figure with him, of average height for a man and clad in a dark suit with a black overcoat. The fellow's hair was white, and pink eyes looked out from painfully pale skin. When he spoke, his voice had some form of accent to it yet it was too softened by practice to be placed.

"Kane Isaiah Armani, I presume? You first started your quest of blood and carnage four years ago, and in that time have acquired not one but several names for yourself. You have a Gift for consuming one's soul in a sense, gaining their abilities and skills, that is correct yes? Though you have been killing for several years now, and been confronted repeatedly by those who deal with high level threats, you have yet to be stopped. Though I myself find no use for wholesale slaughter as it holds no profit, I must admit you impress me and that is not easily accomplished.

Kane sneered at the stranger before him, and leveled his three foot boom stick at the man's chest.

"I don't know who you work for, but I hope you're employment package includes funeral expenses."

The other man held up a gloved hand.

"I fear you misunderstand me, Mr. Armani; I only wished to tell you something I thought you might not be aware of. On that transport is an individual who has caused certain parties strife in amounts large enough that they are willing to put a fetching price on having them removed in a permanent fashion. I'm interested in collecting this money, so I would like it if you didn't obliterate them as part of your dark hobby. Note however that everyone else about the transport is free game, and you may do with them as you wish."

Kane looked crestfallen.

"Awww, you came to give me your nice little message, but I didn't bring anything for you. Well, at the very least, I could give you some...

BULLETS!!!"

Upon saying the final word, the mass murderer started cranking his rifle and blasting shots at the stranger. He moved the weapon back and forth as he laughed gleefully, filling the night air with bouts of flames and noise as his Mk. 211 Raufoss rounds collided with brick, wood, metal, and anything else unfortunate to be caught in their path. After thirty seconds, he finally stopped firing so he could savor his unwanted acquaintance hanging in the air as a red mist; he was to be disappointed, for there was no sign of the other man.

Before he could figure out what exactly had occurred, something hit him hard in the back and didn't let up. It shredded his clothing, tore his Kevlar bodysuit asunder, and ploughed deep into unprotected flesh. His skin caught fire, he could smell it burning as he was shoved forward several steps from the sheer force of the attack. Mind racing, he remembered his stolen Gift of rapid displacement and rushed to the other side of the street. He collapsed at his destination, the damage to his spine and nerves too severe to remain standing. While blinding pain battled with numbness, once more the strange stood before Kane; only now, he was holding an exact copy of Kane's rifle.

"I had hoped we could keep this friendly, Mr. Armani. After all, I did say you could play with anyone other than a single person, the one I'll get paid to kill. Even now I'm trying to play fair, and only use your own means against you. I wasn't sure of just what you had loaded in your gun, until you let loose. Then again, knowing what I do about you, I should have guessed at something loud and messy. Well, hindsight and all that, right?"

Kane sneered at the speaker, and spat a mouthful of blood at his expensive shoes. He couldn't remember the last time he'd be hurt this bad, but he could already feel his body fixing itself. If he could just distract this man for a little while, he could spring up and catch Mr. Fancy Pants in a surprise attack. To that end, he created an illusion of himself armed with a rocket launcher stepping out from around the corner of a nearby building.

"Nice try, but you just fell for my clever trap!"

The stranger glanced at his impending doom as the rocket fired, calmly sipping on what smelled like coffee in a fine china cup.

'Wait, where the fuck did he get coffee, and what the hell happened to his rifle!?!?'

The projectile passed harmlessly through its target, and the fake Kane vanished as the real one gained a slight smile from the stranger.

"I of course knew of your ability to create illusions, Mr. Armani, yet it is highly entertaining to see them in person. I also know about your shield against Gifted powers, which is why I caught you unaware on the transport and resorted to using a weapon like your own, and your increased healing which is why I didn't expect my attack to kill you. Unlike yourself, I prefer to know whom it is I have dealings with."

Kane drew in a sharp breath as his punctured lungs mended and refilled with air, then grinned at the figure before him.

"So, you know my tricks, huh? Well, there's one I know you missed, or you wouldn't be standing so close..."

With that, Kane lurched forward and grabbed one leg of the man before him. Upon contact, he created a vortex to add the stranger's soul to his collection...
...Suddenly, once more, he wasn't where he had been.



Kane struggled to his feet, a sign he was well back to his full health, eyes wide as he looked around him.

"Where...where are we?"

"My home away from home, I guess you could call it."

The stranger shook his head, but not in a sad nor dejected way.

"You know, Mr. Armani, as I said I knew about you before we met. A homicide maniac, painting the world red when and where ever you like. I didn't believe a gentle word would gain any ground with you, but I thought even you were capable of fear based on self preservation. Yet I see I was mistaken, no matter how big the pot you keep insisting on upping the stakes. Fine then, as they say the kid gloves come off."

Kane stood and stretched out his new muscles and tissue, a gleeful expression not unlike that of a kid in a candy store upon his lips.

"You know what you putz, that suits me just fine. I never asked for easy, and your soul will taste all the sweeter when I eat it. Let's get this party started right!"

The maniac used his fluid displacement talent again to bull rush his target, but slammed full on into a stone wall that hadn't been there and wasn't an instant after impact. Before he could figure out just what had happened, he noticed an overly large fist coming fast toward his face. The blow landed squared, and caused him to spit out a few teeth he could already feel starting to regrow. Thinking fast, Kane leapt up into the air planning to come down hard in a drop kick on his opponent.

His stolen Gift lifted him higher than a normal human, but he kept gaining altitude and faster than his talent should have allowed; the house he was standing by only a short while ago looked tiny, then suddenly gravity reasserted itself with a vengeance. He collided with the ground so hard, he actually made a depression. As he hauled himself out of it and felt his bones knitting, he entertained the thought that whoever, whatever, this guy was, taking down an entire ITSDA squad had been easier.

Ready to get some payback, Kane ran at his normal speed toward the stranger, lashing out limbs in a series of crippling and even lethal Ninjitsu blows; it was like hitting a mountain, finger and toe bones crunched from the impact. Before he could do anything else, a single hand grasped his throat, and lifted him completely off the ground. The manic killer brought both arms down on the elbow of the one that held him captive, but even with his stolen Gifts he seemed to have the impact of a gnat.

"You don't seem to understand, Mr. Armani, you're not in the world of Man anymore. I told you, this is MY home, here reality bows to MY will, what holds true for you elsewhere has no meaning here. You thought you were simply going to drain the soul of a man, but you can't begin to touch the power of a GOD!"

Kane was swung upside down, his head slamming with sickening noises into the ground.

With a crushed voice box, tongue half bit off, and shattered teeth, a weak voice replied;

"Maybe not, but I can try..."

Kane again opened his vortex, but used it in the manner meant for a group. He paid attention to nothing and naught else, putting all of his concentration and will into strengthening the soul sucking black hole. It had served him well before, gained him talent and skill that made him deadlier and deadlier still. Yet he had simply used it, never pondered how strong he could make it. Now he was in someone else's card game and they held a Royal Flush; he had only one ace up his sleeve, and he was going to push it for all he was worth.

The figure didn't seem worried, but instead chuckled, then laughed.

"So, the Nuclear Option, then? Take everything and one with you? Why, if you wanted a try at absorbing my power, you just had to ask..."

Taking the several steps required, the man willingly reached out one hand, and shoved it into the center of the vortex.

Kane was flooded with sensations and images he'd never dreamed possible; he could taste sound, hear color, witnessed structures of infinite complexity broken down into a simple, single line. He saw everything, yet understood nothing.

When he came to, the murderer was on his back in some crop field. Spots played before his eyes, everything ached, and he felt like he'd just made sweet, sweet love to an atomic reactor. AS he lay there, looking up at a sky that was still night, he made a slight adjustment to the list he had in his head;

Before, Doll House had been the only one on it; now, they had Mr. Fancy Pants for company...

Kane stands up again and lowers the rifle's barrel to the hull of the ship.

"I think this puppy oughta cut through at least the top layer of armor. The explosives should handle it from there." He mutters.

"That's not going to be enough." A voice calls over the rushing wind around them.

Kane flinches, and the gun fires. Sure enough, only a third of the bullet lodges in the metal. Kane stares at it for a half-second before a "gah!" escapes him.

Just as loud as the gun firing, the Mk. 211 Raufoss bullet exploded, spraying his shins with shrapnel and leaving a two-inch hole where the bullet struck.

The scrapes in his ankles heal before he even feels the pain. Kane glares up at the slightly shorter figure standing across from him, clad in impractically fancy clothes. The wind around them died. Everything around them peeled away like a backdrop and he found himself staring at a new place. The middle of a street. Directly below the aircraft, which was suspended in mid-air.

"OK, let's keep this brief. Who are you, and do we fight now? Go."

The mystery man shakes his head. "Mr. Armani, you can call me Ivan. I'm just here to make a little request of you. There's a certain somebody on the aircraft you were planning to take apart that some people are willing to pay good money for. For their death, that is. All I ask is that you don't kill this person, as I wish to collect the aforementioned bounty on their head."

Kane blinks a few times. "OK, all I got from that is that you want me to NOT kill someone."

"That is correct." Ivan nods.

Kane nods, hefts his rifle, and says, "No."

Ivan's palm impacts his face. "Mr. Armani, I don't wish to restrict you, I'm just saying that I want to be the one to kill--"

BRAKAKA! Kane's rifle made noises like a dozen trumpets.

Ivan looks down to see three bullets, stopped in mid-shot front of him.

"Well then."

The rounds in front of him detonate, a trio of blooming flowers of flame. Kane smiles as he reloads the clip of his rifle.

Seriously, new toy, new outfit -consisting of a military jacket, some cargo pants, and a 50. caliber semi-automatic rifle with minor magnetic additions- All he needed to do was absorb some new permanent powers and get laid and he might be willing to hold off killing people for a little while.

Might.

But at the moment, he was focusing on Ivan. Those bullets didn't kill him, he expected that much. But for the pale man to walk out of those explosions unharmed? That meant a whole new level of pain for one or both of them.

Kane hoped it was both.

"I'm sorry that this has to happen, Kane." Ivan says, not sounding sorry at all. "But I've got a bounty to collect."

He extends his hand and a weapon appears in it. The gun unfolds, and he soon held a rifle similar in shape to Kane's.

"Finally. We get to the good stuff." Kane's smile would send any man running for cover.

Ivan was clearly no man.

Kane points his rifle.
Ivan points his.
They fire.

Kane's quartet of anti-armor rounds strike the man, but they fall to the floor without piercing him.

Conversely, Ivan's gun fires a blue blast of what could only be lightning, knocking Kane's gun aside and shearing off his right hand.

"Fuck!" He swears, dropping the red-hot piece of scrap that was his newly-obtained weapon.

Kane looks up at the explosion from his bullets, before feeling something shred his abdomen from behind, filling his lungs with a scream. Looking down, he sees a hole where his stomach was. Turning, he sees Ivan, within arm's reach, holding his lightning gun.

"Kane, you might think you're invincible," Ivan begins.

Kane lashes out with his partially regenerated hand. "There's been evidence of it."

"But I'm far more powerful than you. I can literally destroy you." Ivan teleports out of his reach.

"Ooh! That's a power I'd like to have." Kane says, flexing his hand as the skin regrows.

"The ability to destroy yourself?"

"No, the ability to make waffles with a french press. Pay attention." He pounces at Ivan like a wolf, but the pale man teleports away again, and Kane's pounce turns into a roll.

"You are crazy." Ivan murmurs, shaking his head.

" And you're pissing me off." Kane snarls. "Can't you just fight me?"

Ivan stares at him. "You want a fight? Fine." He vanishes.

At the same moment, Kane's stolen power activates, and he disappears as well.

Ivan and Kane reappear, and Ivan freezes. "Where...?" Then he teleports again as a kukri nearly takes his head off. Ivan promptly reappears, facing Kane, and delivers an uppercut that nearly breaks Kane's jaw. The maniac stumbles, and Ivan raises the lightning gun.

"Happy now?"

"Very."

The gun fires, and Kane disappears. Ivan swings to face behind him and fires the gun.

There's no-one there.

SHLK

The pale man arches his back in surprise. He looks down to see the blade of Kane's knife sprouting from his chest.

"Bastard." Ivan groans as Kane tears the kukri out of his back, spins him around and spits fire in his face, sending the pale man stumbling back.

Kane smiles with the warmth of a cobra spreading its hood. "That's my name. Don't wear it out." Black smoke crawls across Ivan's shoulders.

"You mean to absorb my power? You can't handle it."

Kane smiles as the vortex begins to attempt to suck out Ivan's soul. "I don't need to. I just needed you to stay still."

Behind Ivan, Kane clenches his fist and a red glow shone between his fingers as he activated the Anti-Gift Shield, absorbing a small portion of Ivan's power. Then, he kicked Ivan in the head, knocking him off the building. Before he could teleport away, Kane did, to the street below him and used the remainder of Ivan's power to conjure up a shoulder-mounted weapon.

SHZZT!

A blast of lightning envelops Ivan's form, and the man disappears. Kane had no doubt that he'd spirited himself away to avoid mortal injury. But the psychopath was satisfied by the fact that he did not reappear.

Frowning, he turned in the direction of the plane, which had continued on its path. "Damn." He displaced himself back to where his slightly scorched rifle lay, holstered it on his back and sped off, following the plane with a lighting cannon on his shoulder.

"Back to business."

Kane stood up again and lowered the rifle's barrel to the hull of the ship.

"This puppy oughta cut through at least the top layer of armor. The explosives'll take care of the rest." He mutters.

"That's not going to be enough." A voice calls over the rushing wind and engine roar that surrounds Kane.

The sociopath flinches; his gun fires. Kane stares at the figure in front of him; he had to admit that even he could be shocked, sometimes.

The average-sized figure was clad in a dark suit with a black overcoat. But, as if to contrast with the darkness of his clothes, the fellow's hair was white and pink eyes looked out from painfully pale skin. When he spoke, his voice had some form of accent to it, but it was too softened by practice for Kane to place (even with the accentuated hearing he stole from a Gifted spy).

"Kane Isaiah Armani, I presume? You first started your quest of blood and carnage four years ago, and in that time have acquired not one but several names for yourself. You have a Gift for consuming one's soul in a sense, gaining their abilities and skills; that is correct, yes?"

Kane chuckled cockily, but harbored a little bit of resentment toward the fucker who was talking about him like he was some endangered bird.

"Though I myself find no use for wholesale slaughter as it holds no profit, I must admit you impress me and that is not easily accomplished.

"I impress you?" asked Kane, his voice a sarcastic hiss. He then sprayed his enemy with gunfire, rapidly swinging the SMG up and down as if to cleave his target in half. The target miraculously summoned a modern tower shield to defend himself with just as Kane began firing.

"Well, you annoy me." The lunatic charged the mystery man, jumping over the target and readying his knife for the killing blow. Calmly, the albino agent grabbed Kane's arm as he flew through the air.

Before Kane even knew what happened, he reappeared on an eerily abandoned, yet pristine Gaultown sidewalk as the transport flew overhead. The stranger jumped back an instant before Kane regained his composure and held out his gloved hand.

"You misunderstand me, Mr. Armani; I only wished to bring something to your attention. On that transport is an individual who has caused certain parties strife in amounts large enough that they are willing to put a fetching price on their permanent removal. I'm interested in collecting this money, so I would like it if you didn't obliterate them as part of your dark hobby. However, everyone else aboard the transport is free game, and you may do with them as you wish."

"Polite requests, ettiquette; could you get any more boring?" asked the mad dog as he again let a chain of bullets fly from his MK. 211 Raufoss. The stranger again created a powerful, expertly-shaped metal shield. Kane's anti-tank bullets ricocheted off the contraption and Raufoss rounds collided with brick, wood, metal, and anything else unfortunate to be caught in their path.

Several bullets tore into Kane, making him feel like he was being boiled alive! Yet he tossed his gun aside, charged the man's shield head-first with his stolen superhuman speed, and ripped it out of the albino's hands. He then threw it up into the air and bowled his enemy over with a powerful charge.

Even Ivan flinched as the interloper lingered above him and coiled its hands around his neck as its skin "spit" out the bullets lodged deep within it mere moments ago.

"You know what I hate about you suit-types? You always try to limit me. I'll make sure to tear the motherfucker apart in front of you; he'll be the one that got away." Kane's words crackled with the simple joy of a schoolyard bully who'd never been hit back.

In Ivan's hands, two miniature flamethrowers pieced themselves together from thousands of scattered atoms suddenly emerging from another world. Ivan raised them up about an inch and fired them deep into Kane's side.

Kane's skin caught fire, he could smell it burning. He began to cackle as he fought, fought, fought through the pain. He then nearly knocked his enemy's head off by planting blows into Ivan's temple with one hand while using the other to slam it against the ground. His sharp mind unharmed by the damaging blows, Ivan teleported behind Kane, replaced one flamethrower with a wrist-mounted blade, and thrust it deep into Kane's stomach. The animalistic killer winced and held still for one short second.

That second was all that Ivan needed. Aiming his flamethrower at the hole in Kane's gut that was already sewing itself shut, Ivan launched a stream of fire deep into the lunatic's innards.

"ARRRAHH!" screamed Kane in what Ivan thought was a surprisingly subdued manner as he fell on his face. Ivan generated an exact copy of Kane's rifle and proceeded to show the psychopath how a professional uses a weapon.

Something hit Kane hard in the back and didn't let up. It shredded what remained of his clothing, tore his Kevlar bodysuit asunder, and ploughed deep into unprotected flesh. His internal organs began to explode, he could feel them being thrown all around his body as he was thrown forward from the sheer force of the attack. Mind racing, he instinctively triggered his stolen Gift of rapid displacement and rushed to the other side of the street. He collapsed at his destination, the damage to his spine and nerves too severe to remain standing. While blinding pain battled with numbness, once more the strange man stood before Kane...

"I had hoped we could keep this friendly, Mr. Armani. After all, I did say you could play with anyone other than a single person, the one I'll get paid to kill. Even now I'm trying to play fair, and only using small arms against you. Now can we forget our brief conflict and return to our respective businesses?"

Kane sneered at the speaker, and spat a mouthful of blood at his expensive shoes. He couldn't remember the last time he'd be hurt this bad, but he could already feel his body fixing itself. If he could just distract this man for a little while, he could spring up and catch Mr. Fancy Pants in a surprise attack. To that end, he created two illusions of himself: one armed with a rocket launcher stepping out from around the corner of a nearby building, the other armed with a sniper rifle standing atop a nearby roof.

"Nice try, but you just fell for my clever trap!"

The stranger glanced at his impending doom as the rocket and rifle both fired in unison, calmly sipping on what smelled like coffee in a fine China cup.

"Wait, where the fuck did you get coffee, and what the hell happened to your rifle?!"

The projectiles passed harmlessly through its target, and the fake Kanes vanished as the real one earned a slight smile from the highly professional assassin.

"I of course knew of your ability to create illusions, Mr. Armani, yet it is highly entertaining to see them in person. I also know about your shield against Gifted powers, which is why I caught you unaware on the transport and resorted to using weapons like your own. And your increased healing is the reason I didn't expect my attack to kill you. Unlike yourself, I prefer to know whom it is I have dealings with."

Kane drew in a sharp breath as his punctured lungs mended and refilled with air, then grinned at the figure before him.

"So, you know my tricks, huh? Well, there's one I know you missed, or you wouldn't be standing still..."

Kane teleported behind the strange man.

"I can--"

In front of him.

"--do that--"

Above him!

"--too!"

Kane drew his kukri as he fell, but Ivan teleported away. He appeared behind Kane, then to his side, then atop a lampost; Kane followed his enemy's example and teleported to higher ground. The teleporting quickly became a complex dance as the two jumped back and forth around the battlefield, desperately trying to predict where their enemy's next position.

"COME FIGHT ME, COWARD!" screamed Kane at the top of his lungs. His scream was more of a howl, designed to echo throughout the city so that the bastard would hear him no matter where he was.

Ivan promptly reappeared, facing Kane, and delivered an uppercut that nearly broke Kane's jaw. The monster stumbled as Ivan generated a miniaturized railgun.

"Happy now?" asked Ivan as Kane appears directly in front of him.

"Very!" Kane teleported away a microsecond before Ivan pulled the trigger; he was feinting!

The pale man arched his back in surprise. He looked down to see the blade of Kane's knife sprouting from his chest.

"Bastard," Ivan groaned as Kane tore the kukri out of his back, spun him around and spit fire in his face, forcing the pale man back and to his knees.

Kane smiled with the warmth of a cobra spreading its hood.

"That's my name. Don't wear it out." Black smoke crawled across Ivan's shoulders. "And don't ever underestimate me."

"You mean to absorb my power? You can't handle it."

Kane smiled as the vortex began to try and suck out Ivan's soul. "I don't need to. I just needed you to stay still."

Behind Ivan, Kane clenched his fist and a red glow shone between his fingers as he activated the Anti-Gift Shield. That ensured that he only absorbed a small portion of Ivan's power. Then he kicked Ivan in the head, knocking him off the building. Before he could teleport away, Kane teleported to the street below him and used the stolen piece of Ivan's power to conjure up a shoulder-mounted weapon.

SHZZT!

A blast of lightning envelops Ivan's form, and the man disappeared. Kane had no doubt that he'd spirited himself away to avoid mortal injury. But the psychopath was satisfied by the fact that the merc did not reappear.

Frowning, he turned in the direction of the ITSDA's plane, which had continued on its path.

"Damn." He displaced himself back to where his rifle lay, holstered it on his back and sped off, following the plane with a lighting cannon on his shoulder.

"Back to business."

Ivan had to admit, as he spied on the young man from atop a nearby building, that the kid was proving to be more interesting than expected...
This message was last edited by the GM at 05:22, Sat 20 Feb 2016.

Commanders borrowed APC rumbled to a halt outside it's destination: 'Tommie's Place'.
The building outwardly resembled a large bar or restaurant, although it's understated advertising and architecture did little to attract potential customers... or anyone for that matter... which was of course the point.
'Tommie's Place' was one of several Gaultown buildings that acted as exit points for Dieter Sievold's fortresses. Normally such a facility would be kept as inconspicuous as possible, but the several squads of Schwartze Augen troopers staffing every window on the building and ringing it with myriad vehicles (including the newly arrived crimson personnel carrier) made it obvious that the cat was already out of the bag. No. Dieter had called them here to stage his last stand, the ITSDA had somehow been able to ignore the multiple smokescreen efforts he'd put into play- and direct conflict had become inevitable. The long night had been climaxing to this final showdown, and everyone either approaching or inhabiting the building knew it.

Dieter himself was inside the restaurant, which in itself was a testimony to the dire situation. The fact that Schwartze Augen's leader preferred to use hired help to perform his bidding, and seemed to hide behind a legion of Gifted Lieutenants, had caused many careless observers to assume that Mister Sievold himself was not the combative type- but those same observers ended up dead, more often than not. Dieter's Gifts and cold calculated lack of mercy made him a monster on the battlefield, and a few unfortunate souls had even come to realize that his stoic and calm mannerisms only served to conceal a wicked and vicious streak that few ever got to see twice. Even so, the man wasn't known for fighting on his own frontlines, and the fact that he was present prove that the situation was one of the few that deserved his personal attention.
Whist his private security busied themselves around the restaurant by reinforcing windows, taking firing positions, and creating killzones the businessman simply idled away the time by scowling grimly at his smartphone and picking stray specks of dust from his suit. He only deigned to lift his eyes from his device once he heard the heavy tread of steel-toed combat boots march through his building.

"Ah. Commander. I'm glad to see that you completed your mission without incident- and I do apologise for your wasted efforts, but it seems that our guests don't intend to play along to the script we've laid out for them."

Commander gave a dissatisfied grunt at Dieters assertion, as he unshouldered a heavy supply bag he'd carried from the APC onto one of the restaurants table.

"It's all right. Plans rarely hold together, especially when Gifted get involved." Commander spoke. "I just wish that it hadn't come down to this. Alimo-style last stands don't fit my style. They're so... inflexible. Tactically speaking."

As he said that Commander tore open the zip of his baggage to reveal an arsenal of looted weaponry, which he began tactically distributing around the restaurant; placing spare guns at firing places, smart proximity mines at the buildings entrances, and a good deal of the weapons he passed to Destroyer and Scrap- who had joined him in reinforcing Schwartz Augens defensive line.
Dieter watched them work for a moment, a very mild look of amusement playing across his features. He himself had no need for such preparations, and didn't require weaponry or preparation to be considered dangerous- but he appreciated the intricacies of sound planning all the same. After a few moments of thought, however, his expression darkened.

"Brett. When the ITSDA storm our position a lot of people are going to die. Are you prepared?"
First names, that was a rare thing for Dieter to lower himself to using.
"I am. All my troops are in position and we won't run out of ammo. Leviathan will also be keeping an eye open for us." Commander replied, his voice stony cold- even moreso than usual.
"You know that's not what I meant." Dieter shot back. His serious tone had lightened a few decibels, and although it was unlikely that the Namidian still possessed a capacity for compassion his voice was certainly tinged with... something... concern maybe? "I'm talking about your condition. I'm aware that you find parts of our business... difficult."
Commander grit his teeth, and his expression and voice turned to a stone mask. "It'll be fine. I'll manage."
Dieter gave him a long appraising stare, before turning back to his device. When he spoke again it was with his usual no-nonsense demeanour.
"All right then."

E.Nigma's report. Battle of Gaultown: 22:45
Current Namidian forces: Dieter, Commander, Scrap, Destoyer, Vincent Lee, 3 solidiers of Commanders militia, 18 Schwartze Augen operatives.
On standby: 'Nigma, Ivan, Redcap, 20 manipulated goverment soildiers.
0 Namidian Casulties sustained.

---

Frank clung onto the frame of the ITSDA's Songbird jet with an iron grip, as he hung out of the open rear boarding ramp. A self-satisfied grin smeared itself across the veterans face as he locked eyes with the building he'd ordered his pilot to drop him and his team off at. His hurried but expert research had identified the Diner he faced as a highly likely entry point for any concealed facilities- and his suspicions were proven by the amassed vehicles and manpower surrounding the area. For anyone else, the fact that the Namidians had somehow prempted his plans, and had fortified themselves would have been a concern- but the old wardog had seen more combat that almost anyone else alive, and he recognised a desperate tactic when he saw it. Rooting the villains out would be troublesome, but the fact that they were digging in their heels only prove that they had nowhere else to run. With a last push of effort Frank felt confident that he would finally be able to punch the Namidian wave where they could really feel it- and perhaps even the score for the mess that the Gifted terrorists had made of his previous mission.

"Jackpot. Jill, Y' seeing this?"
Frank pressed his communication earbud deep into his lobe, as he strained to make out a response from the rush of air driving past him. Jill was on a second transport jet circling the small town, with her own team- and although Frank had never respected the ITSDA's chain of command as rigidly as he'd ought to, he still respected Jills experience enough to include her in his strategies. His own jet contained Brianna, Black Magic, Scrap and Vandal.
"Affirmative, Jackson. Your hunch seems to have paid off- those are definitely Schwartz Augen vehicles. Almost a full battalion, by our best estimates."
Franks nodded his agreement. What the ITSDA supercomputers had estimated, Frank had eyeballed with experience- with this many troops on the field he was certain that he'd caused his enemies to backstep into a full defence, but Namidians were the kind of enemies to weave their plots within plots and even a renegade like Frank realized that it wouldn't be wise for him to dive in half-cocked.
"What are the chances that this is a distraction? I'm getting sick of Namidias slipping out my sights."
There was a pause as Jill checked his request, but she answered quickly enough.
"Our scout parties don't see any more movement around town, and there's no way that they could risk losing this many soldiers as a distraction. You should be clear t- FRANK LOOK OUT! MISSIL-"
*KA-BLAMMN!*
Jills warning was cut short as a streak of fire shot out the observed restaurant without warning. An armour penetrating warhead smashed into one of the ITSDA VTOLs engines and caused it to barrel over into a suicide roll- as the cargo compartment was turned upside down, Frank's quick instincts threw himself into the hold to shield the exhausted form of Black Magic, just as the vehicle tipped itself to the ground. With only a mere moment to act a shimmering golden aura surrounded Brianna, at the same moment a startled squeal escaped her throat, as Valorum moved to protect her. Vandal sprinted and dove out of the planes open cargo door and trusted in her Gift to ensure a safe landing, whilst the metal surrounding Scrap in is cockpit warped inwards to encase him within a protective shell. Each agent's defences were put to the test an instant later when the stricken SongBird ploughed into the ground with a crunch of heavy tortured metal and a fiery flash of sparked jet-fuel.

"Jackson?! Scrap! Can anyone read me!"
Jill cared deeply for the well-being of her teamates, but even so her voice stayed level and professional- although tense- as the tried to re-establish contact with her second team. She had enough faith in her first-response agents to know that it'd take a lot more than that to take them out completely.
"Vandal?! Brianna? What is your situation?"

A slab of burnt fuselage kicked itself out of the wreckage, and a moment later Brianna got uncertainly to her feet. Valorum towered protectively over her and practically burned bright with righteous anger. A moment later she was joined by Vandal who had used her earlier momentum trick to slow her fall, and by Scrap who's Gift had allowed him to survive the direct brunt of the crash. Finally, with a groan of exertion, a hairy overmuscled arm punched its way out from a dense patch of rubble. The seemingly unharmed Frank Jackson pulled himself, and the injured but now concious from of Blackmagic, out and into the open. Brianna instantly ran to his side and lay healing hands on the worst and most obvious of Peters injuries.

"Is anyone else injured?!" Brianna called out, her voice was still a little shaken from the attack- but she seemed to be recovering from her shock better that most of the agents might have given her credit for. Perhaps she was ITSDA material after all, deep down.
"Battered, but stable." Scrap confirmed seriously.
"I'm good- all considered." Vandal chimed in.
"I am now, ma'am." Peter said, as the girls healing powers started to take effect. "All thanks to you."

"Jill, we all seem to be in one piece." Frank finally answered his CO's question. While he talked he heaved chunks of detritus out from the crashsite, and tried to unearth his pistols from the wreckage. "I can't say that we'll stay that way. The Namidians are probably going to follow up with another attack soon- Not that I'll let 'em. I'm gonna' attack first."
With a surge of biceps he managed to recover one of his weapons. He started looking for the other.
"Have it your way, Jackson." Jill confirmed. "We're sending our ground crews to assist you. Myself and the primary squad will stay airborne to deal with any new threats."
"'Preciate it. Jackson out." With another effort he dislodged enough rubble to reveal his second lost firearm. They were both beat up, but the heavy custom pistols were more than durable enough to survive a petty plane crash. He called out to the others. "All right, kids!- pack your shit and get ready to head out! Namidias just tried to take us out, and I say that we return the favour! Anyone who's afraid to die stay here- the rest of you are with me!"
All five Gifted followed behind Frank as he stormed his way toward 'Tommie's Place'.

E.Nigma's report. Battle of Gaultown: 22:47
Current ITSDA forces: Frank, Black Magic, Brianna, Valorum, Vandal, Scrap, 12 ungifted ITSDA agents.
On standby: Jill, Glitch, Knight, Jump, Meta, Whisper. Songbird#1
1 ITSDA Casulty sustained. Songbird#2

---

The entire street around Tommies Place quickly became a storm of flying lead, gunpowder stench and shouted instructions struggling to be heard over the constant battering of weaponry. The densely packed restaurant had muzzleflashes flaring from every window, and it brickwork was pelted and pitted as it suffered returning fire from assailants on all sides. As Jill promised, the ITSDA had come in force- and as the noose tightened around the necks of the Namidians trapped inside the fortification, they had retaliated furiously. From here on the battle became a contest of brutal mathematics; an ITSDA assault on the building was imminent, and each sides chances of survival hinged entirely on how many of their foes could be annihilated before that pivotal moment.

Commander spun out of cover and raised his launcher to punt a grenade out of the restaurant, and through the smashed window of a residential storefront across the street. An instant later he was rewarded with a shout of panic and the dull thud of a distant concussive blast- ITSDA agents scattered from cover to reposition to safer ground. The Commander raised his sidearm, and sighted his weapon onto the head of one of the retreating agents, before dipping his aim and kneecapping him instead- he swung his gun around to find his next target but a flash of light and his own instincts pulled him back into cover, and a picosecond later the air beside him was filled with a burst of shells as someone returned fire. Commander swore and crouched low to reposition himself to a new firing point, and he flattened himself on the opposite side of a window where another Namidian was blazing away with a pump-action shotgun.
"[Du ma!]" Vincent swore in his native tongue as a bullet lanced out from one of his targets and pierced his chest. He recoiled into cover and grimaced at Commander as his wound began to seal itself shut slowly. "No luck. They're dug in deep. You managed to take any out?"
"Only two or three. They're covering each others backs." Commander stated simply, before leaning from behind his wall and blasting the agent who'd shot Vincent with a storm of lead. Having to aim blind his shots went wide, and the Agent only suffered a staggering blow as one of Bretts rounds impacted off their bulletproof vest. Vincent covered Commanders duck back into cover with another volley from his shotgun and they both growled irately under their breath at how slowly the gunfight was progressing.
"Seen any Gifted on the field?"
"Yeah. For sure. I shot one of their snipers earlier, but my bullets turned to feathers before they hit. I had to toss the gun."
Commander looked to Vincents feet, and sure enough the man was telling the truth. A marksman rifle lay discarded with a comical amount of feathers jamming and protruding from it's magazine and firing chamber. That is to say it would have been comical, but only if either of the two villians could afford to waste their breath on humour.
"I might already have met the feather guy- actually. He's what started this mess."
"No shit?"

"East side! They've set up a 50.cal! FIND SOLID COVER!" 'Nigmas voice suddenly cried across both Vincents and Commanders headset. She had been added onto S.A's pool of mission handlers, and her Gifted micromanaging helped take the edge off the ITSDA's constant attacks. Both men were covering the West, and they turned to watch the far side of the building as it suddenly dissolved into a shower of sparks, crumbling brick dust and ricochetting high-calibre rounds.
Commander averted his eyes as one of his own men was struck and reduced mostly to red mist, a S.A ghoul who hadn't found cover in time was thrown off his feet as they exploded out from under him, and Dieter Seivold himself raised a hand with lightning reactions to literally snatch a round from the air as it ricochetted around the room and barrelled for his face. Dieter discarded the heavy slug with a disgusted flick and raised his cellphone to his ear to speak- having to yell to be heard over the mounted cannons carnage, yet still somehow sounding calm.
"Miss Nigma, Please tell me that we have a counter for heavy weaponry."
A sudden explosion silenced the room, and as hot air washed through the building Dieters question was answered. Most of the soldiers in the building recognised the distinctive roar of a rocket launcher when they heard it.
"Your issue has been resolved, Mister Seivold." A mildly accented but well enunciated voice spoke calmly through the Namidians comm network. "I should warn you. Your guests look to be pushing their advantage; they're mobilizing their Gifted for an assault."
Ivans news caused a stir throughout the room, and anyone still thrown to the ground from the attack struggled to find their feet to prepare for the next wave of battle.
Dieters expression set into a mild but telling scowl. "Understood, Ivan. How long do we have to prepa-"
*KA-RRASH* *BLA-BLAMNN* *BLAMNN*
Dieters question was once again pre-empted, although this time it was as Frank Jackson broke from the ITSDA lines and shoulder charged the door- both guns blazing as he ignored the reactionary gunshots thrown at him, and dived into the midst of the Namidian stronghold!

E.Nigma's report. Battle of Gaultown: 23:05

Current ITSDA forces: Frank, Black Magic, Brianna, Valorum, Vandal, Scrap, 7 ungifted ITSDA agents.
On standby: Jill, Glitch, Knight, Jump, Meta, Whisper. Songbird#1
ITSDA Casulties sustained: 5 ungifted ITSDA agents.

Current Namidian forces: Dieter, Commander, Scrap, Destoyer, Vincent Lee, 2 Commander militia, 13 Schwartze Augen operatives.
On standby: 'Nigma, Ivan, Redcap, 20 manipulated goverment soildiers.
Namidian Casulties sustained: 5 Schwartze Augen operatives, 1 Commander militia.

---

Frank dove past the Namidian defences before they even had a chance to register he was ontop of them, his oversized handguns spat death into every corner of the room and made short work of the exposed henchmen inside. His left gun fired into a cluster of bugeye-helmeted Ghouls set in firing positions by the window, whilst his right took a bead on the centre of the room and cratered the chest of one of Commanders minions who rushed forward to try and tackle the intruder to the ground. Scattered gunfire from the remaining corners of the room filled him with lead, but the damage undone itself almost as fast as it was being dealt, whilst the veteran continued his rampage. He flashed an aggressive grin at the distinctive Namidians within, recognising more than a handful of the villains from appearance as well as reputation.

"Well, well! Looks like It's gonna' be a good day! I can't miss!"
*BLAMM-BLAM!-BLAMMN!*
Soldiers and Supervillians alike dived to find cover from Frank's shells; Vincent Lee tried to disable the legendary ITSDA agent with an opportunistic shotgun blast, but was all but cut in half as an explosive round took him in the gut.
"Hold up, I got something for this!"
Scrap called out to the S.A ghouls pelting the man with ineffective small arms fire- as he reached inside the inline of his duster and withdrew one of his many gadgets. With a desperate lunge out of cover the Gifted inventor hurled what appeared to be a shuriken with batteries crudely soldered to the side into the unstoppable sergeant; and an instant later Jackson stopped in his tracks and cried out in literal shock, as great arcs of lightning shot from the wound and grounded themselves into his flesh.
"I heard what you did to The Smith-"
Scrap taunted as he stormed towards his downed enemy, he drew another gadget from his coat- which resembled a knife coated in the same array of wires and batteries that his shuriken had been.
"-You've killed too many Namidians today, you really should have quit while you were still ahead!"
With a crackle of building energy Scrap made to jam his power-knife deep into the stunned agents back, but with a sudden jerk his knifes blade was intercepted by Franks palm, and the mans oversized hands griped like a vice around the weapons pommel. Somehow, Frank managed to ignore the nerve-shredding shocks long enough to spit out a retort.
"Ma' Jackson didn't raise no quitter."
Franks grip redoubled, and Scrap howled in pain as the small bones in his knife-hand were seized and crushed. He tried to pull away, but Franks hold was immovable, and Scrap could only watch in helpless terror as Jacksons remaining hand swung about to level his pistol at the inventors head- and it's hammer drop as the Frank pumped the weapons trigger.

*BLA-**CRUNCH***
"Don't be so hasty, Mister Jackson. Jovellanos here is far from the only man in this room with a grudge to share."
With incredible reflexes Dieter had snatched the barrel of Franks gun and crushed it easily in his palm before the bullet ignited- and the weapon exploded into useless slivers of metal. Frank didn't waste a moment, and released his grip on Scrap to drew his combat knife from his belt, as he rose to drive it at the new threat- clearly prioritizing Dieter as a target.
"So you're the man in charge, eh? I've been itching to take a shot at you all da-"
Dieter arm blurred as it swiped forward into a savage jab, which caved in Jacksons chest with telekinetic force and an explosion of gore. The agent gasped in shock as his internal organs were rearranged, but his wound instantly began to revert back from the instantly fatal blow, as his body went limp and dropped to it's knees. Dieter waited until Frank had partially recovered before stating his threat:
"You've cost me a lot today! Jackson!"
Dieters tone picked up an unmistakable inflection of anger. Fury, even, and the solemn personality that Dieter wore to conceal his monstrous tenancies struggled to stay in place as his voice dropped almost to a whisper.
_{"I'm going to carve Chimeras name into your skull with capital fucking letters! Before I'm done you'll wish you could die!"}.

Suddenly a Ghoul standing next to Dieter grunted in pain, and fell forward into an unconscious heap as something struck him from behind. A blur of motion flared throughout the room before leaving the way it'd come. Dieters attention wavered from Frank as his head snapped around to follow something none of the other Villains could see- one of the few surviving soldiers under his command shouted out what the rest were thinking:
"Speedster! It's Vandal!"
A door shattered inwards toward the rear of the building, and every soldier turned to try and clip the speedster as she blew through the building for the second time.
"STO-" *GLARK*
The Commander was punched in the throat as he tried to counter Vandals Gift with his own, and he staggered back a step but managed to keep his footing. A purple bruise began to spread from the nape of his bodyarmors neckline, and when he spoke again it was only as a furious croak at the impossibly fast agent.
"DaMn It... BiTcH."
There was another blur; and Scrap, who was still reeling from his injured hand, was knocked unconscious as Vandal kicked him in the ribs hard enough to throw him to the ground. More bullets scattered after her but fell short, the almost invisible blur of motion sped toward another exit- but at the last step a flash of fire and noise interrupted her, and Vandal was suddenly immobilized as a puck-sized mine exploded underneath her feet, and sent fragments of titanium scything through her ruined legs. She tripped and fell screaming as she was blindsided by agony.
"AHHH! AUGH-ARGGH-" *Fsh-ZZZzzzztt*
Commander put her out of her misery and into a relatively painless sleep, with a lance from one of his tazers.
"SmAr-." Commander cleared his throat painfully, and gave himself a moment to recover his voice. "Smart mines. Very useful to have around."
He rubbed his neck and winced. "Give me a reliable weapon over a Superpower, Any day."

E.Nigma called across the Namidian Com-net yet again. "Eyes up, everyone. Our unwitting 'Allies' have finally made their appearance. Dig in and resupply- the ITSDA might mount another assault once they realize they're backed into a corner. Ivan, once you've finish your primary objective please meet the others inside Tommies Place- we want to extend this stage of the firefight for as long as we can."
Ivans voice called through the system, hot on 'Nigmas heels.
"Consider it done. I have just extracted Redcap and his surviving underlings, and am currently halfway through evacuating Mister Seivolds non-combat staff. I shall join you in a few moments."
Dieter harumphed his approval into his own communication system, before turning back to Frank, who's enhanced healing was being kept in check with a vicelike deathgrip around the heroes neck.
"Excuse my distraction, Mister Jackson. Now where were we? Oh yes. Of course."
Dieter manhandled the over-muscled soldier with apparent effortlessness, and used his free hand to draw a pistol out from the folds of his jacket. It's exotic design and distinctive frame made Franks eyes narrow in fury as he recognised the weapon: It was the same model that'd shot him earlier, the kind loaded with Dieters new 'Spiker' rounds, and quite possibly the only weapon in the world who's bullets his Gift couldn't bounce him back from.
Dieter levelled the weapon at Jacksons head and bit his finger down on the triggers firing point.
"You'll never kill me!" Frank snarled past Dieters telekinetic prison and stranglehold, despite the odds. "-even your most vicious toys just piss me off! You're already a dead man!"
Dieter didn't deign to give Frank a response, and simply pulled the trigger with a bored expression. Releasing his bloodsoaked hand from around Franks neck a moment later to let the solider fell into useless pain-racked spasms, as his indestructible nervous system was systematically attacked by the bullets microscopic payload.

A long moment passed as the Namidians inside admired their victory, and the few surviving Ghoul troopers continued to return deterrent fire toward the distant ITSDA forces- who were now fighting on two fronts against Commanders reserve of stolen troops. Suddenly, a scream of jet engines, and a rushed warning through their Namidian tactical network interrupted the scene.
"HIT THE DECK!"
The Namidians did as 'Nigma bid at the same instant the roof of the restaurant shuddered with a series of Detonations. The second ITSDA jet swept overhead and pounded their position with a heavy payload of bombs. Everyone found their feet again, and their ears could distantly hear the thunder of engines change in pitch as Songbird #1 made to circle back for another run. A fresh shout of surprise and warnings sounded, as a trio of Ghouls manning one of the restaurants firing positions, fell away from their positions with sudden wounds- their metal armour and weapons were buckling out of form, whilst a giant sword of golden light beat them back. Brianna, Scrap and Valorium entered the room, with Black Magic following not far behind sporting fresh injuries.
"Vandal?! Frank?!"
Brianna called out. She flinched as a nearby Ghoul recovered from the bombing-run to turn his weapon on the group, but Valorum interposed himself to protect her, and a gesture from Scrap sent the Namidian minion diving to cover. The newly arrived agents took cover of their own, and the firefight shifted as attacks became exchanged from within the restaurant itself.
"Brianna!"
Jackson called out from his position on the ground. He tried to stand but a fresh stab of indescribable agony curled him back down again, and he only got as far as being able to shout furiously to her through grinding teeth.
"I TOLD YOU TO STAY OFF THE FRONT LINES! IT'S NOT SAFE HERE!"
"It's not safe anywhere, Jackson!"
Scrap spat back, his voice tense with frustration as he struggled to keep several Namidians attackers at bay. Despite their successful assault it was unlikely that the new arrivals would be able to keep Dieter, Commander, Ivan and Destoyer at bay by themselves.
"We were attacked from behin-"
Destoyer interrupted his exposition and leaned from her cover; an assault rifle melded into her arm blazed furiously at him, but was negated by Valorium as he once again used himself to shield the group from harm. Scrap gestured to her and caught the metal intertwined in her flesh with his Gift, and sent her screaming to the ground as her arm rejected the suddenly malfunctioning weapon morphed around it.
"-Jill's bringing additional support, but we're to hold out until then!"

A voice swore crudely across the Namidian Comm-net as 'Nigma voiced her disapproval. The sensors inside S.A's Ghoul helmets were apparently sensitive enough to let her overhear Vandals plan.
"Get them out of there. Now! There's at least another five Gifted on the jet above- and we're at less than half strength. Statistically speaking, you're unlikely to survive another attack. Consider retreating."
Dieter's face set into a quiet scowl, so did Ivan's; Neither man was known to surrender a defeat easily. More importantly than that, leaving the building now would grant the ITSDA access to Durin- and negate any benefit in choosing to defend the building in the first place.
"Belay that." Dieter ordered. "We don't retreat until the plan calls for it. The ITSDA have cost me too dearly just to be handed victory."
With that said, the heavy-set Namidian paced out from his cover, and strode calmly toward the agents invading his property. The telekinetic shield of frozen air he maintained infront of him thrummed with force as Scrap fired rounds at the mobboss, but seeing that they were ineffective the Agent tried his Gift instead- save for the cellphone in Dieters pocket, and a pair of expensive cufflinks, the metal-manipulator had nothing to work with against the Gifted German.
"Valorum! A little help here!"
The ITSDA's pilot called out, as an ounce of fear worried its way into his normally professional voice.
Dieter marched onwards, and both Ivan and Commander followed behind him. The two villains pinned Brianna and Scrap back into cover with a storm of spent ammunition. A knight of golden light vaulted over the ITSDA's defensive position and charged Dieter Sievold headfirst, as Ivan and Commander's rounds bounced harmlessly from it's glowing platemail. A sword of solar energy summoned itself in it's gauntleted fist and scythed towards Dieter, who rushed to intercept the attack with a telekinetic shield. Sievolds senses watched in hyper-slow motion as the insubstantial attack flickered and wavered against his Gift, before breaking through effortlessly- his body, and hastened mind, barely had time to register a look of surprise as the searing attack leapt for his throat!
*KA-RANG!*
Valorum's attack impacted off a gauntlet, one composed of the same bright energy that he was- wielded by Ivan. The albino smirked, before grabbing the 'Angel's sword and disarming him with a wrench of his wrist- acting instantly, Dieter seized the opening and shot his fist out in a lightning quick thust. Dieters Gift wrestled with whatever small physical form Valorum truly had, and after a tense moment the holy knight cracked and exploded into burning glass-like shards. Brianna screamed in shock and fear. Dieter drew his brightly coloured handkerchief from his suit pocket with a calm motion, and wrapped his hand to hide the burnt and broken knuckles the attack had cost him- choosing to downplay his wound.
"Val!"
"Bastard!"
"HOLD STILL."
*BLAMNN*
Brianna tried to call out to her lost friend at the same moment that Scrap retaliated against the attacking Villains. The pilot sighted down his weapon to fill Ivan full of holes, but Commander had anticipated the reaction- and punished the man's predictability with a bullet through the gut.
"UGGH! ARGH!"
Rather than help, Brianna scooted herself away from her fallen comrade in instinctive panic.
When she joined the ITSDA she knew that she'd eventually have to face conflict, and even when she'd volunteered to assist in Gaultown she'd known that there was a slim chance that her first-aid duties might pull her into a firefight. She didn't have the full range of training that a 'full' agent boasted, but she'd nonetheless accepted the risk- but even in her worst expectations she'd expected to have Valorum by her side, and seeing her guardian defeated sent an an uncontrollable stab of panic into her chest.
'...Val... Val?!...' Her own thoughts raced.
'...I'm here...'
Valorum's voice echoed in her head! Although it was muted, distant, and pained. He sounded far away from his confident and assertive self- even so Briannas heart raced with joy to hear him.
'...I can't... ... I need to pull myself together...'
Vals voice was strained, as though even talking required extreme effort.
'...get away from them, I can't help you... ...please...'

While the girl was involved in her own inner monologue, the Namidians registered the situation to one another.
"I thought you were meant to a pacifist."
Ivan stated to Commander, indicating the run-through Scrap with a tilt of his head and condescending tone.
"He'll live. Until he gets medical attention, at least."
Commander stated callously as he reloaded his weapon. He grimaced at Scraps bleeding out body, but noticeably averted his gaze from the many dead Ghouls and Militia scatted throughout the room. He was looking green around the gills, but had somehow held it together long enough not to jeopardize his mission.
"Dieter. I didn't know you knew how to throw a right straight. How's the hand?"
"Fine."
'The Boss' responded quickly, too quickly. None of the men in the room liked to show weakness to their peers, but probably Dieter least of all.
"A minor wound. Nothing more. We should focus on preparing for the second wave of agents."
'Nigmas voice cut across their Tactical net once again.
"From your battlefield reports the second Jet should contain Jill, Knight, Glitch, Whisper and Jump. Jump is reported to be in recovery, but the others will be entirely combat fresh. They're also reported to have the hacker that started this mess in captivity with them."
Dieter clicked his tongue in annoyance, a habit borrowed from one of his inferiors which somehow seemed appropriate to use now.
"Five against three. The three that we absolutely cannot afford to lose, at that. We are cutting into our safety margin."
Just as he finished speaking the thought aloud a distant noise started to rise in volume, and the three surviving Namidians recognised the terrible howl of the ITSDA's Songbird jet as it finished banking around and built speed for another bombing run.
Commander sprinted over to Scraps bleeding body, and heaved him over his shoulder in a fireman's carry. Ignoring Brianna who was still shaking with shell-shock as he all but vaulted over her. He shouted out to Ivan.
"Help me lift him!"
If Ivan was confused by the order he didn't show it, and didn't protest either. Together the two men were able to pull the mortally injured Agent to another quadrant of the restaurant and set him against a shattered windowframe. Commander drew a slim silver case from his greatcoats pocket, withdrew a vial of medical adrenalin from it, and plunged it into Scraps neck.
*Slap* "Wake up."
Scrap did. The double dose of combat and pharmaceutical adrenalin sent him into a panicked spasm the second he regained conciousness, and he instinctively tried to use his Gift against Commanders bodyarmor. Ivan restrained him, and forced the mans head toward the rapidly approaching ITSDA jet before he could do any harm. Scrap realized Commanders plan far too late as he struggled to fight free.
"Detach it's left wing. Now."

With a scream of tortured metal, crushed buildings and arrested momentum the ITSDA's last remaining songbird crashed to earth- and the sound of it's death throes reached across the town into Tommies Place.
"Commander, Ivan, please go on ahead and ensure that none of my guests survived their landing. I will remain as a guard, for now."
Dieter ordered. The other Namidians didn't seem to approve of being ordered around like lieutenants, but they were both under contract and didn't protest- especially as the plan itself seemed sound enough. Ivan placed a hand on Commanders shoulder and an instant later the two were simply... gone... leaving Dieter alone with a significantly demolished building, surrounded by the dead or dying, with no-one else able to resist him save for the terrified and helpless Briannna.
Dieters face smiled slightly, as he resisted the urge to make his full satisfaction at besting the girl and her guardian angel known. He found her backed into a corner and levelled his Shredder pistol.
"No overblown speeches from me, girl. You did a lot better than the last person the ITSDA sent to stop me. Goodbye."
Dieters pistol clicked as it's firing hammer dropped. Brianna screamed again, helpless to do anything else. A thin throwing-knife flew from both their blindspots and sliced into the guns barrel at the same moment the bullet passed through- causing it to violently misfire and explode into spare parts. Dieters enhanced reflexes revved to the full speed and he wheeled around to face whatever this next threat was- only to find a white haired teenager grinning madly into his face from half a foot away.
"Hey, it's Large and in Charge! Wazzup!"
Dieter swiped at Kane, only to dispel an illusionary image instead. Another one stepped from the restaurants shadows out of Dieters reach.
"Kane. Your timing it terrible. Why did you come here?"
Dieters tone was menacing and flat, but his question was genuine. Why the hell WAS Kane here, he wondered, it made no damned sense! Dieters last reported statistics suggested that Kane should be Chicago somewhere, picking off ITSDA agents and terrified civilians. Or back in hiding. Pretty much anywhere but rural Gaultown.
"Isn't it obvious?" The boy acted like it was. "I'm here to add to my collection!"
Dieters ears suddenly registered that the sound of ITSDA and Government soldiers fighting on the street outside had completely abated. The sound of the harsh gunfight had been so overwhelming a few minutes before that it's absence was almost crushing- and Dieter wondered how many had still been left standing before Kane presumably ended their battle for them.
"-or at least I was until I saw you threatening cuteness over here!"
Kane winked in Briannas direction, who was understandably as terrorised by her 'rescue' than she was by her near death experience. She'd heard of Kane before by reputation- what the psychopath had done to Agent Catherine was still whispered in hushed angry voices throughout the ITSDA offices.
"-The Hell? Man! Do you have any idea how wasteful it is just to shoot a sweet thing like her?!"
Kane tried to stare down Dieter in challenge, who only stared back. Dieters expression was flat and emotionless; and contained the lack of mercy and singular aggressive purpose of a great white shark. Kane's, in comparison, was wild and excitable; like a rabid animal who hadn't eaten in too long, but who'd just scented fresh blood. For all their differences both men shared something in those expressions- both were of uncompromising predators, who relished the kill as much as the hunt.
"For a second you almost sounded like you were trying to be heroic." Dieter taunted. It was a taunt. "Go on then. Stop me."
Dieter whipped his hand forward and snapped a warped cufflink off his arm- which railgunned through Kane's forehead. The thin precise wound healed in a matter of seconds, and Kane dived at Dieter with a furious but joyous snarl on his lips as wisps of dark energy gathered around him. Dieter stepped forward to meet his attack and gathered telekinetic strength for an unstoppable punch. Just before the two clashed Dieters mouth curled upwards into a sadistic grin- he was every bit as violent as Kane was, and even relished the few opportunities he got to challenge himself. Now was going to be one of those times.


E.Nigma's report. Battle of Gaultown: 23:49

Current ITSDA forces: Brianna, Jill, Glitch, Knight, Jump, Meta, Whisper.
ITSDA Casualties sustained: Frank, Black Magic, Valorum, Vandal, Scrap, 7 ungifted ITSDA agents, Songbird#1.

Current Namidian forces: Ivan, Dieter, Commander.
Namidian Casualties sustained: Scrap, Destroyer, Vincent Lee, 13 Schwartze Augen operatives, 2 Commander militia, 20 government soldiers.

Kane status: 'Too swole to control'. Undamaged. Est 0-15 souls absorbed.
This message was last edited by the player at 00:07, Mon 25 Apr 2016.

---

A cocoon of interwoven metal plates at the heart of the second crash site exploded outwards, and revealed Four ITSDA agents (and one vigilante) crowded around Knight- the mans ability to form protective armour plates had let them survive the crash, but not without injury. All involved were heavily beaten, and the already exhausted Jump and Meta were hardly able to stand. Whereas Whispers Gift made him feel the after-effects of the attack more keenly than his peers. Jill, Glitch and Knight however were seasoned professionals, and although their rough landing had covered them in bruises they were all on guard at a moments notice.
"Everyone still breathing? Good."
Jill asked, her determination to continue her mission battling with the concern she felt for those under her command.
"That was our last transport, and the relief forces I've diverted to us are still an hour out- so we're gonna' have to hold our own. Knight, Glitch, help me move our wounded. Then, we're going to storm the bombsite and recover Team Two."
"Understood." Knight responded stoticly.
"No proble- THUNDERCLAP! LOOK OUT!" Glitches reply was cut off as the martial artists honed reactions let him react faster than his two fellow agents, and warn them against the the Namidian hitman Ivan who had materialised silently above the survivors with a drawn knife.
Jill reacted to her comrades warning instantly, and instead of waiting to try and identify the threat she dived forwards into a duck. The decision saved her life, and as Ivan fell his knife slashed the air where the back of her neck had just been. Ivan narrowed his eyes in annoyance at having missed his mark, and backstepped away from Knights fist as the agent swung a retaliatory punch before vanishing once again. Knight cursed aloud, but his threats were silenced as a cylindrical grenade sailed over his head and detonated in the midst of the group with an ear-ringing explosion of light.
"FLASHBANGS!" Glitch shouted as he was blinded by light, more by instinct than thought.
"NO SHIT!" Knight shot back, as his own senses took a pounding.
Both agents were grabbed by the arm as Jill pulled them into the cover of a wrecked piece of Songbird fuselage. Her 'BoomBlocker' glasses allowed her to recover faster than the others, and her experience warned her that whoever had thrown the grenade hadn't been the person who'd tried to eviscerate her. She was proven right a moment later as she spotted a second figure close distance to her group on foot, and scatter a tight burst of sub-machinegun rounds at her. One bullet impacted off her bodyarmor and sent her sprawling to the ground with a painful stab of force. She retaliated by activating her Gift with a force of effort, and hurling a fizzing orb of energy out from cover and at her attacker- who suffered the same fate as his victims as a flashbang-like explosion threw him off his feet.
"AUGHHH! DAMN IT!" Commander swore, as his retinas were stabbed with light.
"Serves you right, Asshole!" Jill let herself have a moment of pride. The fact that her gift let her return the exact same attack the Namidian threw at them was probably justice in the truest sense of the word. Her satisfaction was short lived as Ivan re-materialised at the edge of the crashsite with what appeared to be an automatic grenade launcher held at his hip. With several punts of compressed gas he sent six explosive shells crashing into the cover around his targets, and as Jill flattened herself into the ground to increase her slim odds of survival several thick metal plates surrounded her and absorbed the worst of the attack.
"Knight! Cover Glitch!"
"I have." He assured her. "It's three versus two. I like our odd-"
"DESTROY YOUR SHIELDS."
Knights self-confident posturing was interrupted as a voice boomed across the battlefield. Knights eyes seemed to lose focus for a moment as though he'd lost his train of thought, before two combat boots blew through the suddenly brittle iron plates protecting them and into the mans chest! Commander rode the momentum of his flying kick and brought both himself and his target to the ground as he jammed a fizzing taser into Knights throat.
Glitch once again reacted faster than Jill, even with his addled senses, and chopped his hand at the Namidian in a knockout strike. Commander flinched, and caught the blow on the body-formed armour of his shoulder, where the martial arts attack lost it's power and only managed to ring Commanders jaw with residual leftover momentum.
"STOP RESISTING."
Commander shouted, although to his own surprise his voice hadn't taken on it's authoritarian and forceful tone that it usually did when his Gift was in effect. With a start he realised that Glitches glancing strike had still been enough to deliver Glitches own Gift; which was to disrupt the abilities of others. With his initiative wasted on the useless command Commander was an easy target for the agent, and Glitches loaded fist cracked into the centre of his face with bone crushing force.
Commander fell back as blood gushed violently from his broken nose, and Glitch grabbed him by his greatcoats collar to pull him back for a second iron strike into the militarists jaw.
Before the martial artist could deliver a third strike that'd put the Namidian down for the count Ivan reappeared among the group, and swung his launcher by the stock in a brutal uppercut into Glitches temple. Ivan's enhanced strength gave the attack the power it needed to take down the experienced agent in a single blow. Jill responded by drawing her sidearm and pumping the trigger at Ivan until the weapon jammed five shots later- from her awkward position only three shots hit and of those only one found purchase against Ivan's bodyarmor and drew blood as it crippled his off-hand. As Glitch hit the dirt the launcher vanished from the albino Namidian's fist and was replaced by a heavy revolver, which beaded onto Jill's head before the woman could gather her Gift for another attack.
"So you're the one in charge. I must say that I expected more."
Ivan sighed in disappointment. Unlike some of his peers he didn't particularly care for extending a fight, or trying to challenge his limits, and was mostly satisfied with simply being the most dangerous man in the room at any given time- but even so he felt that executing one of the ITSDAs most prolific agents while she was already injured and disarmed was somehow tactless. His finger tightened around the trigger, but before the hammered dropped two prongs lanced past him and into Jill's side to disable her with a shock of electricity instead.

*FzzzZtZzz-* Commander held down the trigger of his taser until he was sure Jill was subdued.
"I already had her." Ivan stated, although only mildly. His injury was apparently minor enough not to sour his mood.
"My wade's beddu-"
Commander grimaced in a mixture of pain and disgust as his voice was distorted through his broken nose. He took it in hand and reset it with a gush of blood, twist of his wrist and an audible grind of cartilage.
"My way is better."
He wiped his face on the sleeve of his coat, which came away streaked liberally in red. He'd need to have one of his medics repair the wound properly, once there was time.
"Thunderclap's one of the few ITSDA agents who actually gives more a damn about preventing civilian casualties than beating people up- I'd rather not have her die."
Commander got to his feet and rubbed his jaw where Glitch had laid into it, before dragging the unconscious bodies of the five downed agents and vigilante out from the Songbirds still burning wreckage, and checking their vitals to ensure they'd all survive. He brutalised the ones that looked as though they might wake up into a deeper sleep. Ivan watched him work with curious amusement.
"That habit of yours is very unprofessional, Commander. The merciful don't last long in this line of work."
Finally satisfied than none of his captives were going to bleed out, or wake up,  Commander stepped back and lined up one of his pistols sights with an ITSDA kneecap.
"Yeah. Because I'm a real goddamn font of mercy today..."
*BLAMN!* *BA-BLAMMN!* *BLAM-BLAMMN-BLAMMN!* *BA-BLAMMN!*...
A magazine of ammunition later and his prisoners were crippled. Commander knew that the ITSDA had the means to heal even grievous injury- but he wanted to give these bastards something to whine about when they woke up. Several of his own men had died tonight thanks to the ITSDA's interference...
The thought turned Commanders stomach and he felt his gorge rise, and the man had to turn his Gift inwards on himself to keep his composure.
"...what do you care anyway? If it bothers you feel free to finish them off yourself."
Ivan declined the offer with a polite wave of his uninjured hand.
"Tonight I'm only contracted for one assassination, and to assist with Gaultowns evacuations. These few get to live, for now."
Ivan placed a hand on Commanders shoulder.
"Speaking of which, your role in this conflict is at an end. I've already moved your injured to your transport jet, and it's time you followed suit. If you'll just step this way, Commander..."
Instantly both Namidians vanished- leaving the crashsite and battlefield of Songbird One suddenly and eerily silent.


E.Nigma's report. Battle of Gaultown: 00:05

Current ITSDA forces: Brianna
ITSDA Casualties sustained: Jill, Glitch, Knight, Jump, Meta, Whisper.

Current Namidian forces: Ivan, Dieter
Namidian Evacuations: The Commander.

---

The ground underneath Kane webbed into a series of cracks, moments before an entire floor of the restaurant tore into chunks and rocketed violently into the sky- All but taking Kane along with it. The mass murderer had exhausted whatever stolen power remained from his fight with Ivan and Dollhouse's creations- a fact that would normally infuriate him, but was forgotten and dismissed as an acceptable loss as he simply took sick joy in his current battle. The block around Tommies place, and the entire building itself, had been completely levelled as both Gifted had thrown their full devastating strength at one other.

With the air thick with flying slabs of masonry Kane had momentarily lost sight of his opponent, and he blindly let loose with his self-assembled energy weapon as he tried to score a lucky hit. Without Ivan's gift to maintain it the advanced energy weapon mounted on his shoulder was beginning to spark and overheat dangerously- and Kane knew that it'd only be good for another shot or two before it'd backfire horrendously.
He repositioned as fast as his Gifted muscles would allow, and ducked under one of the torso-sized chunks of concrete falling around him as it cratered into the ground by his feet, and as he repositioned he caught sight of his target once again. Laughing in wild triumph the psychopath set his aim and risked firing his weapon again. Dieter's eyes picked through the obscured battlefield a moment later than Kanes, and narrowed into dangerous points as he used his advanced reflexes to try and pull a shield of detritus between himself and the attack he knew was coming.
Kane was sent staggering back a step with the recoil of his own attack, but it's effect was more than worthwhile- the cover that Dieter had assembled was blasted to molten atoms and both villains vision burned white with plasma.

Kanes vision darted around as he tried to confirm whether he'd finally scored a direct hit. His eyes were still burning from the force of his own attack, but Kane had another surefire way to tell if he'd killed his target: the boy held out his hand and summoned a dark vortex of smoke in his palm, and extended it outwards into a broad sweep to scour the souls of anyone stupid enough to still be in range. As his Gift swept the field it plucked at the souls of Frank and Brianna who were still hidden nearby, apparently, and Kane caught a few scraps of their memories and thoughts as he passed them over. With a conflicted mind he resisted the urge to press the probe into a full attack; the Agents were both wounded, and easy prey for another time. As impulsive as the psychopath was he wasn't stupid enough to turn his back on one of the few foes who might possibly stand against him in a direct match.
'Besides...' he thought to himself. 'I've already harvested the half-dead one the girl was whining over... what was his name again?!'
Kane searched his recently stolen memories, and found some new and unfamiliar ones.
'...oh yeah, Scrap.'
In truth harvesting Scraps soul had been easy for Kane, and almost worth the distraction in his fight for. The man had already been so close to bleeding out that Kane had practically killed him by accident.
His search continued for a tense moment before his Gift suddenly snagged on a new soul- one filled with calculated malevolence and restrained anger- that Kane immediately recognised as Dieters. As his gift got it's hooks in and started pulling Kane caught a few illegibly fragmented memories and emotions belonging to the villain.

"Hah! Got you now, Old man!"
Kane redoubled his effort and felt more of Dieter's soul tear away... was it just Kane's imagination, or were his reactions beginning to increase slightly?
"You Namidians put up a good fight! We should play more oft-"

Suddenly something lunged out from his impaired vision toward him, and he realised with a start that his reactions were getting faster- everything else in his vision had slowed to a crawl, and the only thing that seemed to move with any kind of speed at all was the brick of mortar that had been fired from his opponent.
Kane didn't typically study the abilities of his prey, but he had enough stolen knowledge to realize that his increased reactions must have been one of Sievolds abilities. He tried to dodge the attack, but his muscles didn't seem to respond as quickly as his mind, and he only barely managed to inch his face far enough away from the strike to avoid having his head blown clean off. His teeth were loosened and his vision shuddered with white-noise as a fist sized chunk of brickwork grazed his skull; and Kane's healing factor fought hard to keep him concious.
The mist of destroyed building was beginning to thin a little, and Kane could see the outline of Dieter advancing toward him at an even tread. The Namidian's tailored suit had been burnt away from the force of his plasma attack to reveal a charred under-suit that seemed to be resistant to the energy weapon- but not completely able to protect him from it. Dieter was bleeding from several fresh burns and injuries, and his pupils were narrowed to furious pinpricks of concentration as they focused on Kane with unwavering attention. As Kane watched the man caught another falling piece of debris from the air as it almost fell onto him, and hurled it at the boy with a snarl of effort.

"Play stupid games, win stupid prizes, kid. I'm ending your little power trip here!"
The polite and reserved mask that Dieter usually wore was long since gone, and the statement came out through grit hissing teeth. In this fight Dieter couldn't afford complacency- and against a foe like Kane he didn't need to pretend to be something he wasn't.

Kane smiled grimly at the attack, it was gratifying to see his opponents get hot under the collar, but probably not the greatest idea in the world. The psychopath didn't like to admit how close the fight was becoming, and he decided to take Dieters lead and press his offensive- the fight had been dragging on for too long, but if he dropped his guard and flew into a full attack he was sure he'd be able to steal the Namidian's Gifts for himself, and still leave time to claim the souls of Briannna's and Frank as well. All he had to do was win this one last clash, and he could double- no, triple- his stolen Gifts in a single fight. He'd have the power he craved, and not the muted temporary Gifts he'd stolen off his other foes- he'd have real power!
He gathered the remains of what abilities he'd stolen from Dieter infront of himself, and met the Namidian's attack with a telekinetic shield of his own. The air infront of Kane froze still, and shuddered violently as it deflected several tons of force that would have otherwise reduced him to meat jam. Dieter charged forward and slashed him arm down to follow up his ranged attack with a hammer punch- and for a moment the two wrestled their Gifts against one another as Kane tried to maintain his shield against Dieters telekinetic strike.

"You! I LIKE your Gifts!" Kane taunted. "Super-vision, super-shields AND super-strength! I've always wanted to pimp-slap someone so hard they explode! Ever do that?!"
Despite his inane taunts the cold beads of sweat forming on Kane's brow told Dieter that he was having trouble matching his telekinetic shield with stolen power alone. Dark smoke coiled its way up Kane's arms as he tried to bring his other Gifts into the struggle, but it was clear that using multiple Gifts at once wasn't as simple as the killer'd first thought.

"Of course I have. Many times."
Suddenly Kane felt the pressure on his telekinetic shield double, then quadruple! With a panic he realised that Dieter had still been holding back- and whatever he'd been able to steal amounted to nothing next to the mans full power. Dieter's thin smirk broke into a full mad grin as Kane's eyes widened in shock. The pressure on his shields doubled yet again...
"...Let me demonstrate."

Kane's shields broke. The physical and mental effort he'd used to try and juggle his many Gifts, and to keep Dieters attack in check, made him gasp as it was overcome- and an instant later Dieters palm drove through his skull with enough mentally assisted strength behind it to completely behead the boy.
The Namidian held his arm ready for a backhanded return strike for a long uncertain moment before Kane's headless corpse dropped to it's knees and keeled over sideways.
Dieter released a long ragged breath that he'd been holding, and wiped the blood off his striking hand onto the remains of his ruined suit.

Already Kane's body was twitching and violently spurting blood, as the Gifted's healing factor worked overtime to pull it's host back together. Blood worked and concealed around his cleanly cut neck as it boiled and calcified into the start of a new spinal cord... the grotesque vision would be enough to turn most peoples stomach, but to Dieter it only informed him that he had a good few hours before Kane could pose a threat again. He took a generous few seconds to regather himself, and shake off the adrenalin of the fight; savouring the pull of his overtaxed muscles and the growing headache of overusing his abilities like a fine cigar. His broken knuckles, and fresh burns in particular, sent a thrill of pain through him. Eventually, he picked his way through the totalled building and back to the recess where he knew Brianna had taken cover from his destructive fight.

"I do apologise for the interruption... now, where were we?"
Dieter sneered as he found his place again.
"Ah yes. Of course."
Mr Sievold raised his hand threateningly toward Brianna.
"Ahhh! No!"
The young agent-in-training raised her hands to defend herself, and managed to summon her Gift to douse Dieter in bright gold flames- but with her Gift weakened from trying to reform Valorum, and her own understandably overtaxed nerves, the attack wasn't enough to do more than drive the Namidian back a step or two as he dodged the searing holy flames.
"Stay back! Or else I'll... or... "
Her threat caught in her throat indecisively; Even defending her life Brianna couldn't bring herself to imagine killing someone; that vicious streak simply wasn't in her nature. She could feel Valorum bristling with rage on the edge of her subconscious, furious at both Dieter and his own inability to help.

"You'll what?"
The Namidian retorted.
"You have a powerful Gift. I will admit. If you weren't so inexperienced you may even be a credible threat, someday. That's why I'm ending you no-"
Dieter was interrupted as a flow of rubble was disturbed behind him, and Brianna gave a start of shock to stare at someone behind him. Sievold spun on his heel expecting either Kane or Frank to have recovered from one of their injuries far faster than he'd anticipated, but instead found himself locking eyes with Ivan; who had been watching Dieter and Brianna's exchange with a look of slight amusement.
"Ivan."
Dieter spoke mildly, but curtly; annoyed at having been interrupted. He'd been interrupted a lot today.
"Did you intercept the ITSDA's second team successfully? Have you extracted Commander?"

"Commander is secure. We disabled the survivors at the crashsite. With your laboratory on lockdown we're the only two Namidians left in Gaultown."
Ivan spoke shortly and efficiently. Every part the professional.
"That being the case, it is time for the final phase of the operation. If you'll just step this way..."

Dieter glanced backwards to Brianna, and it for a dangerous moment it appeared as though he'd choose to see his promise through before leaving- but he turned his back on her with arrogant disregard.
Dieters plans were always set in stone, and even he himself was expected to follow the script laid out- that was what distinguished Namidians from other supervillian teams, and why were so often successful; they had the ability to work together, and to put strategy ahead of mere grudges. Ivan reached out a hand and grasped Dieter by the shoulder, but instead of teleporting away the Albino glanced pointedly at the disabled form of Frank Jackson- who was still fighting the effects of the 'Shredder' round coursing through his system.
"I trust that he is in a stable condition. Remember, surrendering Jackson to me was the price for my assistance tonight."
Ivan spoke seriously, and without even the slightest edge of humour. A contrast to how he'd spoken previously.
Dieter nodded his understanding slowly. A note of annoyance working his way into his voice being the only proof that he took offence to Ivan's accusation.
"I havn't forgotten our arrangement. I would love to finish him off myself, of course, but I trust that you'll do that for me."
Ivan nodded his agreement. His smile returning.
"Oh, yes. My other employer has major plans for Mister Jackson- I wouldn't worry about that if I were you."
Without another word Ivan gathered his Gift, Walked over to touch Frank, and spirited him away to god-knows-where. A moment later the Namidians themselves were gone.
Brianna sat in the vacant remains of the building for a long moment as she finally took a much needed breath of air to clear her thoughts. Once she felt a little more like her old self she began searching though the wreckage of 'Tommies Place' for her lost ITSDA communicator. Kane's corpse spluttered and violently spasmed as a cluster of his nerves re-knit from his regrowing spine. Brianna dug faster.


E.Nigma's report. Battle of Gaultown: 00:20

Current ITSDA forces: Brianna

Namidian Evacuations: Ivan, Dieter

Kane status: Disabled. ITSDA's 'Scrap' absorbed.

---

Thunderclap woke with a start. She thought she heard one of her teamamtes crying out in pain, and her fatigued and injured frame slurred back into conciousness by protective instinct. The moment she was awake she realised why her companions had been howling in pain- and in fact did so herself. Both of her knees were completely shattered, and every tiny movement sent stabs of agony running through the ruined limbs.
"AUUUGHHHH! FUCK! AUGH!"
Shouting helped. So did taking heavy breaths and moving as little as possible. She lay back down and clenched her fist as she tried to resist the eye-watering injury. There were fresh screams as someone else woke up and was blindsided by unspeakable and unexpected pain- she thought she recognised the voice as Knights. Luckily, thanks to Gifted healers like Brianna and Sherry, the injuries wouldn't get them discharged with purple hearts like in any other military unit- but that hardly helped take the edge off her current predicament.
"Is everyone all right?!"
She shouted through grit teeth, and fell back into agonised groans as she tried to sit up and look around the battlefield where Ivan and Commander had defeated her.
"Good. Ahhh..." Knight whined back.
"Yeah, just about... Don't move- I've found a kit to patch us up..." Meta was awake, apparently, and had busied himself by looting through the planes wreckage for a medical kit- and had used his expert knowledge to help take the pain off some of the groups injuries injury- although it was clear that he wouldn't be walking anywhere soon, either.
Everyone else was still unconscious.
Jill coloured in fury. 'Damn it!' She thought. 'I had a shot, and I missed! It was practically a goddamn Namidian convention down here!' Her fury wasn't just tinged in personal failure, but also in humiliation. The fact that she was still breathing only prove that the Namidians she'd been fighting didn't even consider her a large enough threat to finish off! What other people might have interpreted as mercy Jill's infuriated mind twisted into a direct insult. She unleashed a storm of mental curses at herself.

"Jill... Glitch... anyone... please come in..?"
A quiet voice was whispering through Jill's earpiece, and the ITSDA leader settled herself down to answer it.
"Brianna?! Is that you?!" She answered. Suddenly there was light at the end of the tunnel. Maybe the other team had done better than she had. "We need you at the crashsite. Urgently! What is your status?!"
"They took Frank. Scrap is... well... Scrap's dead, Jill. I can't find Vandal... Valorum is... He's..." Brianna's hesitant voice sapped whatever hope had flared up within Jill. Still, it was nothing so bad as what Brianna said next. "Jill... Kane's here! He's-" Brianna's voice was cut off by a sound like someone retching in her background, before that fell silent again. "One of the Namdians killed him- but he's getting better- oh lord..."
Jill sat up in alarm at the news, and was so shocked that she was even able to forget about her blinding injury for a moment. Never mind the half-dozen Namidian mercenaries... What the hell was KANE doing here?!
"Brianna. Listen to me very carefully. What state is Kane in? Can you escape?"
Her voice was deadly serious, and tenser than she'd intended. She'd lost too many soldiers to lose Brianna as well- but more importantly her currently crippled squad would be easy prey for the psychopath if he was still active. Jill tried to think of a more pathetic death than crawling away from the insane teenager while he harvested the souls of her squadmates, but somehow couldn't.
"He... he doesn't even have a head, yet. It's been half an hour- he looks like he's not healed very much- Compared to Jackson's Gift, anyway- I don't know..?"
Jill checked her watch. Her second wave of troops was due to arrive in fifteen minutes. Being able to capture Kane would take the edge off their defeat, and it was simply too dangerous to leave the Gifted murderer unwatched while so many of her team remained defenceless.
"Should I come to your position... I'm alone up here..."
Jill swallowed hard. It was time for a tough decision. "Negative, Agent. I need you to hold your ground... can you do that?"
The other end of the communication line was quiet, save for a disturbing gurgling in the background as Kane periodically attempted to reanimate himself. Eventually the Agent in training answered in a quiet but determined voice.
"Yes. I can do that."
Jill smiled to herself. 'You'll be a fine agent soon, Angel.' she thought to herself, but only spoke the essentials. "Roger. I'll divert the relief team to you the second they make contact. Keep me informed. Thunderclap out."
Jill collapsed back into a lying position, winced in pain as her shattered kneecaps ground against a nerve and looked hopefully up at the sky- as though their relief forces would be here any minute.
"C'mon... C'mon...!"

Jill kept herself from thinking on the worst news of her mission. Despite the heavy losses of her second team, and the complete casualties of her own, the worst part of her defeat was yet to come. With the Namidian wave fully evacuated, and any evidence of their presence fully destroyed, the ITSDA would be placed in an uncomfortable position of scrutiny:
After all... not only had a world leader recently died under the organisations watch, and they had completely failed to prevent several major Namidian incursions- but Jill had just steered a full strike-force into a small rural town with absolutely zero warning, and next to no justification. She had engaged government-funded security forces on a nearby motorway, and in the town itself. Her men had used lethal ammunition against barely-armed Redcap addicts. All on the taxpayer dollar.
All these facts could be justified by the situation at the time- of course- but Namidias had it's claws in any number of puppeted legal firms, and even parts of the Goverment itself. Jill didn't know it yet, but the repercussions for tonights misstep would be far-felt indeed...

---

Ivan looked through a computer display, and over a dozen tactical blips. All represented evacuation points; Commander and his few surviving men had been deposited at a landed Jet. Dieter, Vincent Lee, and almost a hundred members of Dieters Gaultown staff had retired to a backup facility. Whereas Redcap, Scap, Destoyer, 'Nigma and the other independent operatives had all been placed in Boura, where they'd be able to lurk back into the shadows with relative ease.

Ivan and Frank, however, were at none of those places. In fact, it would be hard to classify exactly where here was. It was a broad featureless landscape that was unspoiled by human interference. In the distance there were mountains, although it'd be difficult for a cartographer to place them as any individual range. Likewise, the sparse stars in the sky did not seem to align to any known constellations. The grass under their feet was green and leafy like grass, true, yet it somehow wasn't. It looked like earth, but things were just so slightly wrong so as to give the landscape an eerily 'uncanny valley' quality.

Frank tried to find his feet, but was sent stifling a shout of pain to the ground as another wave of 'Shredder' particles tore though his bloodstream. The Namidian weapon-smiths had apparently done their homework.

"Ah. Agent Jackson. I'm merely finishing off my business- I'll deal with you in a moment."

Ivan tapped a few more keys on his computer terminal, and then snapped his fingers at it. The whole thing vanished as though never there. Jackson suspected that the finger-snapping was merely theatrics, and that Ivan was trying to come off as impressive. Little wonder, Frank had read Ivan's file, and it'd seemed to him at the time that despite Ivan's reclusive and mysterious nature the man somehow cared a great deal what others seemed to think of him. Ivan snapped his fingers again at Frank, and the pain that'd been coursing though him since his fight with Dieter suddenly abated.

Frank gasped in breath, and got to his feet. On the way up he drew one of his oversized pistols, and aimed it Ivan. The Namidian didn't seem impressed.

"Do you know where we are, Mister Jackson?"

"Yeah. 'Ivanworld', right?" Another ITSDA field agent, Phoenix Crimson, had once referred to Ivan's theorised dimension by that name. At the time Frank considered the childish name humorous, but he wasn't laughing now. Still, the place needed a title- and 'Ivanworld' sufficed for now.

"Hrmph." Ivan's face curled in slight entertainment. "Yes. 'Ivanworld'. Do you know why I've brought you here, Mister Jackson?"

Jacksons finger tightened around his weapons trigger, his sights beaded on Ivan's forehead, and his mind raced as he tried desperately to think of a way out of this scenario. Mentally he almost even let himself panic, but outwardly he remained calm and collected.

"I can hazard a guess."

---

Kane was having nightmares. Not the typical 'guilty conscious' nightmare that other people suffered, no, Kane never had those... Kane was plagued with recurring visions of waking up handcuffed within a prisoner Transport vehicle, throwing up huge quantities of blood from his lungs, and suffering a seizure before falling back into dreamless sleep. He'd lived this nightmare a dozen times now, but on the thirteenth he was was mildly surprised to stay awake. After a moment he realized what had happened.

"I'm alive. Neat!" Kane struggled with his handcuffs to feel his neck. There was a fresh rough scar running along where Dieters strike had literally decapitated him. He glanced back at the manacle. "I'm a prisoner. Shit!"

The back of the prison transport vehicle was empty, save for himself, and an ankle deep pool up blood around his feet. He jingled his handcuffs iratly to make sure they were properly secured. They were, of course.

"Hel-l-l-o-o-o-... Anyone there?!" No answer. "Well, I'm just gonna... One sec'-"

Kane gathered his Gifted strength and clenched his hand, he drew his arm back and bunched his muscles as he prepared to snap the steel chain clear off the wall. He'd break his wrist doing so, of course, but that was hardly an issue for someone like him...
*BRZZZAAAPPpp!*
"AUGHHH! AHHHH! FUCKI- AHHHH!"
Something had just sent several thousand volts into his neck, and the elecric spasms had disrupted his train of thought. When the shocks finally abated he found himself gasping for air and wrestling with a pounding headache.
"Oh, great! The Inhibitor works! I was worried for a minute there..."
A voice sounded across the Vans intercom. It was female and perky, but not one that Kane knew offhand.
"The shit was that?!" He complained to the empty van. Suddenly this wasn't so much fun anymore. "What the hell is this?!"
"That. Mister Armani. Was a prototype ITSDA inhibitor. Through means which I don't feel like disclosing to you it's able to detect when a subject uses their Gift, and, well... inhibit them."
Kane growled in frustration and pulled at his manacles again. On any other day he might make a joke about totally being into having some domme chick handcuff in the back of some strange van, but the situation suddenly seemed incredibly serious. Being chained down AND having his Gifts taken away from him? Nah. Fuck that. Kane had worked too hard acquiring his Gifts just to have them taken away.
"So- your toy knows when I'm trying to escape, yeah?"
Kane rolled his shoulders. He felt something sitting on the back of his neck- presumably it was whatever was shocking him. He diverted his eyes to the handcuffs again and searched for Scraps memories amongst his own, as he tried to use his latest gift. He'd only gotten it a few hours ago- and possibly the ITSDA didn't know that he'd acquired it yet.
"Did you know I could do THI-" *BRZAAAAPpp!* "AUUUUGHHH! AAAHHHH!"
"Yes. We did. We've planned for everything."
Kane could smell burning flesh. He was fairly certain it was his own, but the sudden appearance of a splitting headache made it hard to be certain.

"The inhibitor you're wearing is a prototype, and I'm legally obliged to ask you not provoke it. Once you're transferred to Maine you will be placed in Incarceration, and fitted with a less... intrusive... version of the device."

Kane slumped back in his seat and tried to focus his double vision. Something that the voice had said made him grin though- and suddenly he didn't mind his unpleasant situation so much.

"Maine, huh? You're taking me to your little 'facility', then?" He spoke quietly so as not to be too obvious to his Wardens, although in truth he didn't care what they knew. "Prison might be fun..." A mad smile crept across his face as a few colourful ideas passed his mind...

---

GAULTOWN RECORDS. FINAL ENTRY. E.NIGMA.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vVRbEvPvF7A

FINAL OBJECTIVES ACCOMPLISHED AT 00:45 HOURS.
TOTAL ENGAGEMENT TIME: 2 HOURS.
TOTAL TIME OF SECURITY BREACH: 5.5 HOURS.

KEY NAMIDIAN STATUS:
D.Sievold: Extracted. Minor injury, heavy financial losses.
'Commander': Extracted. Minor injury.
'Scrap': Extracted. Heavy injury.
'Destroyer': Extracted. Intermediate injury.
E.Nigma: Extracted.
V.Lee:  Extracted. Recovered from lethal injury.
Ivan: Escaped. Superficial injury.
'Redcap': Extracted. Gang decimated.

OTHER NAMIDIAN LOSSES:
Loss of Gaultown facility. Lockdown protocols in full effect for one month minimum.
Estimated loss of 0.3 billion US-Dollars worth of equipment, vehicles and facilities.
Estimated loss of 1.2 billion US-Dollars worth of facilities. (Potentially recoverable post-lockdown.)
Loss of 18 S.A agents.
Loss of 3 Commander militia.

KEY ITSDA STATUS:
'Angel': Recovered. Superficial injury, temporary loss of Valorum.
'Thunderclap': Recovered. Crippling injury.
F.Jackson: **MISSING** **IVAN REPORTS PAYMENT COMPLETE**
'Vandal': Recovered. Crippling injury.
'Scrap': Deceased. Consumed by Kane.
'Glitch': Recovered. Crippling injury.
'Knight': Recovered. Crippling injury.
'Jump': Recovered. Exhausted from overexertion, Crippling injury.
'Whisper': Recovered. Crippling injury.

OTHER ITSDA LOSSES:
Loss of two 'Songbird' multi-role craft.
12 UnGifted ITSDA peacekeeper casualties.


CIVILIAN LOSSES:
17 Million US-Dollars property damage to Gaultown infrastructure.
20 US Military personnel involved in alleged friendly fire incident.


OTHER GIFTED STATUS:
'Black Magic': Recovered. Heavy injury, Combat exhaustion.
'Meta': Recovered. Crippling injury.
Kane: Imprisoned. Superficial injury, Inhibitor fitted.


This message was last edited by the player at 10:07, Mon 25 Apr 2016.

NON-CANON BATTLE POST

Hopping on one foot while the other grew back, Kan found himself alongside a familiar face. From the memories of stolen Defense Agents, he recognized that the almight Scrap (the good guy, not the Namidian,) was slumped, dead across the ground beside him.

"So, you come here often? Oh who am I kidding, of course you don't!" The veins across his arm became pitch-black, and he placed his hand on the dead agent's chest. "They say that a full recovery of the human brain beyond three minutes of clinical death is impossible."  His otherh and glowed red briefly.

"I say BAH HUMBUG!" Kane shouted, grabbing his own arm and reversing the vortex.

A horrifying pain ripped though his arm as the life-force was torn from him and given to another.

"AHHH!" He screamed.

That scream seemed to jolt Scrap awake. He sat up, rubbing his head.

"What's with all the yelling?" He groaned, the wounds across his body healing.

Kan offered him a hand up. "Get up, newbie. We've got people to hurt."

***
Kane walked into the area where Dieter was, pointing a gun at Brianna. For a moment, he stood perfectly still, his only movement the swaying of his hair in a depressing breeze. Who was that girl? Quickly drawing his rifle, he came to a decision.

I'm going to save that girl. At this moment, nothing else matters.

Naturally, the thoughts were garbled on their way to become actions, but what managed to get through was "save that girl,"

How lucky for her.

***

"No overblown speeches from me, girl. You did a lot better than the last person the ITSDA sent to stop me. Goodbye."

BANG!

A gunshot rang through the room. But it was not from Dieter's gun.

A 50 Cal. round intercepted the Namidian's handgun, cutting through the weapon and shattering it on impact.

"The hell!" Dieter shouted, dropping what was left of the handle. "Who...?" He wondered aloud, right before he saw the figure above him.

With a reaction speed unfitting of such a heavy-set man, Dieter leaped backwards, out of the way as a 6'6" white-haired teenager hit the ground, a long rifle in his hands.

There was a sickening shattering noise as his legs turned to splinter under his own weight.

"AW SHIT!" He exclaimed painfully, standing up as his legs cracked back into place. The murderous teenager was wearing jeans, a blood-red shirt, biker gloves with a row of silver studs, a Chicago White Sox baseball cap, and a leather vest.

"Kane. You have the worst timing." Dieter sighed. "Why are you here?"

Kane smiled. "HEY! If it ain't Large-and-in-Charge! Don't mind me, I was just here to join the fun." He glanced over his shoulder and winked at Brianna. "Or I was, until I saw you threatening this little cutie."

Brianna looked as understandably terrorized by her rescue as by the threat of death at Dieter's hands.

"Do you have any idea how wasteful it is to just shoot a pretty little thing like that? God!" He tossed his empty rifle aside. "Well, this is the part where I beat you 'till you cry."

Exactly as that sentence was finished, the two villains lunged at one another, their power building until Dieter's fist collided with Kane's hand with such force that loose dust was blown aside by a resulting shockwave.

"WHAT?" Dieter's was outraged that Kane had caught his punch without injury.

"Puh-leez, Sievold." Kane mimed a yawn, even closing his eyes. "Did you assume you knew everything I could do? Because it's not that simple. "

Dieter felt his arm being twisted, literally, by Kane, and though he fought, the force pushing his arm felt far stronger. "Just 'cause I'm rolling six-sided dice don't mean that's what's on 'em. Naw, I go from 0 to 100 n*gga. REAL QUICK!"

Kane drove his knee into Dieter's stomach, head-butted the Namidian, and then let go of him, the man staggering back just before Kane spun, faster than even Dieter's reactions could follow, and struck him with a backfist so brutal, Brianna cringed at the sight of it. Dieter, distracted by the attack, lost his balance. "How do you defeat a man,"

Just as Kane was about to attack again, Dieter regained his balance and swung. His fist made contact with Kane's jaw, but the other villain didn't even react, turning his head with the punch, but receiving no visible injury. "Who can't die?"

Kane dropped to the floor in a blur, Dieter felt his chest explode with pain as a haymaker was delivered to his chest, far stronger than it should have been.

The Namidian stumbled back a few steps. "Damn it..." He coughed.

"You know what's funny, Dieter?" Kane asked, grabbing Dieter by his throat. Though he clawed at Kane's fingers, he never seemed to feel them. "I  haven't touched you once yet. I've just been distracting you long enough to steal your powers."

Dieter's eyes went wide as he realized there wasn't an actual injury on his body. The illusion in front of him vanished, and Dieter whirled around--

SHRRRK!

--to recieve the real Kane's vicious uppercut, slashing open his suit, carving a massive gash in his chest, and shattering his jaw with strength made possible by Dieter's own powers. The Namidian was lifted off his feet by the force of the blow and dropped to the rubble-strewn ground, breathing raggedly.

"You'll get 'em back eventually. But I'm going to have some fun with them first."

At that particular moment, Ivan appeared, but he did not have the time to comment on Dieter's condition before teleporting them both away.

Kane, his fist soaked in blood and his eyes wild, turned to walk away, and Brianna saw him pass by a familiar ITSDA Agent and high-five him before walking out of the restaurant's wrecked front wall.

Scrap walked up to Brianna and offered her a hand up. "You OK, kid?" He asked.

"SCRAP?!" Brianna allowed him to pull her to her feet. "How are you alive? I saw you get shot! I'm not complaining, but..."

Scrap's expression was grim, as always. "Kane's handiwork, actually. He used his powers, somehow... healed me, kept my soul in my body, I don't really know." He looked back at Kane's silhouette, strolling off like nothing had happened.

"But I know that I owe him now. And that can't be good."

As Kane walked away, he felt a little mental twang. Like a guitar string being plucked (The "K" string, mofo!). Without looking back, he knew that his plan had worked.

That's right, little drone. Get busy.
This message was last edited by the player at 11:50, Sat 23 Apr 2016.

At that moment, a quiet voice began to whisper through Jill's earpiece.

"V-vandal...Black Magic...someone...is anyone there? I-it's Brianna, Junior Medical Agent Brianna here...c-can anyone here me?”

The ITSDA leader cocked her head and muttered, 'Junior Agent Brianna?' In disbelief, she decided to answer to confirm this.

“This is Thunderclap! Do you copy, Junior Agent?! Repeat, are you there?!" She answered, shocked and relieved to hear a familiar voice from the other team.

“Thank god! I-I thought I was the only one left! Agent Thunderclap, please, what's your position?”

Suddenly there was light at the end of the tunnel. Maybe the other team had done better than she had!

"We're at the crash-site for Songbird 2! Agent, we need you here, ASAP! What is your status?!"



“Well...”

Brianna looked up and around at the rubble of the former diner around her and the bodies of scattered soldiers, DA and Namidian alike, and then looked down at herself, seeing nothing but superficial scratches and dirt stains on her once crisp, white uniform. Some guilt crept into her voice as she replied,

“I'm...I'm unharmed. And alone...”

The weight of the carnage around her began to slowly crush Brianna's spirit as she tried to recall what she had seen, pausing to breathe and even choke back tears.

"Valorum was dispersed, b-but he'll...he'll be fine soon. Scrap is...he's...*sniff*...he's dead. Th-they used him to...to crash your Songbird a-and let him bleed out...I-I can't find Vandal...she was here and then...*koff*...and Frank. He's...someone j-just...he just t-took him and..."

Brianna finally lost the heart to keep speaking and broke down, sobbing quietly in the middle of this graveyard she was left in.



All Jill could hear were sobs on the other line, which sapped whatever hope had flared up within her. Still, it was nothing so bad as what Brianna said next after taking a shuddering breath:

"Jill...Kane's here! He's-"

Brianna's voice was cut off by a sound like someone retching in the background, before that fell silent again.

"One of the Namdians k-killed him, b-but he's getting better. O-oh lord..."

Jill sat up in alarm at the news, and was so shocked that she was even able to forget about her blinding injury for a moment. Never mind the half-dozen Namidian mercenaries... What the hell was KANE ISAIAH ARMANI doing here?!

"Brianna. Listen to me very carefully. What state is Kane in? Can you escape?"

Her voice was deadly serious, and tenser than she'd intended. She'd lost too many soldiers to loose Brianna as well- but more importantly her currently crippled squad would be easy prey for the psychopath if he was still active. Jill tried to think of a more pathetic death than crawling away from the insane teenager while he harvested the souls of her squadmates, but somehow couldn't.

"He...he got decapitated by one of the Namidians...he hasn't gotten his head back yet, but he's still regenerating...i-it's just taking some time."

Jill checked her watch. Her second wave of troops was due to arrive in fifteen minutes. Being able to capture Kane would take the edge off their defeat, and it was simply too dangerous to leave the Gifted murderer unwatched while so many of her team remained defenseless.

"M-ma'am...what do I do?"

Jill swallowed hard. Brianna's whisper of a voice sounded helpless and utterly lost. She needed as much help as Jill and her team did, but if she could keep Kane from restoring himself...it was time for a tough decision.

"Junior Agent, I...no, WE need you to hold your ground and keep an eye on Kane until we can arrive...can you do that?"

The other end of the communication line was quiet, save for a disturbing gurgling in the background as Kane periodically attempted to reanimate himself. Eventually the Agent in training answered in a quiet but determined voice.

"...y-yes. Yes, I can hold my position."

Jill smiled to herself. 'You'll be a fine agent soon, Angel.' she thought to herself, but only spoke the essentials:

"Roger. I'll divert the relief team to you the second they make contact. Keep me informed. Thunderclap out."

Jill collapsed back into a lying position, winced in pain as her shattered kneecaps ground against a nerve and looked hopefully up at the sky- as though their relief forces would be here any minute.

"C'mon... C'mon...!"



The channel went quiet and Brianna lowered her communicator from her mouth, sighing heavily. Then, the deathly quiet of the ghost-town around her was shattered by a sudden scream of pain. Brianna's head snapped up and she looked around, trying to pinpoint where the screaming came from, Kane's slowly regenerating body being shunted to the back of her mind. Shakily, Brianna stood up and began to stumble over the rubble of Tommie's Place, following a barely contained string of cries until she passed a small mound of rubble and saw the source of the sound; another ITSDA Agent, her legs torn and bloody from where and explosive had torn them apart, now weakly groaning in pain.

“V-Vandal!!”

Brianna couldn't believe her eyes as she rushed to her superior's side and fell to her knees, looking her up and down as she lay there and assessing her wounds. Shakily, Brianna held her hands over Vandal's legs and a cocoon of light encompassed the wounded agent from the waist down. Vandal devolved from crying out to sharply breathing as the pain subsided in her legs, but her eyes were still squeezed shut as she fought with the phantom of pain that remained, reaching a hand out to feel out her surroundings. Brianna noticed this while restoring Vandals legs and reached a free hand out to take hers, holding it tightly and whispering:

“I-it's okay, ma'am. It's me, Brianna...your legs are hurt, b-but I'm healing them now. Just s-stay still, okay.”

It was all Vandal could do to moan as the skin, muscle, blood and bone of her legs slowly grew back into the forms of her shins, feet and toes. For every inch of body restored, her grip on Brianna's hand grew tighter until both hands were white-knuckled.


On the other side of the mound, Brianna had left a very important factor unattended; the slowly regenerating Kane. As his jaw solidified and flesh wrapped around the newly formed teeth, he could be heard saying:

“Urr ghunna rergrert thart shert, yer-” VWOMF!!

With a sound like something out of Star-Wars, a streak of orange light severed Kane's head again at the base of his neck, causing it to roll back off and splat to the floor. In front of the limp, seemingly dead Gifted, an orange, one-armed torso with three-quarters of a head had materialized and swung it's arm, tipped with a long blade rather than a hand, to sever Kane's head at the neck. Valorium groaned and planted his blade arm into the ground to steady his floating wreck of a body, wincing with his one, 'solid' eye.

Ugh. Damn it all. Scrap is dead, Frank is gone, our support is far off without any help of their own, Brianna and I are basically alone out here with Vandal to take care of...and then there's this scum.

The 'angel' narrowed his eye at the twitching carcass in front of him, the flaming orbs in his face devoid of even a shred of sympathy.

If I could, I'd kill this scourge right here and now, but...damn it all...we owe him. It's because of him that we're even alive right now.

Valorum looked up and surveyed the surrounding landscape, his gaze hesitating as it passed over Brianna healing Vandal, almost hidden behind a mound of rubble.

...she did say she wanted to help them however she could. I can't say she got her wish, but...

With most of his torso, right arm and a scrawny right leg having reformed at this point, Valorum sat down on a nearby mound of rubble, retracting the blade on his arm and reforming his hand, only to lean his face into his palm and sigh, even while the sound of a Songbird could be heard approaching overhead.

We should have stayed back while we had the chance...

NON-CANON BATTLE POST

The Songbird slowly sailed down toward Tommie’s Place, its engines running as quietly and using as little power as possible. Inside, the remains of the First Response Team was just as hushed. Vandal held her eyes shut as she contemplated her part in the coming battle.

“Two minutes,” reported Scrap.

After taking two deep breaths, the wild young woman lifted her heavy eyelids and spied on her comrades’ private preparations. A nearly invisible, shimmering golden aura stood off to Brianna’s side as she clasped her hands together in prayer, perhaps pleading with The Lord for all her friends to survive the battle.  Whisper sat alone, mouthing numbers to himself while tapping his fingers to his temples and occasionally snarling at the distant sounds only he could hear. Knight stood in the center of the ship, ripping tower shields out of his chest and handing them to a handful of the ITSDA’s best troops.  Frank drilled an undead-looking Jump on some literally last minute plan he was hurriedly, yet calmly, piecing together. Black Magic, oddly enough, sat upon the plane’s wing and pulled cards from his sleeves. And Meta leaned over the back of the co-pilot’s chair, transfixed by Scrap’s radar and the puzzlingly intricate situation it presented.

“Minute forty.”

The ITSDA Guard Unit wandered over to the plane’s cargo bay door. The troops with Knight’s shields stood out front, holding them out toward the skies as the door opened and air came rushing out.

“One-thirty.”

Vandal normally loved the rush of air, that feeling that you legs and arms were forcing the world out of their way. But the air today wasn’t crisp, nor was it burning. It was jagged and filled with sharp hot and freezing patches. Vandal picked her head up and threw her fist out in defiance. It wouldn’t end like this; she wouldn’t die here!

Sergeant Jackson snapped his fingers in front of Whisper’s face, shocking him back to this world.

“Whatcha got?”

“They’re strong on the left. Slam their right, but keep moving. There’s reserves. Tons of them.”

Jump nodded and stretched his intertwined fingers. In the center of the plane, Knight’s face looked strained and a little gaunt as gallons of silvery metal poured out of his skin and solidified when it touched the air. As soon as she witnessed his pain, Brianna sauntered up to Knight and softly, wordlessly touched her palm to his face.

“Thank you, Miss,” Knight said as his face regained its youthful strength.

“One minute.”

“Brian,” Whisper shouted across the plane. Meta turned his head while keeping his hand firmly on the chair in front of him.

“Yeah?”

“I’m mapping it out. Watch me, update them and the radar as we go. Keep them on track.”

“Got it.” Whisper began muttering dozens of numbers and swinging his hands into cryptic signs at an impossible rate. Instantly, Meta had Whisper’s new language decoded. With a tap on his glasses, the genius made a virtual keyboard appear in front of his hands and began slamming the keys. In seconds, the radar expanded itself into an enormous, detailed bird’s-eye look at the battlefield. Dots representing mines crisscrossed the battlefield; there was barely enough space in between them to move the Namidians’ vehicles.

Frank loudly cocked his assault rifle and marched up to Knight and Brianna. The legendary military man then turned to address the whole group.

“We’ve got eyes, speed, guns, and a plan. We do this right, and we won’t lose. In all my years on this fucking rock, I’ve never seen any bastards as ready to bring the pain as you. So c’mon ‘heroes’--”

“Twenty seconds!”

“—Let’s save the world!” Frank Jackson thrust his rifle up into the air as the soldiers cheered and steeled themselves for battle. Vandal stretched herself out like a sprinter preparing to dash.

“Make way, quickly!” she said. The soldiers shifted to the right side of the door, giving her room to rocket into the fray. The woman’s took her third, and final, deep breath before her air would be filled with lead and screams.

“Ten.”

Scrap opened his one clawed palm and stared off into the distance. The bar was not yet visible…

“Nine.”

Vandal’s eyes became a blur inside her sockets as turned her head and scanned the radar.

“Eight.”

Whisper throws two “X” signs over to Meta. Simultaneously, a pair of Xs appears deep inside the radar’s version of the bar compound – the primary targets, Dieter Sievold and The Commander.

“Seven.”

Black Magic pulled a fifth ace from his sleeve and examined his hand. One card crackled with lightning, one faded into and out of sight, one gave off an entire cacophony of sounds, another was spinning uncontrollably, and the final card’s suit symbols were missing entirely.

“Six.”

Jump gripped his Sergeant’s shoulder as tightly as possible and balled his other hand into a fist.

“Five.”

Knight’s fully-armored form finally lumbered its way behind the ITSDA Guard.

“Four.”

Jackson let out a grin and pulled an ancient frag grenade from a pouch on his chest.

“Three.”

Jackson wrapped his mouth around the grenade’s pin.

“Two.”

Vandal leaned her body forward, growling as she awaited the starting gun.

“One.”

As if to announce their arrival with a bang, the Songbird’s engines roared to life!

“Go!”

Vandal sprinted through the skies, spinning as she raced until the air around her twisted itself into a drill. The drill ballooned out as miles passed. One, two, five, twenty! A horizontal tornado crashed directly into S.A.’s Ghouls. In instants, the battlefield was drenched in bullets, but Vandal’s blade kept slicing through those it hit and launching anyone near it clear across the street! The speedster’s whirlwind soon filled with carnage, but the river of wind she effortlessly swam through washed it all away. Whatever obstacles appeared in the unstoppable juggernaut’s path were effortlessly tossed aside. She hopped her way through the labyrinth of mines and slapped away incoming fire. Even armored cars opened for her as Scrap’s powers ripped holes in any metal monstrosity that blocked her path. To the Namidian warriors, it appeared as though a tornado was firing at them!

Simultaneously, Jump and Jackson hit the right flank. Six perfect shots from Frank and the right flank collapsed. The Ghouls had his next move scouted and formed a ring to protect all sides; Jackson appeared above them! The war hero’s teeth ripped the pin off his grenade and he hurled it.

“You fell in to a burning ring of fire,” sung Jackson as flying shrapnel snapped necks and fried flesh.  While the Sergeant hit the ground firing, Jump appeared behind enemy lines. Immediately, the sweating, pale hero grabbed a Ghoul by the neck and disappeared!

Before The Commander could even get a sitrep, the scenario transformed yet again! A huge metal ball hit the ground, leaving a wide crater and drawing the fire of the panic-stricken soldiers. Harmlessly, the bullets and rockets fell off of Knight’s shield as he forced himself to stand.

“Your transgressions cannot go unpunished. Surrender, and I will show mercy!” Bullets and bombs swarmed the area near Knight’s exposed eyes.

“That’s a no on the mercy, soldier!”

“Very well.”

Just then, Black Magic stepped down from an invisible staircase and hurled two of his aces into the fray. When one card flew over them, dozens of The Commander’s men flinched at the sound of titanic, unearthly roars coming from all directions! A moment later, others threw themselves to the ground in pain as ear-shattering static overloaded their senses. Still others uncontrollably spun in a circle as the second ace whirled through their unit before boomeranging back into the magician’s hand.

The Songbird dove low, letting the twenty guards inside open fire on the dazed, ravaged army that stood before them. The unit’s assault rifles toppled rows and rows of Ghouls and grunts as Knight’s shields and Meta’s tactics protected them.

Frank Jackson dashed straight through a maelstrom of bullets and blades, gunning straight for the leader of The Commander’s famed defense unit, “The Keepers.” An artillery shell and a dozen shotgun blasts ripped his torso in half as he roared with freakish anger and let his adrenaline carry him past the finish line. The old war dog cracked his knee against the helmet of The Keeper’s mastermind, constantly throwing it into the glass as his blows ground his own bones to powder. Experience taught the man the value of psychological warfare, and he wasn’t about to let a lesson he learned in Vietnam go to waste! While his leg bones pulled themselves back together, Jackson turned to face the rest of The Keepers and smirked.

"Waverider, now!” shouted Sergeant Jackson. At that, Knight waited two seconds and threw a huge shield up into the air. Vandal jumped at it, landing her feet inside it and “surfing” it through the air and into the bar! Before Vandal hit Tommie’s Place head-on, Magic threw his third card at her and the mad Valkyrie disappeared into thin air. Those inside the bar literally didn’t know what hit them when their entire front wall crumbled like a sand castle. The invisible invader continued her rampage inside, sandwiching S.A.’s best and brightest against barren brick walls as she rammed them with her shield.

Outside, the onslaught continued as the ITSDA pressed their advantage. Sergeant Jackson lobbed armed stun grenades into Jump’s hands; Jump flashed into enemy APCs and flashed back out, leaving trucks full of flash-banged soldiers behind him. Knight stomped his way through the fight and shed a shield whenever he wasn’t being hit. The very moment Knight completed a lap around the battlefield, Black Magic tossed a third card at one of his shields. A chain of lightning flowed from one shield to the next and back to the first, frying the few that stood in its path. To complete the convoluted trick, the magician then threw down the spinning ace. Suddenly, all of the “storm shields” were spinning wildly and uncountable blasts of lightning were raining down on the battlefield.

The Commander’s and Dieter’s forces were retreating back into the bar when the Songbird finally made its landing. Out marched the ITSDA’s Third Combat Guard and Extraction Team, best known by their nickname, “Pain Patrol.” And they lived up to their name, grinding the remains of the Namidian generals’ war machines into ash as they bore down on the bar like a tidal wave.

Deep within Dieter Sievold’s compound, the German dynamo sat in his chair and smoldered as he stared at a bank of three monitors. Innumerable lights representing his and The Commander’s men extinguished themselves every few seconds in clusters of three and five. Upon seeing Jackson slaughtering a pair of Ghouls on camera, he annihilated his rightmost monitor with a straight that could knock a bull off its feet.

“Tell me, Brett. How could your associates fail me and Namidias so thoroughly? What kind of Commander are you?!”

Behind Dieter, The Commander stood with his arms crossed, facing away from his esteemed colleague. His face betrayed not world-shattering rage, but a weak, weary sorrow.

“Those men and women died for me. Don’t question their competence, Sievold. You trapped them here!”

“They’re not the only ones,” said Dieter. His anger dissipated in a flash and his face wove itself into a sincere, softly content smile. On his monitors, a Banshee de-cloaked on a rooftop behind the Songbird’s LZ – followed by thirteen more.

“ And I know that you’re listening.”

Whisper gasped. Brianna and Scrap spun to face him as Meta rapidly constructed a plan.

“That’s impossible! I would’ve heard them!” said Whisper.

Black Magic and Frank Jackson turned to see the Banshee horde opening up on the ITSDA Guard Unit, firing their state-of-the-art sniper rifles before the guards could blink.

KRAAAACK-KRAAAACK!

KRAAAACK-KRAAAACK!

The sound ruptured ears; the firepower carved up torsos and turned heads to piles of blood and bones. Two down, five down, eight down! Magic hastily twirled his wand and hurled it through the line of fire, catching all the bullets headed for his friends. Jackson pulled an assault rifle and a shield off of one of his downed men as the Banshees scattered back into the shadows like the insects they were.

“Pull back, pull back. Let him work and guard the rear!”

Frank Jackson stood close by as his unit regrouped behind him, ready to take hits for as many of his men as he could. But there was a lull in the strife; the Banshees trail had already gone cold. Black Magic created a massive ring of doppelgangers and encircled an entire city block; none of them would slip through his fingers and kill again. The Black Magic army tightened their circle, while the real magician stood back and watched through the eyes and ears of each and every one of his copies.

“Gentlemen, I loathe the business of violence. But if it comes to it, there are few who exceed my ability to perform it.” Black Magic’s copies spoke in perfect, horrifying unison as they casually closed in on Schwartze Augen’s assassination squad. Eventually, The Banshees started firing through Black Magic’s clones. The firefight heated up soon after, as the stealthy killers fired on all the clones on the ring’s right quadrant. The invisible soldiers then rushed themselves through the “hole” they’d discovered in the enemy’s wall of illusions. When they broke through, all of Black Magic’s clones disappeared in puffs of smoke… except for the one standing directly behind the Banshees.

“I am, after all, a performer,” said the former clone. At that, Black Magic threw his fourth ace at one of the Banshees. Tongues of blue flame ignited bits and pieces of his body before firing up into the air, exploding like fireworks, and spreading to the others. The Banshees shrieked like the horrible monsters they were named for and the process repeated itself. Electronics snapped and burst into shapeless hunks of molten metal and skin blistered and blackened, but the flames died down as soon as Magic was sure they weren’t getting back up and into the battle. Even now, in the midst of an open war, he would not kill needlessly.

“I take it you won’t need an encore today.” said Black Magic. “But if there comes such a day, you know how to find me.”

Vandal’s push into the heart of Dieter’s compound began to slow. Magic’s invisibility spell was wearing off and Dieter had the whole place wired with traps. The first one was laughable; a couple security cameras attached to bombs that wouldn’t even go off by the time she ran past them. The second was easy; an electrified room whose current she interrupted by throwing tons of debris into it.

Unfortunately, the third was really clever: a laser-soaked room that expanded and spun when a person was detected entering it. But she defeated that with a clever trick of her own. After tossing Knight’s shield into the room to observe how the trap worked, she figured that the wall must be weakest where it expanded. So she took a running start, stopping less than a foot from the room’s entrance, and punched the shield across the room at a perfect angle. Due to the room’s spinning, the shield ricocheted off the wall and returned to her. After five tries, the tarnished shield busted a hole in the wall. She then bounced the shield back and forth across the room, forcing it to spin until the hole was as close to her as possible. Finally, she went for it. In the millisecond it took for her to get across the room while blocking as many of the lasers as she could with her shield, she suffered severe burns to her back and legs.

“If you think that crap’ll keep me down, man, you’ve got another thing coming!” she said. While she spoke, she ripped apart an electronic keypad, dismantling its failsafe measures in the scant instants she had before they activated.

Outside, Brianna had entered the fray and began healing everyone she could while the others dealt with a second wave of Banshees. As she bore witness to the death and horrors her friends had wrought, Brianna struggled to keep from vomiting. She wanted to retreat, return to the ship, curl up into a ball until this whole war passed her by and she could pretend it never happened. But she had to be strong; her tears, her screaming, her anger at the world for allowing this to happen would have to wait. She had to help people here and now.

Brianna spread her hands across the chest of a wounded ITSDA operative. For the first time in a year, nothing happened. The man was dead, simply dead, and she just had to sit back and deal with that fact. She rushed to the next one, and the next, and the next, and the next. She lingered for just a little bit longer on each agent, hoping that a few more seconds of her healing touch would let them take single breath. But there was no hope for those five men. The “light” of ITSDA had failed them.

“Someone? Anyone? Live… please!”

The kindly young woman grappled the sixth guard’s wounds directly, gritting her teeth as she focused her entire mind and body on healing the thirty something brunette that could’ve passed for her mother. After ten seconds, the woman began to choke. Two more seconds, and she took a breath. Stable; she was stable! The instant that her patient returned to the world of the living, she glanced at the remaining two downed soldiers. Both had had their heads blown to smithereens.

“One woman; is that all I can save? We caused this; they caused this. How are they – how is this right? We could’ve; we didn’t need…” her voice trailed off as she stared at her guardian angel. Her eyes begged Valorum for help and guidance in her time of need.

“Kid, you’ve bought her and everyone who loves her a lot more time.

“It doesn’t matter! I should’ve saved them; I could’ve! I should’ve been here!”

“Yes, you should’ve died pointlessly and let their only medic die. Take it from me, kid: your guilty conscience is wrong.”

“But I--”

“If you knew how many humans blame themselves for a war they couldn’t stop every day, you’d never breathe words of helpless pain ever again. It’s not your fault, kid. It just isn’t.”

Brianna wiped the tears from her eyes.

“Thank you, Valorum.”

“Now get back in there; you’ve got work to do!”

Brianna nodded and headed for a bruised and battered Knight. But just as “Raphael’s Heart” was touching her hand to the hero’s bloodied shoulder, Meta’s voice invaded everyone’s ears with a warning.

“Whisper’s got something wheeled headed your way from the left; something big! Find cover and take whatever shots you can. We’ll take off and hit it from above.”

“Hit it from above?” asked Frank Jackson as he split the remaining guards into four groups of three and ordered two of them to “go long” and await their next orders. “Not good enough; we need info - its weapons, its speed, everything! Focus on recon; leave the gruntwork to us.”

“Don’t let ‘em shock us again!”

Whisper fumed at the old man’s militaristic arrogance as the Songbird took flight once more.

Frank Jackson and Knight got into position in the middle of the street while Black Magic steeled himself for battle atop a nearby roof. Not ten seconds later, a monstrosity hit the scene. The Namidian mercenary known as “Destroyer” had turned herself into a hulking, mechanical centaur. Her lower body was replaced by an enormous tank with five main cannons; each attached to an independently mobile turret and equipped with what looked like a shotgun’s pump-action. Meanwhile, her stubby little arms were merged with twin attack helicopters that sported jet engines! The Namidian’s “Scrap,” a Gifted tinkerer named Jesus Jovellanos who designed impossible weapons, giddily cackled from inside one of the helicopter’s cockpits.

“Dear Lord--” said Knight. He instinctively held out his arms and turned his head to Brianna, who still stood behind him. “Run, child. Seek shelter!”

“Take a good look, heroes,” said Jovellanos as he pointed at the ITSDA soldiers beneath him. Jackson interrupted the speech by firing on what little remained of Destroyer’s original body, but she shielded herself with the pilotless arm-helicopter.

“Cuz’ you’ll never see it again!”

Tendrils of light emerged from behind Destroyer and swallowed up her body, rendering her completely invisible.

“She’s still there! Anticipate her movements; I’ll provide updates,” said Whisper. The helicopters broke the sound barrier and the shockwave knocked the ITSDA’s field agents to their feet.

“We can track her and estimate weaknesses based on her movements and projectiles. Keep her busy and we’ll have a full profile.”

“Understood. Look out!” yelled Frank Jackson as a cannon shell fell toward the group as though it were a comet.

The ITSDA agent’s scattered as twenty cannon blasts eviscerated the city block, leveling all of its buildings to rubble and sending Black Magic careening to the street below. Magic escaped by flinging his top hat away and jumping out of it, but a direct cannon hit sheered half of Knight’s armor off his body and cracked the rest to its core. There was no reload time. A second direct hit flung the armored agent deep into the pile of rubble that stood behind him.

KRRR-KAOW!

“Knight!” Brianna cried out the hero’s name as she threw herself down into the rubble, shoveling as much rock and debris off of him as she could.

“DIEEEEE!” yelled the invisible abomination as she swooped down at the agents like a hawk diving at its prey. As she dove, the six Guards dropped behind their shields. Her cannons ripped the street into a string of burning craters while her gunships’ gatlings chewed up Frank Jackson.

“Ideas, now!” screamed Frank into his radio as his muscles congealed over his shattered bones.

“Hit the cloaker; it’s probably on the rear of her tank.”

“Probably?!”

“Something’s burning through power there and it’s not wired to anything; what else could it be?”

Frank grumbled unintelligibly and shouted into his communicator as the beast circled the sky, preparing for another bombing run.

“Magic, slow it down! We need one good shot.”

“Certainly, Sergeant!” said the dapper man in black. He disappeared into nothingness, only to reappear standing in mid-air, right in Destroyer’s path.

“I dare say, young lady, that you have one of the loveliest Gifts I’ve ever had the pleasure of witnessing.” says Black Magic, flipping out of the way as she comes within inches of colliding with him. “Pity you waste your talents working for pennies.”

“Outta my way!” responds Destroyer, turning around and jetting toward Magic with cannons blazing.

“Far be it from me to block your path,” says Black Magic. He then took a bow and leapt on to one of the shells headed his way. In a circus-style display of acrobatic skill, the showman ran to the shell’s top, leapt off of it, and kicked off another one, hurling himself over the rest and landing directly behind Destroyer’s head.

“Offa me!” yelled Destroyer.

“No way, man; you won’t destroy my greatest work! Not like this!” said Jovellanos. Destroyer swung the gunship her colleague occupied at Black Magic. Magic deftly ducked the blow.

“Quite true, but that’s not really my role here. I’m just setting the scene,” Black Magic continued toying with the Namidians, dancing between helicopters blows and swarms of bullets raining down on him.

“Direct attack, feint, direct attack--” Black Magic mocked his opponents with a yawn. Destroyer spun her tank body around at breakneck speed, knocking him off of his feet and rolling him over the edge. But the ever-amazing Black Magic smiled as he clung to her tread with only one hand.

“--Desperation move. You really must try and make yourself less predictable. Fire!” Magic’s command reached Frank Jackson. He and his six men expertly assaulted the space around Black Magic, spreading out their fire so that it hit the cloak’s every possible location.

BZZZZZT! the cloaking system burnt to a crisp after twenty bullets slammed into it. A panicked Destroyer slowly faded back into existence.

“No. No. No. No. Nooo!” The Namidians’ Scrap desperately banged on the bulletproof glass of his cockpit, throwing a temper tantrum that any three year old would envy.

“You thinking it too, Meta?” asked Sergeant Jackson.

“Strafe with the Songbird and let Scrap cripple her weaponry? Her turning radius is far too small for that; she’ll fry us before we get close enough.”

“Not if we distract her. And he’s good at that.”

“She’ll notice a plane, Frank!”

“Not everyone’s as bright a bulb as you, rookie. Move in!”

In the skies, Black Magic shimmied back and forth across her treads. Jovellanos filled the air in and around Magic with bullets, but the trickster’s eyes carefully followed his movements. It was like he was psychic; always moving away just in time!

“RRRR-AAH!”

The Namidians’ Scrap pulled back and unleashed his full firepower on Black Magic. Missiles blew the hull of Destroyer’s tank body open and gatling fire bounced off the remaining armor and hit Destroyer square in the ribs!

“YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!”

Destroyer fired her jets up to full speed and sped into the sky. The magician began to grip his neck in desperation as the atmosphere thinned. Smirking like a madman, Jovellanos fired one last burst at Black Magic, tearing into his body and ripping apart his suit. The limping, bloodied Black Magic stumbled backwards and fell off the flying tank-girl. His form went limp on the way down.

“Shit! We need Vandal, now! He won’t survive the fall!”

Brianna had just uncovered Knight’s unconscious body when she saw Black Magic’s brutalized body descend from the clouds. She stared up at the killer who did this and her soft eyes went blank.

“You’ve caused enough pain today. Valorum, end this!” shouted the kindhearted medic. A golden feathered figure, wrapped in armor of light, took solid form. He ascended to Black Magic with one flap of his wings. Valorum placed his arms beneath the falling star and fell beside him, slowing his fall and gently placing him down near his charge. He then rose up to Destroyer and drew his blade; releasing a starburst that dwarfed the sun behind him.

“Another one?!” asked an incredulous Destroyer. She recklessly tossed her compatriots helicopter across the sky, sending him spiraling down into a crash landing.

“No distractions! This time you die! CH-YEEEAAH!” Destroyer pulled back from the figure and focused all of her fire on him. Her cannons drowned him in fire and ash.

“Hehehehe.” She chuckled nervously, her face twitching and spasming as Valorum desperately shielded himself with his blinding golden wings. A cheap shot sawed through the remains of Valorum’s blade arm; it burnt to a crisp as it fell away from him, but his blade just dropped.

“Pah! Mortals. You cannot kill what never lived.” Brianna’s one-armed champion pushed through the pain, fought past the fire, and twisted one of her cannons right off the tank! He then threw the tank’s shells back into Destroyer as they left her cannons, eliminating three cannons in two seconds!

“AHHHHHHHHHH!”

Destroyer cried bloody murder as she pelted Valorum’s face with missiles and gunfire. The guardian remaining stoic even as his jaw splintered. He held out his remaining arm. In an instant, his sword returned to him and he bisected her horizontally. The ITSDA soldiers below them scattered like ants from a flood.

KRAAAKA-WHOOOM!

The tank flattened against a crater made by one of its cannons. Two figures stared each other down amidst the clouds; a one-armed magic knight and a cyborg girl with a helicopter arm. Destroyer quaked with unimaginably fury; Valorum Firenze smiled and gestured for her to come and fight.

“I won’t die here! I won’t!” Destroyer speared Valorum at supersonic speed, pushing him back through the clouds. Her helicopter blades cut chunks out of his helmet and he struggled for control of his arm. The psychotic cyborg’s helicopter spun through the air; Valorum was thrust in front of the chopper’s missile bay. With perfect mastery of his blade and his body, the unflappable warrior whirled his sword around and stabbed deep into the hull.

Finally, the cavalry arrived. The Songbird flew beside Destroyer and the aircraft on her arm crumbled itself into a ball. The bleeding Destroyer lost consciousness; in an interesting move, the ITSDA’s Scrap opened the cargo bay, turned the copter into a hook, and attached Destroyer to the Songbird.  This gave Meta enough time to pull her inside the ship. Though they tried to pull Valorum in too, the guardian disappeared and returned to his place beside Brianna.

“Destroyer’s down, but we've got another problem, said Meta.

“I know,” said Jackson, who was signaling for his unit to pull back. “Forty, fifty we can’t kill.”

On the ground, a horde of American jeeps, assault vehicles, and APCs arrived at the battlefield.

“They’re bombing everything! No quarter, take ‘em down.” said the CO.

“Air support. Air support!”

Brianna blasted the US forces with two rays of dazzling light. She, Jackson, and his soldiers then retreated deep into Gaultown, carrying the wounded on their backs.

“Backup, hold position. We’ll rendezvous in T-Minus five minutes.

Ivan lingered behind one of the backup units, shotgun in hand.

After worming her way through a maze full of tricks, Vandal arrived at the innermost chamber of Dieter’s compound. The Ghouls were upon her before she reached the door; their streams of perfectly aimed gunfire made entry impossible. Thinking quickly, Vandal pressed herself against the wall and tossed her shield through the door. With the help of the literal momentary distraction, she was able to roll into the room and leap up into the air. A quick spin-kick put all of them down, and she was left alone with the two kings. Immediately, she sprinted toward Dieter. When she hit his telekinetic bubble, it felt as though she was moving through a thick gel; her speed fell to that of a normal human’s. And at a human velocity, Dieter made a fool of her. He effortlessly bobbed around her blows and spoke to her casually.

“Good afternoon, Vandal. Your dismantling of my security was nothing short of astonishing.” Dieter hammered her across the jaw with a fist faster than her eye! Vandal hit the floor and glided across the marble of Dieter’s inner sanctum. “It’s almost a shame you don’t put your resourcefulness to better use.”

The Commander just kept on staring at his monitors; one showed a view from just behind three of the ITSDA guards, the second displayed a map of the battlefield, and the third gave him a look inside the Songbird! As he stared, his fingers tapped innumerable buttons on his phone.

“I wanted to keep this clean. But that nosy little dog was too smart for that. So he led you here, and brought our little game to an end.”

Vandal scoffed, rose to her feet, and circled The Commander, taking him down with a sonic boom. He landed with a heavy thud. Dieter simply strode toward the rapid valkyrie.

“It ain’t ever clean! Not with you around. And it ain’t a game.”

“Then why treat it like it is?” asked Dieter, as he extended his hand out and pulled her in close. “Why struggle to keep order, to maintain peace? The world matters; why not change it while you can?”

A punch to the stomach drove Vandal to her knees. She simply rolled away, looked up, and spat at Dieter. Naturally, he blocked the stunningly fast projectile with a simple wipe of his hand.

“This some kinda charity, then? You got a funny way of showin’ people you care ‘bout ‘em.”

“Stay still,” ordered The Commander. Vandal’s mind went blank; for a full quarter-second, she couldn’t figure out how to move. The steps were there, but they made no sense. You contract your muscles?  How?!  The Commander’s entrepreneurial compatriot leaned down, wrapped his hands around her neck, and lifted her above his head.

“As a matter of fact, it is. I give talented people purpose and direction: a goal, if you will. And you dare stand in my way, simply because you are afraid of what’s to come.”

“Oh yeah, I’m quakin’!” said Vandal as she kicked and wiggled around while Dieter held his arm around her neck. “Or maybe I just don’t share yer vision. Ever thinka that?”

“You have no vision, girl,” said Dieter as he tightened his grip. Vandal choked.

“No, I… think, that’s... you,” Vandal said through pained, sputtering gasps. Without warning, one of the Ghouls stomped his foot and threw a stun grenade directly into The Commander’s face.

BOOOOOOOM! BEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE-

“AHHHH! DAMN YOU! TRAITOR!” said The Commander as he fell forward before catching himself on a control panel. The mysterious Ghoul teleported behind the military legend and wrapped his arms him. It was Jump! For the coup de grace, he teleported The Commander’s arm inside the man’s hard drive and then jumped just outside of Dieter’s range. But Dieter still had a hold of his partner.

“I could kill her now, Agent. Don’t test me.”

“Hadn’t planned on it,” said Jump. Instantly, he teleported almost into Dieter; his hand was on Dieter’s arm before the time-warping criminal could even react. Then they were in the air, inside the Songbird! And Scrap shot a metal spike up through Dieter’s foot!

“RAAH!” Dieter howled in pain. The normal speed Vandal punched him in the face twice and hopped back. Jump teleported to the cargo bay door.

“Not a tactically sound maneuver,” said Meta as he kept typing while nervously eyeing Dieter, who rose to his feet in seconds. “But we’ll work with it! Get going – plan beta!”

On the ground, Ivan got to tangle with his target at last after taking out three of the ITSDA’s best men. Ivan unloaded on Frank with a shotgun; Jackson chuckled at his would-be assassin as he dodged and ordered his team away. Brianna stubbornly stood her ground; they might not be dead yet! But when Valorum (who held up Black Magic in his one hand) shook his head, she nodded and turned away.

“Brianna, they’re gone! Continue as planned! Whisper, cover them!”

“Negative. Target Two’s struggling, we've got our hands full.”

“Is the great Frank Jackson afraid of us?” asked the mysterious killer. There was no joy, no sadism, in his voice. There was only mild curiosity. Ivan’s shells inched closer and closer to Jackson each time they were fired, but they had only hit the shield so far. “Does he fear that they’ll all die under his command?”

“Nah,” Jackson tersely remarked as he dove behind a brick wall. Ivan stood back, waiting for his game to make the next move. When Jackson refused the bait, Ivan tossed his shotgun aside and generated a double-barreled ion cannon.

OOOOOOOO^OOOOO-MMMM!

The cannon charged and fired; the brick wall (and the road beneath it) collapsed. And still, Frank Jackson was nowhere to be found. Generating an IR visor, Ivan saw that the old soldier had lain across a fire escape.

“Well you certainly should be. Even with your regeneration, my weapon will atomize you and everything else in a considerable radius.”

Jackson rolled off the fire escape as Ivan fired, aiming and firing three bullets from his assault rifle on the way down. The perfectly calculated force knocked the cannon out of Ivan’s hands and it skated across the street. The Sergeant then tossed his gun up into the air, drew his twin Devastator pistols, and fired both. One exploded the ground where Ivan stood right as he dodged it, the other flash-froze Ivan’s ion cannon.

“That’s the idea,” said Jackson calmly as his pointer finger clicked the selector on his pistol and fired at the frozen cannon. “Jump, now!”

Jump popped in, grabbed his CO from behind, and disappeared. The ion cannon exploded with a burst of blue light, completely vaporizing a huge chunk of Gaultown.

Back in Dieter’s compound, The Commander’s battered hand clicked away at his tablet even as blood dripped down on to the device. He couldn’t command the US forces directly; that would be noticed quickly. But he could give little orders to individual vehicles and soldiers, subtly tilting the battle toward a more favorable outcome. The situation was challenging: the ITSDA forces were speeding through the most densely packed alleyways they could find, making encircling or chasing them with vehicles difficult. Perhaps he could pin them down with artillery fire? No, they had too much healing power for that to keep them down long. Maybe he could take advantage of their lack of vehicles, guard every major exit in their quadrant of Gaultown, and box them in. Then again, their teleporter may be able to sneak the small group past the defensive line if he got close enough to it. Further, their Songbird may provide them with a method of escape – so long as Dieter didn’t destroy it…

….The Songbird. It’s position was nearly perfect. A grim expression overtook Brett’s face; the best, maybe only way to win became clear.

Onboard the ITSDA’s plane, Dieter was stepping over one of Scrap’s little attempts to wrap him in a prison of the Songbird’s metal. Vandal charged at him, only for the Godfather of Gaultown to slow down his perception and toss her over his head. Whisper’s bullets hit her stomach head-on, punching deep holes in them and forcing her to crawl away from him. Meta’s mouth began to scream in slow-motion and Whisper’s fires of rage turned to ashes of horror one “frame” at a time. Dieter calmly stepped away from the scene of the crime and prepared to rip Meta out of his chair. But the genius was prepared for that. A gadget he wore under his cuff electrified the surface of his suit the instant Dieter laid his hands on it. And so the criminal watched his skin bubble and blacken and millions of volts of electricity pour into his skin. Even his temporal bubble could not slow lightning to a crawl!

Dieter pulled away when he heard gunfire from behind him; he and Meta both ducked Whisper’s pistol. Scrap flung the bits of metal still clinging to Destroyer at the boss’s head; Dieter jumped them and turned to face Meta. He was just in time to see Brian press his fingers to his temples and get slapped into the wall with a telekinetic blast.

THUNK!

An ant-sized radio inside Destroyer’s ear relayed The Commander’s orders to Scrap.

“Turn the plane around – now!”

The Songbird swung right wildly and bashed its occupants into its walls. Dieter braced himself and remained standing. The pilot scrambled to regain control of his plane, pulling the joystick as far left as he could. Alas, momentum was not on his side. The bird completed its turn.

“Brett, what is this?”

“Open the bay,” said The Commander, ignoring his partner. With one press of a button, the doors at the back of the Songbird unfurled. Scrap had sealed their fate. A missile, fired from one of the army’s assault vehicles, flew through the inside of the plane and collided with the controls. The aircraft’s entire front snapped in two and its jets only accelerated the crash.

SHAKA-BOOOOOM!

This message was last edited by the GM at 14:10, Mon 25 Apr 2016.

The Songbird’s wings tore chunks out of offices as it hit the ground right in front of Jackson and his retreating team. The Commander’s masterstroke was executed perfectly.

“Nooooooo!” shrieked Brianna as she held her head, trying desperately to shield her eyes from what had happened to her friends and allies.

“Shit!” yelled Frank Jackson.

A hand punched its way through the smoldering wreckage of the Songbird. It was not Vandal’s, not Scrap’s, not Whisper’s, but Dieter’s. With one good pull, Dieter annihilated an entire section of the Songbird’s wall and stepped through the now gigantic hole.

“I had hoped you’d survive that,” said The Commander into Dieter’s earpiece. Dieter scoffed.

“A little warning would have been pertinent. No matter, we have virtually won the day.”

“And lost many brave souls… including theirs.”

Jackson knew Dieter and his powers. Though the pair had not fought directly in the past, Schwarze Augen’s presence was felt everywhere. The world-class commando had devoured every piece of reliable information about him that the ITSDA could get its hands on. A direct attack would be suicide. With his powers, even flanking was nearly impossible.  But light was too fast for even him. The girl! She could start the rush; she could break through.

“Jump, Delta! Brianna, Valorum, on my mark!”

Jump disappeared; even The Commander’s radar was confused by his movements. He rapidly hopped back and forth all around the city. Valorum set Black Magic down and flew Brianna back, away from the horrible chaos of battle.

“You’ve got one choice left, kid. And you need to make it quickly. Remember my words.”

“I can’t! No, there’s got to--”

“Enough! Cowardice won’t save you. When he gives the command, you must say it.”

“I wanted… to save people.”

“And you will.”

“I wanted to save you, too…”

“I am your will. If that returns, so will I…”

Jackson filled the air with explosive bullets; he cut off nearly all possible escape routes. But Dieter jumped out of the way each time, using the perfect move at the precise time at which it would be most useful. Sergeant Jackson froze all the ground beneath him as he continued firing explosives, further reducing Dieter’s movement. Dieter smirked as Ivan reappeared behind Jackson, who followed his enemy’s eyes well enough to dodge Ivan’s ion blast.

“Did you honestly believe you’d be rid of me after one little victory?” asked Ivan. “I assure you, Sergeant, I am far more dedicated than that.”

The mysterious assassin generated what appeared to be a revolver and fired it. The odd little projectile that it fired hit the ground and a putrid gas continuously poured out of it. Stuck between a rock and a hard place, the legendary soldier fired an explosive bullet at a nearby window and rushed through it. Ivan gave chase while Dieter simply stood out of the way.

“Valorum, engage!"

The glorious knight of light placed his hand upon Brianna’s shoulder.

“It’s now or never, angel.” Brianna wrapped her arms around him, soaking his gauntlet in tears that turned to puddles of golden dust upon hitting his armor.

“Then it’s now… I’m ready.”

“Then so am I,” Brianna’s protector slipped away from her, turned his back on his ward, and took off at incredible speed. He charged forward, unsheathed his sword in front of Dieter, and raised it to the sky.

“Is that supposed to intimidate me? Your tired brand of chivalry died for a reason, you know."

Less than a mile away, Brianna’s eyes, hands, and aura gradually filled with scorching bright light as she recited a poem. As she spoke, Valorum shouted out the words he knew she was saying. Cracks appeared all over his armored form.

“I am light, in mind and form. Shadows die within my storm. As I spread across the realm, evil shall be overwhelmed. Let today my spirit spread, let my living form be shed!”

Valorum Firezne imploded into a sphere of light that expanded into a mushroom cloud of golden energy. Though Dieter had found cover behind a door, it did not save him. The immense light blinded him while heat scarred him all over. In desperation, he tore his fine suit off of his burning skin and desperately crawled toward better cover.

“Ahhhhhh!” screamed Dieter. “Ivan, retrieve me!”

His associate did not answer. For both he and Frank Jackson were consumed by the warrior’s sacrificial light. Just as Dieter had enough strength left to issue a command, so too did the field commander of this ITSDA mission.

“Jump – move in!”

Moments later, when the light began to dim, Jump silently appeared behind Dieter. He pulled Black Magic’s fifth ace from his sleeve and slung it at the blinded villain near his feet. Dieter appeared to “fall” into the card as it touched his skin. Before the card hit the ground, Dieter’s image adorned its face in place of the standard suit symbol. Jump picked up the slightly burnt card and slid it in his pocket.

“Dieter’s down,” said the hero. “What’s next?”

“Brianna,” said Jackson as his immolated remains struggled to their feet. “Help her.”

“Confirmed,” said Jump. He appeared in front of the young woman, who appeared to be in shock. “Agent Invictus, we need your help.”

Brianna was borderline catatonic, simply staring at what remained of the world in front of her.

“Brianna! Brianna! Vandal, Scrap, Whisper, Meta, they need you!”

Brianna's eyes shifted position and she made a valiant effort at looking toward him. Although that was the only answer she gave, Jump took her by the hand. He and she reappeared together within what little remained of the Songbird.

Emotionlessly, even lifelessly, Brianna took a turn at healing each of the heroes. Meta, her first patient, rose to his feet almost immediately. Vandal, her second, took some time; her bullet wounds came within inches of killing her via blood loss. Whisper, her third, began to breathe after two minutes worth of energy fell into him. But he would not wake, no matter how hard she tried. Her fourth, Destroyer, reeled back to punch the woman who saved her life, but lacked the strength to even hit her. And Scrap, her last, remained cold and lifeless even as she performed CPR on him with her healing hands. Finally, she tore off a bit of her blouse’s sleeve and draped it over his head.

“None of you are in any condition to fight,” she said, keeping her head down and refusing to look at her teammates. “Sit this one out.”

“Sorry girly,” said Vandal, who limped a little as she eyed the door. “Duty calls.”

Vandal sped off into the night. Across town, the bloodthirsty terror known as Kane laid atop the very rocket launcher that slew the Songbird. Hiding in plain sight using a camouflage Gift he nabbed from some Namidian flunky, Kane was literally munching on popcorn when he saw the mighty blast of light engulf an entire block. The relative silence that followed the explosion was intolerable. It’s over?! It was just getting good!

“That’s it?! Big, bad boss man goes down like a bitch? Fuck, man: I’ll make my own fun.”

The driver beneath him gasped as Kane generated a massive army of illusions with one careless wave. The illusions were an undead legion whose ancient uniforms barely clung to their skeletal forms. Each soldier in the army of the dead sported decaying, early 21st century weapons splashed with blood.

“What the fuck?! What the fuck?” shouted a sweating rookie, who turned tail and ran.

“It’s some kind of Gift trick,” said the army’s commanding officer. “Take ‘em out and they’ll fall like anyone else.”

Bullets, missiles, and lasers crashed into Kane’s illusions. The insane teenager chuckled as he gave the army a moment of hope by letting his legion get torn apart by their attacks. But he then generated an armored, undead giant and let him rampage through the army of the dead with impunity. The soldiers scattered and retreated from the beast, but regrouped quickly.

“Pin ‘em down! We need heavies, now!”

Even while the officer’s men focused all their fire on the beast’s legs and head, Kane burst onto the scene! He dropped his camouflage in front of the army and threw kunai off in every direction. He threw himself in front of a machine gun, only to teleport away the moment it fired and let his enemies do the killing for him! Kane laughed out loud when he saw the horrified look on a private’s face as he slaughtered his best friend.

He teleported to the rear of the army and generated a huge flamethrower using what remained of Ivan’s abilities. The sheer heat of the white-hot flames melted tanks into piles of molten steel and titanium and flash-fried any fool stupid enough to stand in its way. The illusions were gone now, but the army knew they had given way to a terrible reality.

“I know what you’re asking,” whispered Kane as he appeared in front of a wide-eyed medic whose uniform was drenched in sweat. “And the answer is no – I won’t spare you!”

The thrill-seeking psychopath kicked the medic to the ground and turned to face an armored column off in the distance.
“Or maybe I will. I don’t even know yet! Isn't that great?”
Over the course of the next ten seconds, Kane generated a rapid-fire rocket launcher and “cleaned house” with a massive chain of explosions. While he did so, the medic screamed in horror and desperately tried to crawl away. A burning piece of tank shrapnel slapped the white-haired wildman in the face, but Kane just grinned.

“Dude, wanna know the best part of this?”

In a ridiculous attempt to placate the terror, the medic mouthed the word “yes.”

“Watching you just sit there and take it while I murder your friends,” Kane paused to give his victim time to react. The medic simply muttered “no” under his breath and turned away. “'Least one of you’s smart enough to look out for number one!”

While Kane’s back was turned, Vandal cranked his head back at approximately 50 mph. The whiplash was immense, enough to snap the young serial killer’s neck until his head came loose. But his muscles gradually stitched themselves back together and he beamed at the frantic, frazzled 20-something girl who just tried to rip his head off.

“Aww, a babe! Now it’s a party,” Kane slicked his hair back as he spoke. At the same time, a swirling portal wrapped itself around his hand and started to grow.

“Kane Isiah Armani, you’re coming with me,” said Vandal, her voice clear and gaze unyielding.

“You got that right, honey,” the flirtatious freak winked at his prey. Vandal’s steely, determined face rusted and she backed away slowly. Kane teleported in behind her and grabbed her from behind. The monster pressed a blade to her throat just hard enough to draw a frightening amount of blood. Vandal paused for only a moment; Armani gave a toothy smile as his vortex began pulling in the kicking, screaming woman’s soul. “Good girl. Now--”

The experienced agent twisted her body around until she was but a blur; her arms and legs hit Kane with explosive force. Kane pulled back his blade and swung it at her neck, but Vandal knocked him back through the wall behind him with a literally burning elbow! She then dug in to “Special K” with burning fists, rapidly hammering him as though her fists were turbo-charged pistons. Kane swung and squirmed, but just couldn’t keep up.

The ITSDA’s one-woman assault team somersaulted back until she was nearly out of sight. She was an ant down the road one second. One second later, she was burning cloud headed straight for his head. But Kane saw her coming; using her own speed against her, he rolled beneath her and knocked her up into the clouds with one brutal uppercut!

THWAAAAAAAAK!

“Oooh,” said Kane, drawing kunai from his belt and machine-gunning them at her using her own Gift. “This is fun. I’m keeping this."

The falling special agent artfully rotated and swung around the line of kunai hurled at her. She then grabbed some of the knives that flew past her head and hurled them back at her attacker. After a few rounds of this, the kunai exploded into shrapnel when they cracked against the ground. Kane leapt up after her, kicking his legs to propel himself to her position. Vandal blocked her face with her arms. Just as the cocky young brat swung at her with his own flaming fist, Vandal slipped under him. Before Kane could stop, Vandal spin-kicked him through a tank husk! Tank shells and machine gun bullets exploded and boiled the young man’s skin; the half of his face that wasn’t yet stripped of its flesh grimaced.

“That’s how you use my Gift, man!” said Vandal, taunting him with a bow.

“Motherfucker,” said Kane as he carelessly lifted himself up out of the wreckage, ignoring the metal spike that tore through his lungs as he moved. His broken bones popped their way back into place while he held his lungs in with his hand. In his other, outstretched hand, atoms gathered around a nearly subatomic uranium core.

“You wanna play rough, bitch? Well this little ball’s nuclear,” His open palm was now filled with a baseball-sized black sphere. “And I’m gonna use your Gift to slam dunk it into a city.”

Vandal stepped back and leaned down. In her mind, she was reeling back to strike like a scorpion. Kane licked his lips slowly enough for his lips to get drenched in saliva. He jumped forward and waved his bomb-filled hand at Vandal, who flinched.

“Nuh-uh, careful. It’s as unstable as I am,” Kane giggled mockingly at his own joke. Vandal finally charged him, nearly crushing his forearm in his hand.

Kane forced himself forward and chomped down on Vandal’s ear.

“Ayhhhhhh!” screamed Vandal as her ear fell silent and her head rung with pain. She let go of “Special K” and Kane did a mile-high running jump. At the peak of his leap, he tossed the bomb at the heart of a nearby metropolis.

“Go fetch!” shouted Kane. Vandal pushed herself to the limit to keep up with the bomb, tearing half the street apart and shattering building’s windows as she sped through the city.

The platinum-headed terror stretched his arms and yawned. But after a little while, something appeared out of the corner of his eye. Sergeant Frank Jackson; legendary soldier and that Ivan bastard’s favorite target. He’d be fun to fight; shit, he’d be a fun soul to steal! Kane thought of the power, thought of having triple the healing factor and access to all sorts of fun knowledge. He’d get a peek at every chick the gruff badass ever went to bed with! Kane was already hurting, but Vandal’s speed was helping his healing. He was ready for this; eh, he would be ready for this. He’d just give it a second…

Sergeant Jackson had already spotted Kane, but was waiting for his target to make the first move. He knew, from decades of experience, that brats like Kane threw themselves into battle without even the faintest idea of the tactical mistakes they were making. But he didn’t. Instead, the power-mad child just stood there, staring at the renowned warrior hungrily.

“Boy, don’t even play. I got your friend’s powers and just nuked a place. You don’t want this. Or maybe you do. You’ve lived a long time, probably tired of that shit by now. I would be,” said Kane, cracking his neck and cringing while molecule-thin knives burst from the tips of his fingers.

“’Course you would. You can’t see it,” a plan of attack was being rearranged in Frank Jackson’s mind. Kane’s partial theft of Vandal’s Gift changed things a bit. But he could still make it work. He just needed to rope him in and nab one of his big guns. Ivan was smart; he knew these powers better than Kane. And even he fell for basically the same trick.

“Oh, a lecture; never heard one of those before.”

“All I know is: there’s more to life than its end. No matter how hard you try, and I have, you can’t escape that. You’re not an explosion, Kane. And you’re not death itself, come for us all,” Frank laughed while staring directly into Kane Isiah Armani’s eyes. Futuristic-looking, miniaturized cannons tore themselves out of the top of Kane’s wrists as the boy rolled his eyes.

“You’re one of us; you need love, hope, compassion, and all that mushy shit. So come get me; maybe your plan to scream and kick ‘till you get some attention will finally work!”

“Gladly!” shouted Kane as tackled Frank and used his knives and Vandal’s speed to burrow into his flesh and intestines in less than a second. Like some sort of mad chef, he ripped organs out of his target and then sliced them to bits while his “meat” was still alive. When Sergeant Jackson’s head began to move, Kane slapped it back with a 300 mph cannonball. He then rolled back and pelted Jackson with them, flashing a toothy grin whenever he heard the delicious sound of bones being crunched.

After less than a minute of this, Jackson fell limp. Kane strolled up to him, lifted his head, and forced one of the hero’s eyes open. He then knelt down and tilted his head.
“I could do this all day and you won’t die. I love your healing factor!”

To punctuate his point, Kane sliced off Jackson’s right arm and kicked it across the street. From the looks of things and the gurgling noises, the pitiful Sergeant was no longer a threat. Still Kane kept going, sloppily removing Jackson’s eye and crushing it beneath his heel. That little bit of showboating cost Kane valuable seconds; Jackson blasted him back with a straight to the gut. A livid Kane jumped at Jackson, only to eat a low blow from his knee.

“Ohh, you’re funny,” said Kane as he threw his arm down to guard the affected area.

“So’s he,” said Jackson, pointing his head behind Kane. “Lord Death of Murder Mountain,” as he occasionally called himself, wasn’t falling for it. He spun around at Vandal’s speed and spotted a trembling, yet enraged Jump directly behind him, aiming a gun for his head!  Kane stuck out his tongue and madly giggled in Jackson’s face.

“Oh no, he’ll kill me. Ha-ha-ha!”

Jump fired. Kane ran backwards, ducked under the bullet, and spiked it over his own head like a volleyball. The gun and the bullet fell to the street; the agent wasn’t there! Kane looked back; Jump was grabbing Jackson! The duo disappeared in to the night. Kane dashed after them. A thick cloud of chemical smoke appeared about a mile away.

“Told ya’ it wouldn’t kill him,” said a sitting Jackson, who handed off belts full of armed smoke grenades as Jump repeatedly teleported across the block, then back to him.

“I know, but if there was a chance--” Jackson threw one final smoke bomb down near their feet. The whole area around the house they stood upon was caked in a thick layer of smoke.

“There wasn’t. Focus. The grunts we have left are sitting ducks without these. Kane will go after them if he can’t find us. We need to end this, now.”

“How?”

“Encirclement,” said Jackson as he handed Jump the grip of one of his Devastator pistols and set it to “freeze.” Jump halfheartedly saluted and teleported away. An almost healed Frank Jackson jumped down into the thick cloud of smoke that enveloped the street below.

A shadow darker than the smoke cut through the clouds, doing ten dozen laps around the block in the span of four seconds. He would find them and kill them. It wasn’t a matter of if, just a matter of when. Kane didn’t like to wait, never had.

“Olly olly oxen free!” said Kane, who dispersed one cloud instantaneously with a million little waves of his hands. There was nothing. He moved on to the next one. Nothing; nothing nothing nothing nothing! Suddenly, he heard a whisper in the shadows and slid toward it. Frankie!

Three “snowballs” knocked the air out of him, freezing his arms and legs in position. He shook it off with the friction his super speed granted him. But by the time he did, Jackson fired five rounds at him. Dang, that was quick for human speed! Kane backhanded the explosive shells, whistling innocently as Frank barely rolled out of the way of the explosions.

Having learned from his previous mistake, Kane lunged at Jump. He slammed the young agent’s head into the ground, stunning him so that he couldn’t escape! Hearing the clunk of Sergeant Jackson’s army boots as he raced toward his downed comrade, Kane turned toward him.

“He won’t survive thi--”

An explosive round hit the back of Kane’s throat, sending his molten flesh flying everywhere. The Immortal soldier capitalized immediately. Rapid-fire jabs to the head, elbow to the crevice of an arm, kicks that knocked the monster’s legs out from underneath him, and three bullets to the brain. The boy started seizing and foaming at the mouth. But even in that state, he growled and swiped his finger-knives across Frank’s neck. Jackson gasped as he wrestled the rabid dog to the ground. But the killer wouldn’t quit. Another cannonball knocked Jackson off of him. Kane mindlessly ran to Jackson as Jump staggered to his feet.

“Jump, hit me!”

“What?”

“Just do it!”

Kane leapt up into the air and stuck his knives out downwards, hoping to dig into Jackson’s brain. But the hero rolled out of the way at the last second and “Lord Death’s” knives got stuck in the concrete. This didn’t stop him, but it slowed him down just long enough for Jump to drown him in ice. Jump kept firing until the clip was empty; as soon as he heard the click, Jackson hit the struggling teenager’s head with a running kick that would make any soccer player jealous. Ice snapped and shattered as the kid fell. Frank jumped on him. And in one smooth motion, the man once called “War” by terrified enemies snapped Kane’s wrist back.

“I know what you’re thinking,” said Frank as he shoved his enemy’s wrist through his head. “And you’re right. You shouldn’t have pissed me off.”

Jump vomited at the disgusting squishing sounds. Frank finished the job by chopping all of Kane’s limbs off.

“You’re right, kid,” said Frank. “It’s gross. Hope you never have to see it again. Take him in.”

“But he’s--”

“No, he isn’t.” Nearly invisible arteries and capillaries started growing, like wiggling worms emerging from the dirt, out of the holes in his shoulders. Meanwhile, droplets of bone-colored liquid began dripping down his exposed, fractured skull, gathering in the holes where bone just was. Jump, with careful movements and a great deal of trepidation, pressed his hand to what remained of Kane’s head. After about two minutes had passed, Jump reappeared in front of the ITSDA prison complex in Maine. But he had underestimated Kane’s healing abilities, for the wounded murderer managed to toss him aside by “limping” away at about 100 mph.

Meanwhile, above the skies of Toledo, Vandal had almost caught up with Kane’s nuke. The orb spun wildly as it sailed downward in a huge, catapult-like arc.

“Alright, Vandal. You’re nearing the bogey,” said Meta, who was using a device he cobbled together from the Songbird’s remains to speed up his voice. “Satellite data from your fight with Kane suggests the design is similar to a Namidian NA-48 Type C.”

“Tha point, Brian!”

“It booms milliseconds after contact. You can’t hold this thing, Vandal. You’ll have to toss it.”

“How far?”

“Well into the lower stratosphere.”

“I can’t do that, Bry! Not fast enough. Gimme another way!”

“You can. Launch yourself when it’s four miles ahead and hit it at a 30 degree angle. Won’t even hit space trash.”

“Four miles?! I can’t keep up with it now!”

“Don’t bother with taxiing before your takeoff; ricochet off the buildings and you’ll get above it. Then let gravity help you descend and pull up just before contact.”

“Easy for you to say! If I fail, everyone dies!”

“I know,” said Meta, who slumped back in his chair and sighed while he covered his eyes. “But it’s the only way.”

Behind him, a nearly catatonic Brianna stood up and ripped the headset off of Meta.

“You can do it, Vandal. Jill takes the best of us. And she chose you for a reason. I couldn’t, you can. And you will.”

Vandal halted her motion at this and watched the ball fall through the sky. What seemed like an eternity for her was really less than a nanosecond. She dropped herself to the ground as the ball hit the three-mile mark. She then reeled back and eyed it carefully. The instant it was four miles ahead, she began running. She sprinted up a building, kicked off a window, kicked off a roof, and spread herself out. She fell in an aerodynamic pose, with her arms straight out ahead, as she “swam” diagonally downward toward the deadly orb. She kicked the air with ferocity unmatched by any propeller, any bird, or any jet. She fought through the pain, forcing herself onward as her muscles pulled apart and slid off of her bones.

The ball was now less than a mile away from its target. She spun forward, launched herself upward, and batted the nuclear weapon into space with the palm of her hand. The orb contracted as she hit it and began to explode. But she smacked it away hard and fast enough for only the most minuscule portion of the blast wave to hit her. Half her face and arm were hit with third degree burns and she drifted slowly to the ground. The world above her felt like it was spinning so fast it made her dizzy. Though she fell, she fell with practiced grace. With the last of her energy, she slowed her fall with faint waves of her arms and legs. Though she fell back first, the impact was barely noticeable.

“She actually did it,” said Meta. “The probability of my plan succeeding was…”

“Frank, bring me to her. I won’t have more blood on my hands today!”

“Jump, we need an EVAC on Vandal, stat,” said Jackson.

“Sir!” responded Jump.

Frank Jackson lit a cigar as a mushroom cloud loomed off in the distance. The mission did not go as well as he had hoped, but it was not a failure. The Commander certainly slipped through their fingers, but his forces were decimated, SA was damaged, Gaultown was exposed, and Kane was sent running. Jackson would use this victory; he’d make sure it led to the ITSDA winning this war. He’d be damned if the deaths of those soldiers who gave their all to keep the world safe for one more day would be in vain.

Closer to Toledo, an army photographer snapped a picture of the mushroom cloud over the city.

“Open the latest images folder,” said a clear voice that spoke with absolute certainty and authority. The reporter did as he was told. His folder was full of photos of the battle; the fields of dead soldiers and wreckage, Vandal flying after the nuclear orb, a long distance shot of Sergeant Frank Jackson and Kane standing across from each other, and the mushroom cloud.

“Good, now upload these images to the following websites…” said The Commander from inside a backup APC he had stashed somewhere on the base. A suspiciously fist-shaped hole had been punched into the back of the chair upon which he sat. He gritted his teeth as he spoke. Though the battle had been disastrous, it would not be a complete loss. No, The Commander did not believe in such a thing. Even horrible losses can and would lead to strategic victory, so long as you knew how to use them. He grimaced at a horrible thought that came to him; Dieter would be proud of this bit of slanderous trickery he was about to pull. But he put it out of his mind. Thoughts like that often came to him in moments of defeat; and he would rise above them, just as he always did. He had to, for the future of his people and the glory of Namidias.

Deep within the army’s secret Gaultown base, Emily Nigma was holding a phone to her ear while she finished typing at a computer. The screens before her showed satellite footage of the battle complete with a sidebar of detailed statistics, including movement speed and estimated durability (measured in pounds of force).

“Yes Dieter, all of it,” she said, removing a USB drive from the computer. “I must say, I was not impressed with your doppelganger’s performance. He might just spill all of our little secrets.”

“Now, now, Miss Nigma. You know I know better than that,” said Dieter.

“Perhaps,” said Nigma. “Your secondary plan was downright ingenious. Now we understand everything about them and their limitations…”


“And next time, thanks to you,” said Dieter. “We will be more than ready to use that knowledge to our benefit.”

“Oh, stop it,” said Nigma with poorly-disguised contempt as she held her head up with her hand. “You’re making me blush.”

“Yes, well, you should be going…though the soldiers won’t return, there will be an investigation”

“I’m aware of that, sir,” Emily Nigma picked up her flash drive and sashayed out of the high-tech computer room protected by a retinal scanner and a heavy steel door. “Don’t worry, all evidence of my intervention has been incinerated. They’ll never know we hit them.”

FIN.
This message was last edited by the GM at 04:23, Sat 23 Apr 2016.

Commanders borrowed APC rumbled to a halt outside its destination: 'Tommie's Place'.

The building outwardly resembled a large bar or restaurant, although it's understated advertising and architecture did little to attract potential customers... or anyone for that matter... which was of course the point.

'Tommie's Place' was one of several Gaultown buildings that acted as exit points for Dieter Sievold's fortresses. Normally such a facility would be kept as inconspicuous as possible, but the several squads of Schwartze Augen troopers staffing every window on the building and ringing it with myriad vehicles (including the newly arrived crimson personnel carrier) made it obvious that the cat was already out of the bag. No. Dieter had called them here to stage his last stand, the ITSDA had somehow been able to ignore the multiple smokescreen efforts he'd put into play- and direct conflict had become inevitable. The long night had been climaxing to this final showdown, and everyone either approaching or inhabiting the building knew it.

Dieter himself was inside the restaurant, which in itself was a testimony to the dire situation. The fact that Schwartze Augen's leader preferred to use hired help to perform his bidding, and seemed to hide behind a legion of Gifted Lieutenants, had caused many careless observers to assume that Mister Sievold himself was not the combative type- but those same observers ended up dead, more often than not. Dieter's Gifts and cold calculated lack of mercy made him a monster on the battlefield, and a few unfortunate souls had even come to realize that his stoic and calm mannerisms only served to conceal a wicked and vicious streak that few ever got to see twice. Even so, the man wasn't known for fighting on his own frontlines, and the fact that he was present prove that the situation was one of the few that deserved his personal attention.

Whist his private security busied themselves around the restaurant by reinforcing windows, taking firing positions, and creating kill zones the businessman simply idled away the time by scowling grimly at his smartphone and picking stray specks of dust from his suit. He only deigned to lift his eyes from his device once he heard the heavy tread of steel-toed combat boots march through his building.

"Ah. Commander. I'm glad to see that you completed your mission without incident- and I do apologies for your wasted efforts, but it seems that our guests don't intend to play along to the script we've laid out for them."

Commander gave a dissatisfied grunt at Dieters assertion, as he unshouldered a heavy supply bag he'd carried from the APC onto one of the restaurants table.

"It's all right. Plans rarely hold together, especially when Gifted get involved." Commander spoke. "I just wish that it hadn't come down to this. Alamo-style last stands don't fit my style. They're so... inflexible. Tactically speaking."

As he said that Commander tore open the zip of his baggage to reveal an arsenal of looted weaponry, which he began tactically distributing around the restaurant; placing spare guns at firing places, smart proximity mines at the buildings entrances, and a good deal of the weapons he passed to Destroyer and Scrap- who had joined him in reinforcing Schwartz Augens defensive line.
Dieter watched them work for a moment, a very mild look of amusement playing across his features. He himself had no need for such preparations, and didn't require weaponry or preparation to be considered dangerous- but he appreciated the intricacies of sound planning all the same. After a few moments of thought, however, his expression darkened.

"Brett. When the ITSDA storm our position a lot of people are going to die. Are you prepared?"
First names, that was a rare thing for Dieter to lower himself to using.
"I am. All my troops are in position and we won't run out of ammo. Leviathan will also be keeping an eye open for us." Commander replied, his voice stony cold- even more so than usual.
"You know that's not what I meant." Dieter shot back. His serious tone had lightened a few decibels, and although it was unlikely that the Namidian still possessed a capacity for compassion his voice was certainly tinged with... something... concern maybe? "I'm talking about your condition. I'm aware that you find parts of our business... difficult."
Commander grit his teeth, and his expression and voice turned to a stone mask. "It'll be fine. I'll manage."
Dieter gave him a long appraising stare, before turning back to his device. When he spoke again it was with his usual no-nonsense demeanor.
"All right then, let us adjourn to the Command Center."

The two men traveled down into the hidden base below the restaurant, then made their way to Dieter’s inner sanctum as doors shut solidly behind them and deadly traps armed themselves against intruders lest the two leaders be disturbed.

---

The Songbird slowly sailed down toward Tommie’s Place, its engines running as quietly and using as little power as possible. Inside, the remains of the First Response Team were just as hushed. Vandal held her eyes shut as she contemplated her part in the coming battle.

“Two minutes,” reported Scrap.

After taking two deep breaths, the wild young woman lifted her heavy eyelids and spied on her comrades’ private preparations. A nearly invisible, shimmering golden aura stood off to Brianna’s side as she clasped her hands together in prayer, perhaps pleading with The Lord for all her friends to survive the battle.  Whisper sat alone, mouthing numbers to himself while tapping his fingers to his temples and occasionally snarling at the distant sounds only he could hear. Knight stood in the center of the ship, ripping tower shields out of his chest and handing them to a handful of the ITSDA’s best troops.  Frank drilled an undead-looking Jump on some literally last minute plan he was hurriedly, yet calmly, piecing together. Black Magic, oddly enough, sat upon the plane’s wing and pulled cards from his sleeves. And Meta leaned over the back of the co-pilot’s chair, transfixed by Scrap’s radar and the puzzlingly intricate situation it presented.

“Minute forty.”

The ITSDA Guard Unit wandered over to the plane’s cargo bay door. The troops with Knight’s shields stood out front, holding them out toward the skies as the door opened and air came rushing out.

“One-thirty.”

Vandal normally loved the rush of air, that feeling that you legs and arms were forcing the world out of their way. But the air today wasn’t crisp, nor was it burning. It was jagged and filled with sharp hot and freezing patches. Vandal picked her head up and threw her fist out in defiance. It wouldn’t end like this; she wouldn’t die here!

Sergeant Jackson snapped his fingers in front of Whisper’s face, shocking him back to this world.

“Whatcha got?”

“They’re strong on the left. Slam their right, but keep moving. There’s reserves. Tons of them.”

Jump nodded and stretched his intertwined fingers. In the center of the plane, Knight’s face looked strained and a little gaunt as gallons of silvery metal poured out of his skin and solidified when it touched the air. As soon as she witnessed his pain, Brianna sauntered up to Knight and softly, wordlessly touched her palm to his face.

“Thank you, Miss,” Knight said as his face regained its youthful strength.

“One minute.”

“Brian,” Whisper shouted across the plane. Meta turned his head while keeping his hand firmly on the chair in front of him.

“Yeah?”

“I’m mapping it out. Watch me, update them and the radar as we go. Keep them on track.”

“Got it.” Whisper began muttering dozens of numbers and swinging his hands into cryptic signs at an impossible rate. Instantly, Meta had Whisper’s new language decoded. With a tap on his glasses, the genius made a virtual keyboard appear in front of his hands and began slamming the keys. In seconds, the radar expanded itself into an enormous, detailed bird’s-eye look at the battlefield. Dots representing mines crisscrossed the battlefield; there was barely enough space in between them to move the Namidians’ vehicles.

Frank loudly cocked his assault rifle and marched up to Knight and Brianna. The legendary military man then turned to address the whole group.

“We’ve got eyes, speed, guns, and a plan. We do this right, and we won’t lose. In all my years on this fucking rock, I’ve never seen any bastards as ready to bring the pain as you. So c’mon ‘heroes’--”

“Twenty seconds!”

“—Let’s save the world!” Frank Jackson thrust his rifle up into the air as the soldiers cheered and steeled themselves for battle. Vandal stretched herself out like a sprinter preparing to dash.

“Make way, quickly!” she said. The soldiers shifted to the right side of the door, giving her room to rocket into the fray. The woman’s took her third, and final, deep breath before her air would be filled with lead and screams.

“Ten.”

Scrap opened his one clawed palm and stared off into the distance. The bar was not yet visible…

“Nine.”

Vandal’s eyes became a blur inside her sockets as turned her head and scanned the radar.

“Eight.”

Whisper throws two “X” signs over to Meta. Simultaneously, a pair of Xs appears deep inside the radar’s version of the bar compound – the primary targets, Dieter Sievold and The Commander.

“Seven.”

Black Magic pulled a fifth ace from his sleeve and examined his hand. One card crackled with lightning, one faded into and out of sight, one gave off an entire cacophony of sounds, another was spinning uncontrollably, and the final card’s suit symbols were missing entirely.

“Six.”

Jump gripped his Sergeant’s shoulder as tightly as possible and balled his other hand into a fist.

“Five.”

Knight’s fully-armored form finally lumbered its way behind the ITSDA Guard.

“Four.”

Jackson let out a grin and pulled an ancient frag grenade from a pouch on his chest.

“Three.”

Jackson wrapped his mouth around the grenade’s pin.

“Two.”

Vandal leaned her body forward, growling as she awaited the starting gun.

“One.”

As if to announce their arrival with a bang, the Songbird’s engines roared to life!

“Go!”

Vandal sprinted through the skies, spinning as she raced until the air around her twisted itself into a drill. The drill ballooned out as miles passed. One, two, five, twenty! A horizontal tornado crashed directly into S.A.’s Ghouls. In instants, the battlefield was drenched in bullets, but Vandal’s blade kept slicing through those it hit and launching anyone near it clear across the street! The speedster’s whirlwind soon filled with carnage, but the river of wind she effortlessly swam through washed it all away. Whatever obstacles appeared in the unstoppable juggernaut’s path were effortlessly tossed aside. She hopped her way through the labyrinth of mines and slapped away incoming fire. Even armored cars opened for her as Scrap’s powers ripped holes in any metal monstrosity that blocked her path. To the Namidian warriors, it appeared as though a tornado was firing at them!

Simultaneously, Jump and Jackson hit the right flank. Six perfect shots from Frank and the right flank collapsed. The Ghouls had his next move scouted and formed a ring to protect all sides; Jackson appeared above them! The war hero’s teeth ripped the pin off his grenade and he hurled it.

“You fell in to a burning ring of fire,” sung Jackson as flying shrapnel snapped necks and fried flesh.  While the Sergeant hit the ground firing, Jump appeared behind enemy lines. Immediately, the sweating, pale hero grabbed a Ghoul by the neck and disappeared!

Before The Commander could even get a sitrep, the scenario transformed yet again! A huge metal ball hit the ground, leaving a wide crater and drawing the fire of the panic-stricken soldiers. Harmlessly, the bullets and rockets fell off of Knight’s shield as he forced himself to stand.

“Your transgressions cannot go unpunished. Surrender, and I will show mercy!” Bullets and bombs swarmed the area near Knight’s exposed eyes.

“That’s a no on the mercy, soldier!”

“Very well.”

Just then, Black Magic stepped down from an invisible staircase and hurled two of his aces into the fray. When one card flew over them, dozens of The Commander’s men flinched at the sound of titanic, unearthly roars coming from all directions! A moment later, others threw themselves to the ground in pain as ear-shattering static overloaded their senses. Still others uncontrollably spun in a circle as the second ace whirled through their unit before boomeranging back into the magician’s hand.

The Songbird dove low, letting the twenty guards inside open fire on the dazed, ravaged army that stood before them. The unit’s assault rifles toppled rows and rows of Ghouls and grunts as Knight’s shields and Meta’s tactics protected them.

Frank Jackson dashed straight through a maelstrom of bullets and blades, gunning straight for the leader of The Commander’s famed defense unit, “The Keepers.” An artillery shell and a dozen shotgun blasts ripped his torso in half as he roared with freakish anger and let his adrenaline carry him past the finish line. The old war dog cracked his knee against the helmet of The Keeper’s mastermind, constantly throwing it into the glass as his blows ground his own bones to powder. Experience taught the man the value of psychological warfare, and he wasn’t about to let a lesson he learned in Vietnam go to waste! While his leg bones pulled themselves back together, Jackson turned to face the rest of The Keepers and smirked.

"Waverider, now!” shouted Sergeant Jackson. At that, Knight waited two seconds and threw a huge shield up into the air. Vandal jumped at it, landing her feet inside it and “surfing” it through the air and into the bar! Before Vandal hit Tommie’s Place head-on, Magic threw his third card at her and the mad Valkyrie disappeared into thin air. Those inside the bar literally didn’t know what hit them when their entire front wall crumbled like a sand castle. The invisible invader continued her rampage inside, sandwiching S.A.’s best and brightest against barren brick walls as she rammed them with her shield.

Outside, the onslaught continued as the ITSDA pressed their advantage. Sergeant Jackson lobbed armed stun grenades into Jump’s hands; Jump flashed into enemy APCs and flashed back out, leaving trucks full of flash-banged soldiers behind him. Knight stomped his way through the fight and shed a shield whenever he wasn’t being hit. The very moment Knight completed a lap around the battlefield, Black Magic tossed a third card at one of his shields. A chain of lightning flowed from one shield to the next and back to the first, frying the few that stood in its path. To complete the convoluted trick, the magician then threw down the spinning ace. Suddenly, all of the “storm shields” were spinning wildly and uncountable blasts of lightning were raining down on the battlefield.

The Commander’s and Dieter’s forces were retreating back into the bar when the Songbird finally made its landing. Out marched the ITSDA’s Third Combat Guard and Extraction Team, best known by their nickname, “Pain Patrol.” And they lived up to their name, grinding the remains of the Namidian generals’ war machines into ash as they bore down on the bar like a tidal wave.

Deep within Dieter Sievold’s compound, the German dynamo sat in his chair and smoldered as he stared at a bank of three monitors. Innumerable lights representing his and The Commander’s men extinguished themselves every few seconds in clusters of three and five. Upon seeing Jackson slaughtering a pair of Ghouls on camera, he annihilated his rightmost monitor with a strength that could knock a bull off its feet.

“Tell me, Brett. How could your associates fail me and Namidias so thoroughly? I thought you said you were ready, I thought you said you were prepared. What kind of Commander are you?!”

Behind Dieter, The Commander stood with his arms crossed, facing away from his esteemed colleague. His face betrayed not world-shattering rage, but a weak, weary sorrow.

“Those men and women died for me. Don’t question their competence, Sievold. We could have abandoned the base in case the ITSDA didn’t fall for our rouse, then quietly have reclaimed it later; but no, you had to have your cake and eat it too. You trapped them here!”

“They’re not the only ones,” said Dieter. His anger dissipated in a flash and his face wove itself into a sincere, softly content smile. On his monitors, a Banshee de-cloaked on a rooftop behind the Songbird’s LZ – followed by thirteen more.

“And I know that you’re listening.”

Whisper gasped. Brianna and Scrap spun to face him as Meta rapidly constructed a plan.

“That’s impossible! I would’ve heard them!” said Whisper.

Black Magic and Frank Jackson turned to see the Banshee horde opening up on the ITSDA Guard Unit, firing their state-of-the-art sniper rifles before the guards could blink.

KRAAAACK-KRAAAACK!

KRAAAACK-KRAAAACK!

The sound ruptured ears; the firepower carved up torsos and turned heads to piles of blood and bones. Two down, five down, eight down! Magic hastily twirled his wand and hurled it through the line of fire, catching all the bullets headed for his friends. Jackson pulled an assault rifle and a shield off of one of his downed men as the Banshees scattered back into the shadows like the insects they were.

“Pull back, pull back. Regroup behind me and guard the rear!”

Frank Jackson stood in front as his unit gathered as ordered, ready to take hits for as many of his men as he could. But there was a lull in the strife; the Banshees’ trail had already gone cold. Black Magic created a massive ring of doppelgangers and encircled an entire city block; none of them would slip through his fingers and kill again. The Black Magic army tightened their circle, while the real magician stood back and watched through the eyes and ears of each and every one of his copies.

“Gentlemen, I loathe the business of violence. But if it comes to it, there are few who exceed my ability to perform it.” Black Magic’s copies spoke in perfect, horrifying unison as they casually closed in on Schwartze Augen’s assassination squad. Eventually, The Banshees started firing through Black Magic’s clones. The firefight heated up soon after, as the stealthy killers fired on all the clones on the ring’s right quadrant. The invisible soldiers then rushed themselves through the “hole” they’d discovered in the enemy’s wall of illusions. When they broke through, all of Black Magic’s clones disappeared in puffs of smoke… except for the one standing directly behind the Banshees.

“I am, after all, a performer,” said the former clone. At that, Black Magic threw his fourth ace at one of the Banshees. Tongues of blue flame ignited bits and pieces of his body before firing up into the air, exploding like fireworks, and spreading to the others. The Banshees shrieked like the horrible monsters they were named for and the process repeated itself. Electronics snapped and burst into shapeless hunks of molten metal and skin blistered and blackened, but the flames died down as soon as Magic was sure they weren’t getting back up and into the battle. Even now, in the midst of an open war, he would not kill needlessly.

“I take it you won’t need an encore today.” said Black Magic. “But if there comes such a day, you know how to find me.”

Vandal’s push into the heart of Dieter’s compound began to slow. Magic’s invisibility spell was wearing off and Dieter had the whole place wired with traps. The first one was laughable; a couple security cameras attached to bombs that wouldn’t even go off by the time she ran past them. The second was easy; an electrified room whose current she interrupted by throwing tons of debris into it.

Unfortunately, the third was really clever: a laser-soaked room that expanded and spun when a person was detected entering it. But she defeated that with a clever trick of her own. After tossing Knight’s shield into the room to observe how the trap worked, she figured that the wall must be weakest where it expanded. So she took a running start, stopping less than a foot from the room’s entrance, and punched the shield across the room at a perfect angle. Due to the room’s spinning, the shield ricocheted off the wall and returned to her. After five tries, the tarnished shield busted a hole in the wall. She then bounced the shield back and forth across the room, forcing it to spin until the hole was as close to her as possible. Finally, she went for it. In the millisecond it took for her to get across the room while blocking as many of the lasers as she could with her shield, she suffered severe burns to her back and legs.

“If you think that crap’ll keep me down, man, you’ve got another thing coming!” she said. While she spoke, she ripped apart an electronic keypad, dismantling its failsafe measures in the scant instants she had before they activated.

Outside, Brianna had entered the fray and began healing everyone she could while the others dealt with a second wave of Banshees. As she bore witness to the death and horrors her friends had wrought, Brianna struggled to keep from vomiting. She wanted to retreat, return to the ship, curl up into a ball until this whole war passed her by and she could pretend it never happened. But she had to be strong; her tears, her screaming, her anger at the world for allowing this to happen would have to wait. She had to help people here and now.

Brianna spread her hands across the chest of a wounded ITSDA operative. For the first time in a year, nothing happened. The man was dead, simply dead, and she just had to sit back and deal with that fact. She rushed to the next one, and the next, and the next, and the next. She lingered for just a little bit longer on each agent, hoping that a few more seconds of her healing touch would let them take single breath. But there was no hope for those five men. The “light” of ITSDA had failed them.

“Someone? Anyone? Live… please!”

The kindly young woman grappled the sixth guard’s wounds directly, gritting her teeth as she focused her entire mind and body on healing the thirty something brunette that could’ve passed for her mother. After ten seconds, the woman began to choke. Two more seconds, and she took a breath. Stable; she was stable! The instant that her patient returned to the world of the living, she glanced at the remaining two downed soldiers. Both had had their heads blown to smithereens.

“One woman; is that all I can save? We caused this; they caused this. How are they – how is this right? We could’ve; we didn’t need…” her voice trailed off as she stared at her guardian angel. Her eyes begged Valorum for help and guidance in her time of need.

“Kid, you’ve bought her and everyone who loves her a lot more time.

“It doesn’t matter! I should’ve saved them; I could’ve! I should’ve been here!”

“Yes, you should’ve died pointlessly and let their only medic die. Take it from me, kid: your guilty conscience is wrong.”

“But I--”

“If you knew how many humans blame themselves for a war they couldn’t stop every day, you’d never breathe words of helpless pain ever again. It’s not your fault, kid. It just isn’t.”

Brianna wiped the tears from her eyes.

“Thank you, Valorum.”

“Now get back in there; you’ve got work to do!”

Brianna nodded and headed for a bruised and battered Knight. But just as “Raphael’s Heart” was touching her hand to the hero’s bloodied shoulder, Meta’s voice invaded everyone’s ears with a warning.

“Whisper’s got something wheeled headed your way from the left; something big! Find cover and take whatever shots you can. We’ll take off and hit it from above.”

“Hit it from above?” asked Frank Jackson as he split the remaining guards into four groups of three and ordered two of them to “go long” and await their next orders. “Not good enough; we need info - its weapons, its speed, everything! Focus on recon; leave the grunt work to us.”

“Don’t let ‘em shock us again!”

Whisper fumed at the old man’s militaristic arrogance as the Songbird took flight once more.

Frank Jackson and Knight got into position in the middle of the street while Black Magic steeled himself for battle atop a nearby roof. Not ten seconds later, a monstrosity hit the scene. The Namidian mercenary known as “Destroyer” had turned herself into a hulking, mechanical centaur. Her lower body was replaced by an enormous tank with five main cannons; each attached to an independently mobile turret and equipped with what looked like a shotgun’s pump-action. Meanwhile, her stubby little arms were merged with twin attack helicopters that sported jet engines! The Namidian’s “Scrap,” a Gifted tinkerer named Jesus Jovellanos who designed impossible weapons, giddily cackled from inside one of the helicopter’s cockpits.

“Dear Lord--” said Knight. He instinctively held out his arms and turned his head to Brianna, who still stood behind him. “Run, child. Seek shelter!”

“Take a good look, heroes,” said Jovellanos as he pointed at the ITSDA soldiers beneath him. Jackson interrupted the speech by firing on what little remained of Destroyer’s original body, but she shielded herself with the pilotless arm-helicopter.

“Cuz’ you’ll never see it again!”

Tendrils of light emerged from behind Destroyer and swallowed up her body, rendering her completely invisible.

“She’s still there! Anticipate her movements; I’ll provide updates,” said Whisper. The helicopters broke the sound barrier and the shockwave knocked the ITSDA’s field agents to their feet.

“We can track her and estimate weaknesses based on her movements and projectiles. Keep her busy and we’ll have a full profile.”

“Understood. Look out!” yelled Frank Jackson as a cannon shell fell toward the group as though it were a comet.

The ITSDA agent’s scattered as twenty cannon blasts eviscerated the city block, leveling all of its buildings to rubble and sending Black Magic careening to the street below. Magic escaped by flinging his top hat away and jumping out of it, but a direct cannon hit sheered half of Knight’s armor off his body and cracked the rest to its core. There was no reload time. A second direct hit flung the armored agent deep into the pile of rubble that stood behind him.

KRRR-KAOW!

“Knight!” Brianna cried out the hero’s name as she threw herself down into the rubble, shoveling as much rock and debris off of him as she could.

“DIEEEEE!” yelled the invisible abomination as she swooped down at the agents like a hawk diving at its prey. As she dove, the six Guards dropped behind their shields. Her cannons ripped the street into a string of burning craters while her gunships’ gatlings chewed up Frank Jackson.

“Ideas, now!” screamed Frank into his radio as his muscles congealed over his shattered bones.

“Hit the cloaker; it’s probably on the rear of her tank.”

“Probably?!”

“Something’s burning through power there and it’s not wired to anything; what else could it be?”

Frank grumbled unintelligibly and shouted into his communicator as the beast circled the sky, preparing for another bombing run.

“Magic, slow it down! We need one good shot.”

“Certainly, Sergeant!” said the dapper man in black. He disappeared into nothingness, only to reappear standing in mid-air, right in Destroyer’s path.

“I dare say, young lady, that you have one of the loveliest Gifts I’ve ever had the pleasure of witnessing.” says Black Magic, flipping out of the way as she comes within inches of colliding with him. “Pity you waste your talents working for pennies.”

“Outta my way!” responds Destroyer, turning around and jetting toward Magic with cannons blazing.

“Far be it from me to block your path,” says Black Magic. He then took a bow and leapt on to one of the shells headed his way. In a circus-style display of acrobatic skill, the showman ran to the shell’s top, leapt off of it, and kicked off another one, hurling himself over the rest and landing directly behind Destroyer’s head.

“Offa me!” yelled Destroyer.

“No way, man; you won’t destroy my greatest work! Not like this!” said Jovellanos. Destroyer swung the gunship her colleague occupied at Black Magic. Magic deftly ducked the blow.

“Quite true, but that’s not really my role here. I’m just setting the scene,” Black Magic continued toying with the Namidians, dancing between helicopters blows and swarms of bullets raining down on him.

“Direct attack, feint, direct attack--” Black Magic mocked his opponents with a yawn. Destroyer spun her tank body around at breakneck speed, knocking him off of his feet and rolling him over the edge. But the ever-amazing Black Magic smiled as he clung to her tread with only one hand.

“--Desperation move. You really must try and make yourself less predictable. Fire!” Magic’s command reached Frank Jackson. He and his six men expertly assaulted the space around Black Magic, spreading out their fire so that it hit the cloak’s every possible location.

BZZZZZT! the cloaking system burnt to a crisp after twenty bullets slammed into it. A panicked Destroyer slowly faded back into existence.

“No. No. No. No. Nooo!” The Namidians’ Scrap desperately banged on the bulletproof glass of his cockpit, throwing a temper tantrum that any three year old would envy.

“You thinking it too, Meta?” asked Sergeant Jackson.

“Strafe with the Songbird and let Scrap cripple her weaponry? Her turning radius is far too small for that; she’ll fry us before we get close enough.”

“Not if we distract her. And he’s good at that.”

“She’ll notice a plane, Frank!”

“Not everyone’s as bright a bulb as you, rookie. Move in!”

In the skies, Black Magic shimmied back and forth across her treads. Jovellanos filled the air in and around Magic with bullets, but the trickster’s eyes carefully followed his movements. It was like he was psychic; always moving away just in time!

“RRRR-AAH!”

The Namidians’ Scrap pulled back and unleashed his full firepower on Black Magic. Missiles blew the hull of Destroyer’s tank body open and gatling fire bounced off the remaining armor and hit Destroyer square in the ribs!

“YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!”

Destroyer fired her jets up to full speed and sped into the sky. The magician began to grip his neck in desperation as the atmosphere thinned. Smirking like a madman, Jovellanos fired one last burst at Black Magic, tearing into his body and ripping apart his suit. The limping, bloodied Black Magic stumbled backwards and fell off the flying tank-girl. His form went limp on the way down.

“Shit! We need Valorum, now! He won’t survive the fall!”

Brianna had just uncovered Knight’s unconscious body when she saw Black Magic’s brutalized body descend from the clouds. She stared up at the killer who did this and her soft eyes went blank.

“You’ve caused enough pain today. Valorum, end this!” shouted the kindhearted medic. A golden feathered figure, wrapped in armor of light, took solid form. He ascended to Black Magic with one flap of his wings. Valorum placed his arms beneath the falling star and fell beside him, slowing his fall and gently placing him down near his charge. He then rose up to Destroyer and drew his blade; releasing a starburst that dwarfed the sun behind him.

“Another one?!” asked an incredulous Destroyer. She recklessly tossed her compatriots helicopter across the sky, sending him spiraling down into a crash landing.

“No distractions! This time you die! CH-YEEEAAH!” Destroyer pulled back from the figure and focused all of her fire on him. Her cannons drowned him in fire and ash.

“Hehehehe.” She chuckled nervously, her face twitching and spasming as Valorum desperately shielded himself with his blinding golden wings. A cheap shot sawed through the remains of Valorum’s blade arm; it burnt to a crisp as it fell away from him, but his blade just dropped.

“Pah! Mortals. You cannot kill what never lived.” Brianna’s one-armed champion pushed through the pain, fought past the fire, and twisted one of her cannons right off the tank! He then threw the tank’s shells back into Destroyer as they left her cannons, eliminating three cannons in two seconds!

“AHHHHHHHHHH!”

Destroyer cried bloody murder as she pelted Valorum’s face with missiles and gunfire. The guardian remaining stoic even as his jaw splintered. He held out his remaining arm. In an instant, his sword returned to him and he bisected her horizontally. The ITSDA soldiers below them scattered like ants from a flood.

KRAAAKA-WHOOOM!

The tank flattened against a crater made by one of its cannons. Two figures stared each other down amidst the clouds; a one-armed magic knight and a cyborg girl with a helicopter arm. Destroyer quaked with unimaginably fury; Valorum Firenze smiled and gestured for her to come and fight.

“I won’t die here! I won’t!” Destroyer speared Valorum at supersonic speed, pushing him back through the clouds. Her helicopter blades cut chunks out of his helmet and he struggled for control of his arm. The psychotic cyborg’s helicopter spun through the air; Valorum was thrust in front of the chopper’s missile bay. With perfect mastery of his blade and his body, the unflappable warrior whirled his sword around and stabbed deep into the hull.

Finally, the cavalry arrived. The Songbird flew beside Destroyer and the aircraft on her arm crumbled itself into a ball. The bleeding Destroyer lost consciousness; in an interesting move, the ITSDA’s Scrap opened the cargo bay, turned the copter into a hook, and attached Destroyer to the Songbird.  This gave Meta enough time to pull her inside the ship. Though they tried to pull Valorum in too, the guardian disappeared and returned to his place beside Brianna.

“Destroyer’s down, but we've got another problem, said Meta.

“I know,” said Jackson, who was signaling for his unit to pull back. “Forty, fifty we can’t kill.”

On the ground, a horde of American jeeps, assault vehicles, and APCs arrived at the battlefield.

“They’re bombing everything! No quarter, take ‘em down.” said the CO.

“Air support. Air support!”

Brianna blasted the US forces with two rays of dazzling light. She, Jackson, and his soldiers then retreated deep into Gaultown, carrying the wounded on their backs.

“Backup, hold position. We’ll rendezvous in T-Minus five minutes.

Ivan lingered behind one of the backup units, shotgun in hand.

After worming her way through a maze full of tricks, Vandal arrived at the innermost chamber of Dieter’s compound. The Ghouls were upon her before she reached the door; their streams of perfectly aimed gunfire made entry impossible. Thinking quickly, Vandal pressed herself against the wall and tossed her shield through the door. With the help of the literal momentary distraction, she was able to roll into the room and leap up into the air. A quick spin-kick put all of them down, and she was left alone with the two kings. Immediately, she sprinted toward Dieter. When she hit his telekinetic bubble, it felt as though she was moving through a thick gel; her speed fell to that of a normal human’s. And at a human velocity, Dieter made a fool of her. He effortlessly bobbed around her blows and spoke to her casually.

“Good afternoon, Vandal. Your dismantling of my security was nothing short of astonishing.” Dieter hammered her across the jaw with a fist faster than her eye! Vandal hit the floor and glided across the marble of Dieter’s inner sanctum. “It’s almost a shame you don’t put your resourcefulness to better use.”

The Commander just kept on staring at his monitors; one showed a view from just behind three of the ITSDA guards, the second displayed a map of the battlefield, and the third gave him a look inside the Songbird! As he stared, his fingers tapped innumerable buttons on his phone.

“I wanted to keep this clean. But that nosy little dog was too smart for that. So he led you here, and brought our little game to an end.”

Vandal scoffed, rose to her feet, and circled The Commander, taking him down with a sonic boom. He landed with a heavy thud. Dieter simply strode toward the rapid valkyrie.

“It ain’t ever clean! Not with you around. And it ain’t a game.”

“Then why treat it like it is?” asked Dieter, as he extended his hand out and pulled her in close. “Why struggle to keep order, to maintain peace? The world matters; why not change it while you can?”

A punch to the stomach drove Vandal to her knees. She simply rolled away, looked up, and spat at Dieter. Naturally, he blocked the stunningly fast projectile with a simple wipe of his hand.

“This some kinda charity, then? You got a funny way of showin’ people you care ‘bout ‘em.”

“Stay still,” ordered The Commander. Vandal’s mind went blank; for a full quarter-second, she couldn’t figure out how to move. The steps were there, but they made no sense. You contract your muscles?  How?!  The Commander’s entrepreneurial compatriot leaned down, wrapped his hands around her neck, and lifted her above his head.

“As a matter of fact, it is. I give talented people purpose and direction: a goal, if you will. And you dare stand in my way, simply because you are afraid of what’s to come.”

“Oh yeah, I’m quakin’!” said Vandal as she kicked and wiggled around while Dieter held his arm around her neck. “Or maybe I just don’t share yer vision. Ever thinka that?”

“You have no vision, girl,” said Dieter as he tightened his grip. Vandal choked.

“No, I… think, that’s... you,” Vandal said through pained, sputtering gasps. Without warning, one of the Ghouls stomped his foot and threw a stun grenade directly into The Commander’s face.

BOOOOOOOM! BEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE-

“AHHHH! DAMN YOU! TRAITOR!” said The Commander as he fell forward before catching himself on a control panel. The mysterious Ghoul teleported behind the military legend and wrapped his arms him. It was Jump! For the coup de grace, he teleported The Commander’s arm inside the man’s hard drive and then jumped just outside of Dieter’s range. But Dieter still had a hold of his partner.

“I could kill her now, Agent. Don’t test me.”

“Hadn’t planned on it,” said Jump. Instantly, he teleported almost into Dieter; his hand was on Dieter’s arm before the time-warping criminal could even react. Then they were in the air, inside the Songbird! And Scrap shot a metal spike up through Dieter’s foot!

“RAAH!” Dieter howled in pain. The normal speed Vandal punched him in the face twice and hopped back. Jump teleported to the cargo bay door.

“Not a tactically sound maneuver,” said Meta as he kept typing while nervously eyeing Dieter, who rose to his feet in seconds. “But we’ll work with it! Get going – plan beta!”

On the ground, Ivan got to tangle with his target at last after taking out three of the ITSDA’s best men. Ivan unloaded on Frank with a shotgun; Jackson chuckled at his would-be assassin as he dodged and ordered his team away. Brianna stubbornly stood her ground; they might not be dead yet! But when Valorum (who held up Black Magic in his one hand) shook his head, she nodded and turned away.

“Brianna, they’re gone! Continue as planned! Whisper, cover them!”

“Negative. Target Two’s struggling, we've got our hands full.”

“Is the great Frank Jackson afraid of us?” asked the mysterious killer. There was no joy, no sadism, in his voice. There was only mild curiosity. Ivan’s shells inched closer and closer to Jackson each time they were fired, but they had only hit the shield so far. “Does he fear that they’ll all die under his command?”

“Nah,” Jackson tersely remarked as he dove behind a brick wall. Ivan stood back, waiting for his game to make the next move. When Jackson refused the bait, Ivan tossed his shotgun aside and generated a double-barreled ion cannon.

OOOOOOOO^OOOOO-MMMM!

The cannon charged and fired; the brick wall (and the road beneath it) collapsed. And still, Frank Jackson was nowhere to be found. Generating an IR visor, Ivan saw that the old soldier had lain across a fire escape.

“Well you certainly should be. Even with your regeneration, my weapon will atomize you and everything else in a considerable radius.”

Jackson rolled off the fire escape as Ivan fired, aiming and firing three bullets from his assault rifle on the way down. The perfectly calculated force knocked the cannon out of Ivan’s hands and it skated across the street. The Sergeant then tossed his gun up into the air, drew his twin Devastator pistols, and fired both. One exploded the ground where Ivan stood right as he dodged it, the other flash-froze Ivan’s ion cannon.

“That’s the idea,” said Jackson calmly as his pointer finger clicked the selector on his pistol and fired at the frozen cannon. “Jump, now!”

Jump popped in, grabbed his CO from behind, and disappeared. The ion cannon exploded with a burst of blue light, completely vaporizing a huge chunk of Gaultown.

Back in Dieter’s compound, The Commander’s battered hand clicked away at his tablet even as blood dripped down on to the device. He couldn’t command the US forces directly; that would be noticed quickly. But he could give little orders to individual vehicles and soldiers, subtly tilting the battle toward a more favorable outcome. The situation was challenging: the ITSDA forces were speeding through the most densely packed alleyways they could find, making encircling or chasing them with vehicles difficult. Perhaps he could pin them down with artillery fire? No, they had too much healing power for that to keep them down long. Maybe he could take advantage of their lack of vehicles, guard every major exit in their quadrant of Gaultown, and box them in. Then again, their teleporter may be able to sneak the small group past the defensive line if he got close enough to it. Further, their Songbird may provide them with a method of escape – so long as Dieter didn’t destroy it…

….The Songbird. It’s position was nearly perfect. A grim expression overtook Brett’s face; the best, maybe only way to win became clear.

Onboard the ITSDA’s plane, Dieter was stepping over one of Scrap’s little attempts to wrap him in a prison of the Songbird’s metal. Vandal charged at him, only for the Godfather of Gaultown to slow down his perception and toss her over his head. Whisper’s bullets hit her stomach head-on, punching deep holes in them and forcing her to crawl away from him. Meta’s mouth began to scream in slow-motion and Whisper’s fires of rage turned to ashes of horror one “frame” at a time. Dieter calmly stepped away from the scene of the crime and prepared to rip Meta out of his chair. But the genius was prepared for that. A gadget he wore under his cuff electrified the surface of his suit the instant Dieter laid his hands on it. And so the criminal watched his skin bubble and blacken and millions of volts of electricity pour into his skin. Even his temporal bubble could not slow lightning to a crawl!

Dieter pulled away when he heard gunfire from behind him; he and Meta both ducked Whisper’s pistol. Scrap flung the bits of metal still clinging to Destroyer at the boss’s head; Dieter jumped them and turned to face Meta. He was just in time to see Brian press his fingers to his temples and get slapped into the wall with a telekinetic blast.

THUNK!

An ant-sized radio inside Destroyer’s ear relayed The Commander’s orders to Scrap.

“Turn the plane around – now!”

The Songbird swung right wildly and bashed its occupants into its walls. Dieter braced himself and remained standing. The pilot scrambled to regain control of his plane, pulling the joystick as far left as he could. Alas, momentum was not on his side. The bird completed its turn.

“Brett, what is this?”

“Open the bay,” said The Commander, ignoring his partner. With one press of a button, the doors at the back of the Songbird unfurled. Scrap had sealed their fate. A missile, fired from one of the army’s assault vehicles, flew through the inside of the plane and collided with the controls. The aircraft’s entire front snapped in two and its jets only accelerated the crash.

SHAKA-BOOOOOM!

The Songbird’s wings tore chunks out of offices as it hit the ground right in front of Jackson and his retreating team, and right on top of their only healer whom had rejoined her unit and been sent on ahead of the main group in a failed attempt to put them between her and possible danger. The Commander’s masterstroke was executed perfectly.

“Nooooooo!” shrieked Brianna as she held her arms over her head, this action out of pure reflex as her mind reeled from what had happened to her friends and allies. When she thought to look about herself, Valorum had kept her unharmed and now she stood surrounded by twisted metal and fire.

At that moment, a quiet voice began to whisper through all active ITSDA earpieces.

"V-vandal...Black Magic...someone...is anyone there? I-it's Brianna, Junior Medical Agent Brianna here...c-can anyone here me?”

“Shit!” yelled Frank Jackson.

”A…Agent Jackson, is that you?”

Before a replay could be given, a hand punched its way through the smoldering wreckage of the Songbird. It was not Meta’s, not Scrap’s, not Whisper’s, but Dieter’s. With one good pull, Dieter annihilated an entire section of the Songbird’s wall and stepped through the now gigantic hole.

“I had hoped you’d survive that,” said The Commander into Dieter’s earpiece. Dieter scoffed.

“A little warning would have been pertinent. No matter, we have virtually won the day.”

“And lost many brave souls… including theirs.”

Jackson knew Dieter and his powers. Though the pair had not fought directly in the past, Schwarze Augen’s presence was felt everywhere. The world-class commando had devoured every piece of reliable information about him that the ITSDA could get its hands on. A direct attack would be suicide. With his powers, even flanking was nearly impossible. Before Frank could figure out a plan of attack, he witnessed Dieter smirking as Ivan reappeared behind Jackson, who followed his enemy’s eyes well enough to dodge Ivan’s ion blast.

“Did you honestly believe you’d be rid of me after one little victory?” asked Ivan. “I assure you, Sergeant, I am far more dedicated than that.”

The mysterious assassin generated what appeared to be a revolver and fired it. The odd little projectile that it fired hit the ground and a putrid gas continuously poured out of it. Stuck between a rock and a hard place, the legendary soldier fired an explosive bullet at a nearby window and rushed through it. Ivan gave chase while Dieter simply stood out of the way.

”Well that’s at least one minor annoyance avoided, so I might as well take this time to remove another…”
Dieter calmly reached into his suit jacket, removed a polished and expensive pistol, then suddenly turned on his heel to level the barrel at the young woman who had found her way to the oversized hole he’d made in exiting the smashed transport and was currently looking out it, and now also done the bore of his weapon.

"No overblown speeches from me, girl. This is business, plain and simple. Goodbye."

BANG!

A gunshot rang out, but it was not from Dieter's gun.

A 50 Cal. round intercepted the Namidian's handgun, cutting through the weapon and shattering it on impact. Perhaps even more disturbing however, was the face that the crime boss’s face remained still and composed even in the aftermath of the unforeseen attack.

”Who...?” He wondered aloud, right before he saw the figure above him.

With a reaction speed unfitting of such a heavy-set man, Dieter dropped what was left of his sidearm and leaped backwards, out of the way as a 6'6" white-haired teenager hit the ground, a long rifle in his hands; there was a sickening shattering noise as his legs turned to splinter under his own weight.

”AW SHIT!” He exclaimed painfully, standing up as his legs cracked back into place. The murderous teenager was wearing jeans, a blood-red shirt, biker gloves with a row of silver studs, a Chicago White Sox baseball cap, and a leather vest.

”Kane. You have the worst timing.”"Dieter addressed the mass murderer evenly, as though holding a board meeting.. "Why are you here?”</Mono>

Kane smiled. ”HEY! If it ain't Large-and-in-Charge! Don't mind me, I was just here to join the fun.” He glanced over his shoulder and winked at Brianna. “Or I was, until I saw you threatening this little cutie.”

Brianna looked as understandably terrorized by her rescue as by the threat of death at Dieter's hands.

<”Do you have any idea how wasteful it is to just shoot a pretty little thing like that? God!” He tossed his empty rifle aside. ”Well, this is the part where I beat you 'till you cry.”

Exactly as that sentence was finished, the two villains lunged at one another, their power building until Dieter's fist collided with Kane's hand with such force that loose dust was blown aside by a resulting shockwave.

”Puh-leez, Sievold.” Kane mimed a yawn, even closing his eyes. "”Did you assume you knew everything I could do? Because it's not that simple.”

Dieter felt his arm being twisted, literally, by Kane, and though he fought, the force pushing his arm felt far stronger. ”Just 'cause I'm rolling six-sided dice don't mean that's what's on 'em. Naw, I go from 0 to 100 n*gga. REAL QUICK!”

Kane drove his knee into Dieter's stomach, head-butted the Namidian, and then let go of him, the man staggering back just before Kane spun, faster than even Dieter's reactions could follow, and struck him with a back-fist so brutal, Brianna cringed at the sight of it. Oddly, Dieter didn’t seem the least fazed by the attack, and even kept his balance without difficulty."”How do you defeat a man,”

Just as Kane was about to attack again, Dieter regained his balance and swung. His fist made contact with Kane's jaw, but the other villain didn't even react, turning his head with the punch, but receiving no visible injury. ”Who can't die?"

Kane dropped to the floor in a blur, and delivered a haymaker toward Dieter’s chest far stronger than it should have been. Still the older man was able to turn to the side and miss all but a weak and glancing blow.

"”You know what's funny, Dieter?” Kane asked, grabbing at Dieter’s throat but grabbing only air by seconds. “I've just been distracting you long enough to steal your powers. Hah! Got you now, Old Man!"
Kane redoubled his effort and felt more of Dieter's soul tear away... was it just Kane's imagination, or were his reactions beginning to increase slightly?
"You Namidians put up a good fight! We should play more oft-"

Suddenly something lunged out from his impaired vision toward him, and he realized with a start that his reactions were getting faster- everything else in his vision had slowed to a crawl, and the only thing that seemed to move with any kind of speed at all was the brick of mortar that had been fired from his opponent.
Kane didn't typically study the abilities of his prey, but he had enough stolen knowledge to realize that his increased reactions must have been one of Sievold’s abilities. He tried to dodge the attack, but his muscles didn't seem to respond as quickly as his mind, and he only barely managed to inch his face far enough away from the strike to avoid having his head blown clean off. His teeth were loosened and his vision shuddered with white-noise as a fist sized chunk of brickwork grazed his skull; and Kane's healing factor fought hard to keep him conscious.
Even in a haze, Kane could see the outline of Dieter advancing toward him at an even tread. Dieter’s pupils were narrowed to furious pinpricks of concentration as they focused on Kane with unwavering attention. As Kane watched the man caught a falling piece of debris dislodged by the Songbird from the air as it almost fell onto him, and hurled it at the boy with a snarl of effort.

"Play stupid games, win stupid prizes, kid. I'm ending your little power trip here!"
The polite and reserved mask that Dieter usually wore had finally fallen away, and the statement came out as a hiss through gritted teeth. In this fight Dieter couldn't afford complacency- and against a foe like Kane he didn't need to pretend to be something he wasn't.

Kane smiled grimly at the attack, it was gratifying to see his opponents get hot under the collar, but probably not the greatest idea in the world. The psychopath didn't like to admit how close the fight was becoming, and he decided to take Dieters lead and press his offensive- the fight had been dragging on for too long, but if he dropped his guard and flew into a full attack he was sure he'd be able to steal the Namidian's Gifts for himself, and still leave time to claim the souls of Briannna's and Frank as well. All he had to do was win this one last clash, and he could double- no, triple- his stolen Gifts in a single fight. He'd have the power he craved, and not the muted temporary Gifts he'd stolen off his other foes- he'd have real power!
He gathered the remains of what abilities he'd stolen from Dieter in front of himself, and met the Namidian's attack with a telekinetic shield of his own. The air before Kane froze still, and shuddered violently as it deflected several tons of force that would have otherwise reduced him to meat jam. Dieter charged forward and slashed him arm down to follow up his ranged attack with a hammer punch- and for a moment the two wrestled their Gifts against one another as Kane tried to maintain his shield against Dieters telekinetic strike.

"You! I LIKE your Gifts!" Kane taunted. "Super-vision, super-shields AND super-strength! I've always wanted to pimp-slap someone so hard they explode! Ever do that?!"
Despite his inane taunts the cold beads of sweat forming on Kane's brow told Dieter that he was having trouble matching his telekinetic shield with stolen power alone. Dark smoke coiled its way up Kane's arms as he tried to bring his other Gifts into the struggle, but it was clear that using multiple Gifts at once wasn't as simple as the killer'd first thought.

"Of course I have. Many times."
Suddenly Kane felt the pressure on his telekinetic shield double, then quadruple! With a panic he realized that Dieter had still been holding back- and whatever he'd been able to steal amounted to nothing next to the man’s full power. Dieter's thin smirk broke into a full mad grin as Kane's eyes widened in shock. The pressure on his shields doubled yet again...
"...Let me demonstrate."

Kane's shields broke. The physical and mental effort he'd used to try and juggle his many Gifts, and to keep Dieters attack in check, made him gasp as it was overcome- and an instant later Dieter’s palm slammed into his skull with enough mentally assisted strength behind it to send the boy literally head over heels into the air; at the apex of his arch he was several times above the skyline of the town, before his form went crashing down somewhere roughly around where the American soldiers were.
For all the power he had used, still the Namidian had held back. After all, even a rabid dog could be useful, if it saw your enemies before it spotted you…
Dieter released a long ragged breath that he'd been holding, and wiped the blood off his striking hand onto the remains of his ruined suit. He took a generous few seconds to regather himself, and shake off the adrenalin of the fight; savoring the pull of his overtaxed muscles and the growing headache of overusing his abilities like a fine cigar. His broken knuckles in particular sent a thrill of pain through him. Eventually, he picked his way through the totaled part of town to the recess where he knew Brianna had taken cover from his destructive fight.


"I do apologize for the interruption... now, where were we?"
Dieter sneered as he found his place again.
"Ah yes. Of course."
Mr. Sievold raised his hand threateningly toward Brianna.
"Ahhh! No!"
The young agent-in-training raised her hands to defend herself, and managed to summon her Gift to douse Dieter in bright gold flames- but with her Gift weakened from Valorum saving her during the transport’s crash, and her own understandably overtaxed nerves, the attack wasn't enough to do more than drive the Namidian back a step or two as he dodged the searing holy flames.
"Stay back! Or else I'll... or... "
Her threat caught in her throat indecisively; Even defending her life Brianna couldn't bring herself to imagine killing someone; that vicious streak simply wasn't in her nature. She could feel Valorum bristling with rage at the edge of her unconscious, furious at Dieter but also at the fact though he was almost ready to reemerge it might prove to be even a scant few seconds too late.

"You'll what?"
The Namidian retorted.
"You have a powerful Gift. I will admit. If you weren't so inexperienced you may even be a credible threat, someday. That's why I'm ending you no-"
Dieter was interrupted as a flow of rubble was disturbed behind him, and Brianna gave a start of shock to stare at someone behind him. Sievold spun on his heel expecting either Kane or Frank to have recovered from one of their injuries far faster than he'd anticipated, at locked eyes with the old warhorse himself. The villain looked at the twin Devastators aimed at him, and calmly reached up to straighten what remained of his tie.

”Ivan?”

”Busy elsewhere for the moment.”

Dieter nodded, his mask of placidness once more in place, and stood waiting for Frank to make the first move; he didn’t have long to bid his time. Jackson filled the air with explosive bullets; he cut off nearly all possible escape routes. But Dieter jumped out of the way each time, using the perfect move at the precise time at which it would be most useful. Sergeant Jackson froze all the ground beneath him as he continued firing explosives, further reducing Dieter’s movement. Dieter smirked as each round missed him, figuring like Kane the sergeant was letting his ego do the thinking for him. Yet that was not the truth, for the battle hardened hero knew his opponent was fast, even faster than the pull of a trigger thanks to intel studied in the past; but light was too fast for even him. The girl, the very one Dieter so casually dismissed as a threat, was the very key to Frank’s plan. She could start the rush; she could break through.

“Jump, Delta! Brianna, Valorum, on my mark!”

Jump disappeared; even The Commander’s radar was confused by his movements. He rapidly hopped back and forth all around the city. Valorum finally connected again with Brianna, and the two friends spoke in her mind away from the horrible chaos of battle.

“You’ve got one choice left, kid. And you need to make it quickly. Remember my words.”

“I can’t! No, there’s got to--”

“Enough! Cowardice won’t save you. When he gives the command, you must say it.”

“I wanted… to save people.”

“And you will.”

“I wanted to save you, too…”

“I am your will. If that returns, so will I…”

The glorious knight of light manifested, placed his hand upon Brianna’s shoulder, and bore her away not only to safety from what she also could not bear to witness.

“Valorum, engage!"

“It’s now or never, angel.” Brianna wrapped her arms around him, soaking his gauntlet in tears that turned to puddles of golden dust upon hitting his armor.

“Then it’s now… I’m ready.”

“Then so am I,” Brianna’s protector slipped away from her, turned his back on his ward, and took off at incredible speed. He charged forward, unsheathed his sword in front of Dieter, and raised it to the sky.

“Is that supposed to intimidate me? Your tired brand of chivalry died for a reason, you know."

Less than a mile away, Brianna’s eyes, hands, and aura gradually filled with scorching bright light as she recited a poem. As she spoke, Valorum shouted out the words he knew she was saying. Cracks appeared all over his armored form.

“I am light, in mind and form. Shadows die within my storm. As I spread across the realm, evil shall be overwhelmed. Let today my spirit spread, let my living form be shed!”

Valorum Firezne imploded into a sphere of light that expanded into a mushroom cloud of golden energy. Though Dieter had found cover behind a door, it did not save him. The immense light blinded him while heat scarred him all over. In desperation, he tore his fine suit off of his burning skin and desperately crawled toward better cover.

“Ahhhhhh!” screamed Dieter. “Ivan, retrieve me!”

His associate did not answer, as both Sievold and Frank Jackson were consumed by the warrior’s sacrificial light. Just as Dieter had enough strength left to issue a command, so too did the field commander of this ITSDA mission.

“Jump – move in!”

Moments later, when the light began to dim, Jump silently appeared behind Dieter. He pulled Black Magic’s fifth ace from his sleeve and slung it at the blinded villain near his feet. Dieter appeared to “fall” into the card as it touched his skin. Before the card hit the ground, Dieter’s image adorned its face in place of the standard suit symbol. Jump picked up the slightly burnt card and slid it in his pocket.

“Dieter’s down,” said the hero. “What’s next?”

“Brianna,” said Jackson as his immolated remains struggled to their feet. “Help her.”

“Confirmed,” said Jump. He appeared in front of the young woman, who appeared to be in shock. “Agent Invictus, we need your help.”

Brianna was borderline catatonic, simply staring at what remained of the world in front of her.

“Brianna! Brianna! Vandal, Scrap, Whisper, Meta, they need you!”

Brianna's eyes shifted position and she made a valiant effort at looking toward him. Although that was the only answer she gave, Jump took her by the hand. He and she reappeared together within what little remained of the Songbird.

Emotionlessly, even lifelessly, Brianna took a turn at healing each of the heroes. Meta, her first patient, rose to his feet almost immediately. Vandal, her second, took some time; her wounds from the attack aboard and crash of the Songbird came within inches of killing her via blood loss. Whisper, her third, began to breathe after two minutes’ worth of energy fell into him. But he would not wake, no matter how hard she tried. Her fourth, Destroyer, reeled back to punch the woman who saved her life, but lacked the strength to even hit her. And Scrap, her last, remained cold and lifeless even as she performed CPR on him with her healing hands. Finally, she tore off a bit of her blouse’s sleeve and draped it over his head.

“None of you are in any condition to fight,” she said, keeping her head down and refusing to look at her teammates. “Sit this one out.”

“Sorry girly,” said Vandal, who limped a little as she eyed the door. “Duty calls.”

Vandal sped off into the night. Across town, the bloodthirsty terror known as Kane laid atop the very rocket launcher that slew the Songbird. Hiding in plain sight using a camouflage Gift he nabbed from some Namidian flunky, Kane was literally munching on popcorn when he saw the mighty blast of light engulf an entire block. The relative silence that followed the explosion was intolerable. It’s over?! It was just getting good!

“That’s it?! I go through all the effort to set the scene for a flashy final showdown, and then big, bad boss man goes down like a bitch? Fuck, man: I’ll make my own fun.”

The driver beneath him gasped as Kane generated a massive army of illusions with one careless wave. The illusions were an undead legion whose ancient uniforms barely clung to their skeletal forms. Each soldier in the army of the dead sported decaying, early 21st century weapons splashed with blood.

“What the fuck?! What the fuck?” shouted a sweating rookie, who turned tail and ran.

“It’s some kind of Gift trick,” said the army’s commanding officer. “Take ‘em out and they’ll fall like anyone else.”

Bullets, missiles, and lasers crashed into Kane’s illusions. The insane teenager chuckled as he gave the army a moment of hope by letting his legion get torn apart by their attacks. But he then generated an armored, undead giant and let him rampage through the army of the dead with impunity. The soldiers scattered and retreated from the beast, but regrouped quickly.

“Pin ‘em down! We need heavies, now!”

Even while the officer’s men focused all their fire on the beast’s legs and head, Kane burst onto the scene! He dropped his camouflage in front of the army and threw kunai off in every direction. He threw himself in front of a machine gun, only to teleport away the moment it fired and let his enemies do the killing for him! Kane laughed out loud when he saw the horrified look on a private’s face as he slaughtered his best friend.

He teleported to the rear of the army and generated a huge flamethrower using what remained of Ivan’s abilities. The sheer heat of the white-hot flames melted tanks into piles of molten steel and titanium and flash-fried any fool stupid enough to stand in its way. The illusions were gone now, but the army knew they had given way to a terrible reality.

“I know what you’re asking,” whispered Kane as he appeared in front of a wide-eyed medic whose uniform was drenched in sweat. “And the answer is no – I won’t spare you!”

The thrill-seeking psychopath kicked the medic to the ground and turned to face an armored column off in the distance.
“Or maybe I will. I don’t even know yet! Isn't that great?”
Over the course of the next ten seconds, Kane generated a rapid-fire rocket launcher and “cleaned house” with a massive chain of explosions. While he did so, the medic screamed in horror and desperately tried to crawl away. A burning piece of tank shrapnel slapped the white-haired wildman in the face, but Kane just grinned.

“Dude, wanna know the best part of this?”

In a ridiculous attempt to placate the terror, the medic mouthed the word “yes.”

“Watching you just sit there and take it while I murder your friends,” Kane paused to give his victim time to react. The medic simply muttered “no” under his breath and turned away. “'Least one of you’s smart enough to look out for number one! Hey, you want to see me do your job better than you? Watch this shit man!!”

The veins across his arm became pitch-black, and he placed his hand in the air before the unit he’d just killed. "They say you only have one life to live..."  His other hand glowed red briefly.

 ”I say BAH HUMBUG!” Kane shouted, grabbing his own arm and reversing the vortex.

 A horrifying pain ripped through his limb as the life-force was torn from him and given to others.

"AHHH!" He screamed.

That scream seemed to jolt his former victims awake. They sat up, rubbing their heads in confusion as Kane once more looked to the medic whose complexion was now pale white as a result of what he’d just seen.

"Now what am I forgetting? Man there’s always something, you know what I mean? Let me see now; be be unbelievably good looking? Check. Raise my own personal army? Got a start on that. Oh wait, now I remember! No witnesses."

He smiled at the man before him, lashed out a hand, and in a single stroke caved in the medic’s windpipe. Kane then looked at his modest horde, and pretended to twirl a non-existent mustache.

”Now my minions, we shall conquer the world! BWAHAHAHAHA! But seriously, can you guys give me some space here? I mean I know I’m your lord and master and all that, but I don’t want you cramping my style in case some ladies come on by, you know what I’m saying? Now get gone, go practice your shambling or something until I need you.”

Kane’s new followers did just as they were told, and left him to contemplate what fun things he could next entertain himself with; while he was distracted in thought, Vandal cranked his head back at approximately 50 mph. The whiplash was immense, enough to snap the young serial killer’s neck until his head came loose. But his muscles gradually stitched themselves back together and he beamed at the frantic, frazzled 20-something girl who just tried to rip his head off.

“Aww, a babe! Now it’s a party,” Kane slicked his hair back as he spoke. At the same time, a swirling portal wrapped itself around his hand and started to grow.

“Kane Isiah Armani, you’re coming with me,” said Vandal, her voice clear and gaze unyielding.

“You got that right, honey,” the flirtatious freak winked at his prey. Vandal’s steely, determined face rusted and she backed away slowly. Kane teleported in behind her and grabbed her from behind. The monster pressed a blade to her throat just hard enough to draw a frightening amount of blood. Vandal paused for only a moment; Armani gave a toothy smile as his vortex began pulling in the kicking, screaming woman’s soul. “Good girl. Now--”

The experienced agent twisted her body around until she was but a blur; her arms and legs hit Kane with explosive force. Kane pulled back his blade and swung it at her neck, but Vandal knocked him back through the wall behind him with a literally burning elbow! She then dug in to “Special K” with burning fists, rapidly hammering him as though her fists were turbo-charged pistons. Kane swung and squirmed, but just couldn’t keep up.

The ITSDA’s one-woman assault team somersaulted back until she was nearly out of sight. She was an ant down the road one second. One second later, she was burning cloud headed straight for his head. But Kane saw her coming; using her own speed against her, he rolled beneath her and knocked her up into the clouds with one brutal uppercut!

THWAAAAAAAAK!

“Oooh,” said Kane, drawing kunai from his belt and machine-gunning them at her using her own Gift. “This is fun. I’m keeping this."

The falling special agent artfully rotated and swung around the line of kunai hurled at her. She then grabbed some of the knives that flew past her head and hurled them back at her attacker. After a few rounds of this, the kunai exploded into shrapnel when they cracked against the ground. Kane leapt up after her, kicking his legs to propel himself to her position. Vandal blocked her face with her arms. Just as the cocky young brat swung at her with his own flaming fist, Vandal slipped under him. Before Kane could stop, Vandal spin-kicked him through a tank husk! Tank shells and machine gun bullets exploded and boiled the young man’s skin; the half of his face that wasn’t yet stripped of its flesh grimaced.

“That’s how you use my Gift, man!” said Vandal, taunting him with a bow.

“Motherfucker,” said Kane as he carelessly lifted himself up out of the wreckage, ignoring the metal spike that tore through his lungs as he moved. His broken bones popped their way back into place while he held his lungs in with his hand. In his other, outstretched hand, atoms gathered around a nearly subatomic uranium core.

“You wanna play rough, bitch? Well this little ball’s nuclear,” His open palm was now filled with a baseball-sized black sphere. “And I’m gonna use your Gift to slam dunk it into a city.”

Vandal stepped back and leaned down. In her mind, she was reeling back to strike like a scorpion. Kane licked his lips slowly enough for his lips to get drenched in saliva. He jumped forward and waved his bomb-filled hand at Vandal, who flinched.

“Nuh-uh, careful. It’s as unstable as I am,” Kane giggled mockingly at his own joke. Vandal finally charged him, nearly crushing his forearm in his hand.

Kane forced himself forward and chomped down on Vandal’s ear.

“Ayhhhhhh!” screamed Vandal as her ear fell silent and her head rung with pain. She let go of “Special K” and Kane did a mile-high running jump. At the peak of his leap, he tossed the bomb at the heart of a nearby metropolis.

“Go fetch!” shouted Kane. Vandal pushed herself to the limit to keep up with the bomb, tearing half the street apart and shattering building’s windows as she sped through the city.

The platinum-headed terror stretched his arms and yawned. But after a little while, something appeared out of the corner of his eye. Sergeant Frank Jackson; legendary soldier and that Ivan bastard’s favorite target. He’d be fun to fight; shit, he’d be a fun soul to steal! Kane thought of the power, thought of having triple the healing factor and access to all sorts of fun knowledge. He’d get a peek at every chick the gruff badass ever went to bed with! Kane was already hurting, but Vandal’s speed was helping his healing. He was ready for this; eh, he would be ready for this. He’d just give it a second…

Sergeant Jackson had already spotted Kane, but was waiting for his target to make the first move. He knew, from decades of experience, that brats like Kane threw themselves into battle without even the faintest idea of the tactical mistakes they were making. But he didn’t. Instead, the power-mad child just stood there, staring at the renowned warrior hungrily.

“Boy, don’t even play. I got your friend’s powers and just nuked a place. You don’t want this. Or maybe you do. You’ve lived a long time, probably tired of that shit by now. I would be,” said Kane, cracking his neck and cringing while molecule-thin knives burst from the tips of his fingers.

“’Course you would. You can’t see it,” a plan of attack was being rearranged in Frank Jackson’s mind. Kane’s partial theft of Vandal’s Gift changed things a bit. But he could still make it work. He just needed to rope him in and nab one of his big guns. Ivan was smart; he knew these powers better than Kane. And even he fell for basically the same trick.

“Oh, a lecture; never heard one of those before.”

“All I know is: there’s more to life than its end. No matter how hard you try, and I have, you can’t escape that. You’re not an explosion, Kane. And you’re not death itself, come for us all,” Frank laughed while staring directly into Kane Isiah Armani’s eyes. Futuristic-looking, miniaturized cannons tore themselves out of the top of Kane’s wrists as the boy rolled his eyes.

“You’re one of us; you need love, hope, compassion, and all that mushy shit. So come get me; maybe your plan to scream and kick ‘till you get some attention will finally work!”

“Gladly!” shouted Kane as tackled Frank and used his knives and Vandal’s speed to burrow into his flesh and intestines in less than a second. Like some sort of mad chef, he ripped organs out of his target and then sliced them to bits while his “meat” was still alive. When Sergeant Jackson’s head began to move, Kane slapped it back with a 300 mph cannonball. He then rolled back and pelted Jackson with them, flashing a toothy grin whenever he heard the delicious sound of bones being crunched.

After less than a minute of this, Jackson fell limp. Kane strolled up to him, lifted his head, and forced one of the hero’s eyes open. He then knelt down and tilted his head.
“I could do this all day and you won’t die. I love your healing factor!”

To punctuate his point, Kane sliced off Jackson’s right arm and kicked it across the street. From the looks of things and the gurgling noises, the pitiful Sergeant was no longer a threat. Still Kane kept going, sloppily removing Jackson’s eye and crushing it beneath his heel. That little bit of showboating cost Kane valuable seconds; Jackson blasted him back with a straight to the gut. A livid Kane jumped at Jackson, only to eat a low blow from his knee.

“Ohh, you’re funny,” said Kane as he threw his arm down to guard the affected area.

“So’s he,” said Jackson, pointing his head behind Kane. “Lord Death of Murder Mountain,” as he occasionally called himself, wasn’t falling for it. He spun around at Vandal’s speed and spotted a trembling, yet enraged Jump directly behind him, aiming a gun for his head!  Kane stuck out his tongue and madly giggled in Jackson’s face.

“Oh no, he’ll kill me. Ha-ha-ha!”

Jump fired. Kane ran backwards, ducked under the bullet, and spiked it over his own head like a volleyball. The gun and the bullet fell to the street; the agent wasn’t there! Kane looked back; Jump was grabbing Jackson! The duo disappeared in to the night. Kane dashed after them. A thick cloud of chemical smoke appeared about a mile away.

“Told ya’ it wouldn’t kill him,” said a sitting Jackson, who handed off belts full of armed smoke grenades as Jump repeatedly teleported across the block, then back to him.

“I know, but if there was a chance--” Jackson threw one final smoke bomb down near their feet. The whole area around the house they stood upon was caked in a thick layer of smoke.

“There wasn’t. Focus. The grunts we have left are sitting ducks without these. Kane will go after them if he can’t find us. We need to end this, now.”

“How?”

“Encirclement,” said Jackson as he handed Jump the grip of one of his Devastator pistols and set it to “freeze.” Jump halfheartedly saluted and teleported away. An almost healed Frank Jackson jumped down into the thick cloud of smoke that enveloped the street below.

A shadow darker than the smoke cut through the clouds, doing ten dozen laps around the block in the span of four seconds. He would find them and kill them. It wasn’t a matter of if, just a matter of when. Kane didn’t like to wait, never had.

“Olly olly oxen free!” said Kane, who dispersed one cloud instantaneously with a million little waves of his hands. There was nothing. He moved on to the next one. Nothing; nothing nothing nothing nothing! Suddenly, he heard a whisper in the shadows and slid toward it. Frankie!

Three “snowballs” knocked the air out of him, freezing his arms and legs in position. He shook it off with the friction his super speed granted him. But by the time he did, Jackson fired five rounds at him. Dang, that was quick for human speed! Kane backhanded the explosive shells, whistling innocently as Frank barely rolled out of the way of the explosions.

Having learned from his previous mistake, Kane lunged at Jump. He slammed the young agent’s head into the ground, stunning him so that he couldn’t escape! Hearing the clunk of Sergeant Jackson’s army boots as he raced toward his downed comrade, Kane turned toward him.

“He won’t survive thi--”

An explosive round hit the back of Kane’s throat, sending his molten flesh flying everywhere. The Immortal soldier capitalized immediately. Rapid-fire jabs to the head, elbow to the crevice of an arm, kicks that knocked the monster’s legs out from underneath him, and three bullets to the brain. The boy started seizing and foaming at the mouth. But even in that state, he growled and swiped his finger-knives across Frank’s neck. Jackson gasped as he wrestled the rabid dog to the ground. But the killer wouldn’t quit. Another cannonball knocked Jackson off of him. Kane mindlessly ran to Jackson as Jump staggered to his feet.

“Jump, hit me!”

“What?”

“Just do it!”

Kane leapt up into the air and stuck his knives out downwards, hoping to dig into Jackson’s brain. But the hero rolled out of the way at the last second and “Lord Death’s” knives got stuck in the concrete. This didn’t stop him, but it slowed him down just long enough for Jump to drown him in ice. Jump kept firing until the clip was empty; as soon as he heard the click, Jackson hit the struggling teenager’s head with a running kick that would make any soccer player jealous. Ice snapped and shattered as the kid fell. Frank jumped on him. And in one smooth motion, the man once called “War” by terrified enemies snapped Kane’s wrist back.

“I know what you’re thinking,” said Frank as he shoved his enemy’s wrist through his head. “And you’re right. You shouldn’t have pissed me off.”

Jump vomited at the disgusting squishing sounds. Frank finished the job by pulling out a large combat knife, and chopping all of Kane’s limbs off.

“You’re right, kid,” said Frank. “It’s gross. Hope you never have to see it again. Take him in.”

“But he’s--”

“No, he isn’t.” Nearly invisible arteries and capillaries started growing, like wiggling worms emerging from the dirt, out of the holes in his shoulders. Meanwhile, droplets of bone-colored liquid began dripping down his exposed, fractured skull, gathering in the holes where bone just was. Jump, with careful movements and a great deal of trepidation, pressed his hand to what remained of Kane’s head. Jump vanished and reappeared in front of an ITSDA prison transport, one of several on standby awaiting any captured prisoners from the battle in Gaultown. The young hero was once more off to help in the fight, leaving other agents behind to deal with the villain.
Meanwhile, above the skies of Toledo, Vandal had almost caught up with Kane’s nuke. The orb spun wildly as it sailed downward in a huge, catapult-like arc.

“Alright, Vandal. You’re nearing the bogey,” said Meta, who was using a device he cobbled together from the Songbird’s remains to speed up his voice. “Satellite data from your fight with Kane suggests the design is similar to a Namidian NA-48 Type C.”

“The point, Brian!”

“It booms milliseconds after contact. You can’t hold this thing, Vandal. You’ll have to toss it.”

“How far?”

“Well into the lower stratosphere.”

“I can’t do that, Bry! Not fast enough. Gimme another way!”

“You can. Launch yourself when it’s four miles ahead and hit it at a 30 degree angle. Won’t even hit space trash.”

“Four miles?! I can’t keep up with it now!”

“Don’t bother with taxiing before your takeoff; ricochet off the buildings and you’ll get above it. Then let gravity help you descend and pull up just before contact.”

“Easy for you to say! If I fail, everyone dies!”

“I know,” said Meta, who slumped back in his chair and sighed while he covered his eyes. “But it’s the only way.”

Behind him, a nearly catatonic Brianna stood up and ripped the headset off of Meta.

“You can do it, Vandal. Jill takes the best of us. And she chose you for a reason. I couldn’t, you can. And you will.”

Vandal halted her motion at this and watched the ball fall through the sky. What seemed like an eternity for her was really less than a nanosecond. She dropped herself to the ground as the ball hit the three-mile mark. She then reeled back and eyed it carefully. The instant it was four miles ahead, she began running. She sprinted up a building, kicked off a window, kicked off a roof, and spread herself out. She fell in an aerodynamic pose, with her arms straight out ahead, as she “swam” diagonally downward toward the deadly orb. She kicked the air with ferocity unmatched by any propeller, any bird, or any jet. She fought through the pain, forcing herself onward as her muscles pulled apart and slid off of her bones.

The ball was now less than a mile away from its target. She spun forward, launched herself upward, and batted the nuclear weapon into space with the palm of her hand. The orb contracted as she hit it and began to explode. But she smacked it away hard and fast enough for only the most minuscule portion of the blast wave to hit her. Half her face and arm were hit with third degree burns and she drifted slowly to the ground. The world above her felt like it was spinning so fast it made her dizzy. Though she fell, she fell with practiced grace. With the last of her energy, she slowed her fall with faint waves of her arms and legs. Though she fell back first, the impact was barely noticeable.

“She actually did it,” said Meta. “The probability of my plan succeeding was…”

“Frank, bring me to her. I won’t have more blood on my hands today!”

“Jump, we need an EVAC on Vandal, stat,” said Jackson.

“Sir!” responded Jump.

Frank Jackson lit a cigar as a mushroom cloud loomed off in the distance. The mission did not go as well as he had hoped, but it was not a failure. The Commander certainly slipped through their fingers, but his forces were decimated, SA was damaged, Gaultown was exposed, Kane was captured, Ivan absent for at least the moment, and the Namadians in general sent running. Jackson would use this victory; he’d make sure it led to the ITSDA winning this war. He’d be damned if the deaths of those soldiers who gave their all to keep the world safe for one more day would be in vain.

---

Closer to Toledo, an army photographer snapped a picture of the mushroom cloud over the city.

“Open the latest images folder,” said a clear voice that spoke with absolute certainty and authority. The reporter did as he was told. His folder was full of photos of the battle; the fields of dead soldiers and wreckage, Vandal flying after the nuclear orb, a long distance shot of Sergeant Frank Jackson and Kane standing across from each other, and the mushroom cloud.

“Good, now upload these images to the following websites…” said The Commander from inside a backup APC he had stashed somewhere on the base. A suspiciously fist-shaped hole had been punched into the back of the chair upon which he sat. He gritted his teeth as he spoke. Though the battle had been disastrous, it would not be a complete loss. No, The Commander did not believe in such a thing. Even horrible losses can and would lead to strategic victory, so long as you knew how to use them. He grimaced at a horrible thought that came to him; Dieter would be proud of this bit of slanderous trickery he was about to pull. But he put it out of his mind. Thoughts like that often came to him in moments of defeat; and he would rise above them, just as he always did. He had to, for the future of his people and the glory of Namidias.

Deep within the army’s secret Gaultown base, Emily Nigma was holding a phone to her ear while she finished typing at a computer. The screens before her showed satellite footage of the battle complete with a sidebar of detailed statistics, including movement speed and estimated durability (measured in pounds of force).

“Yes Dieter, all of it,” she said, removing a USB drive from the computer. “I must say, I was not impressed with your doppelganger’s performance. He might just spill all of our little secrets.”

“Now, now, Miss Nigma. You know I know better than that,” said Dieter.

“Perhaps,” said Nigma. “Your secondary plan was downright ingenious. Now we understand everything about them and their limitations…”


“And next time, thanks to you,” said Dieter. “We will be more than ready to use that knowledge to our benefit.”

“Oh, stop it,” said Nigma with poorly-disguised contempt as she held her head up with her hand. “You’re making me blush.”

“Yes, well, you should be going…though the soldiers won’t return, there will be an investigation”

“I’m aware of that, sir,” Emily Nigma picked up her flash drive and sashayed out of the high-tech computer room protected by a retinal scanner and a heavy steel door. “Don’t worry, all evidence of my intervention has been incinerated. They’ll never know we hit them.”

---

Kane was having nightmares. Not the typical 'guilty conscious' nightmare that other people suffered, no, Kane never had those... Kane was plagued with recurring visions of waking up handcuffed within a prisoner Transport vehicle, throwing up huge quantities of blood from his lungs, and suffering a seizure before falling back into dreamless sleep. He'd lived this nightmare a dozen times now, but on the thirteenth he was was mildly surprised to stay awake. After a moment he realized what had happened.

"I'm alive. Neat!" Kane struggled with his handcuffs to feel his head as far as he could reach, marked by rough scars that served as souvenirs from his battles with Dieter, Vandal, and Frank. He glanced back at the manacle. "I'm a prisoner. Shit!"

The back of the prison transport vehicle was empty, save for himself, and an ankle deep pool up blood around his feet. He jingled his handcuffs irately to make sure they were properly secured. They were, of course.

"Hel-l-l-o-o-o-... Anyone there?!" No answer. "Well, I'm just gonna... One sec'-"

Kane gathered his Gifted strength and clenched his hand, he drew his arm back and bunched his muscles as he prepared to snap the steel chain clear off the wall. He'd break his wrist doing so, of course, but that was hardly an issue for someone like him...
*BRZZZAAAPPpp!*
"AUGHHH! AHHHH! FUCKI- AHHHH!"
Something had just sent several thousand volts into his neck, and the elecric spasms had disrupted his train of thought. When the shocks finally abated he found himself gasping for air and wrestling with a pounding headache.
"Oh, great! The Inhibitor works! I was worried for a minute there..."
A voice sounded across the Vans intercom. It was female and perky, but not one that Kane knew offhand.
"The shit was that?!" He complained to the empty van. Suddenly this wasn't so much fun anymore. "What the hell is this?!"
"That. Mister Armani. Was a prototype ITSDA inhibitor. Through means which I don't feel like disclosing to you it's able to detect when a subject uses their Gift, and, well... inhibit them."
Kane growled in frustration and pulled at his manacles again. On any other day he might make a joke about totally being into having some domme chick handcuff in the back of some strange van, but the situation suddenly seemed incredibly serious. Being chained down AND having his Gifts taken away from him? Nah. Fuck that. Kane had worked too hard acquiring his Gifts just to have them taken away.
"So- your toy knows when I'm trying to escape, yeah?"
Kane rolled his shoulders. He felt something sitting on the back of his neck- presumably it was whatever was shocking him. He diverted his eyes to the handcuffs again and searched for Scraps memories amongst his own, as he tried to use his latest gift. He'd only gotten it a few hours ago- and possibly the ITSDA didn't know that he'd acquired it yet.
"Did you know I could do THI-" *BRZAAAAPpp!* "AUUUUGHHH! AAAHHHH!"
"Yes. We did. We've planned for everything."
Kane could smell burning flesh. He was fairly certain it was his own, but the sudden appearance of a splitting headache made it hard to be certain.

"The inhibitor you're wearing is a prototype, and I'm legally obliged to ask you not provoke it. Once you're transferred to Maine you will be placed in Incarceration, and fitted with a less... intrusive... version of the device."

Kane slumped back in his seat and tried to focus his double vision. Something that the voice had said made him grin though- and suddenly he didn't mind his unpleasant situation so much.

"Maine, huh? You're taking me to your little 'facility', then?" He spoke quietly so as not to be too obvious to his Wardens, although in truth he didn't care what they knew. "Prison might be fun..." A mad smile crept across his face as a few colorful ideas passed his mind...

FIN.
This message was last edited by the GM at 01:06, Sun 05 June 2016.