Info: A quiet suburb nestled somewhere in Ohio; Gaulton has been of little consequence to the conflict and disorder that has engulfed and terrified most of the world. It is simply a town of about 20,000 people, known for its freshwater fishing industry and thriving art community. But the suburb hides a secret, a hidden research laboratory built during the 1980s. The laboratory was, when it was built, full of supercomputers that worked together to simulate various nuclear warfare scenarios. Currently, however, the laboratory's more modern computers are used to simulate superhuman warfare scenarios and used to design the next generation of Anti-Gifted countermeasures.

Will you uncover Gaultown's secret? And if you do, what will that mean?

In reply to Scripts (msg # 1):

Non- cannon battle post.


I walked into a motel room located on the edge of Gaultown. I volunteered this mission because I was used to keeping myself hidden. It wouldn’t do much good for me to come here and start flying around asking lots of questions.

No finding a secret instillation would require stealth lots of leg work and lots of listening in on private conversations. To whit I pulled out of my case a box full of tiny microphone pins I was given by my handler at ITSDA headquarters. It’s a shame I didn’t have super hearing and telescopic vision like the comic book Supergirl. Not the case I’m afraid though I can hear a conversation in the next room if I concentrate so my hearing is acute. And though I don’t have telescopic vision nor can I see through walls but I can focus on detail if something is in my line of vision.

Leaving my costume in its case I left the motel room dressed in tight jeans and a simple blouse so I could blend in with the good folk of Gaultown.

Driving into town it was obvious I needed to get to know the area to try and identify possible sites for a secret research laboratory. So I bought a map, left a pin at the local police station and across the rod at the mayor’s office I pretended I was a lost tourist easy with an English accent. I familiarised myself with all the bus routes, learned that St Mary Church was the best district to buy real estate and somewhere call the Mullings was the worst.

A week later I had a pin in the police control room and the office of the local newspaper. I spent a lot of time on rooftops changing channels to different pin locations trying to get some clue as to what I was searching for. I even started taking regular taxi rides to a few locations and chatted to the drivers to see if they could give me any clue that might help. My first break came on a date with a real estate agent. He was a sweet guy and very talkative. He told me about the lack of real estate in the down town Mulling’s area. He’d had contact with other agents in the area and none of them had a property in the Mullings for nearly eight months. Even in a rundown area like the Mullings there were always a handful of properties on the market.

At the time it didn’t seem to be the sort of information I needed to act on and the local taxi driver said he hadn’t had a fare there in weeks. I was listening in to a phone conversation late one night in the police control room. The operator was having a slow night nothing happening on the streets of Gaultown. The operator was chatting about how busy she hadn’t been and mentioned that she hadn’t had an incident in the Mullings area for nearly three months. No nothing she said not even a domestic. At last I thought something suspicious I could look into.

It was in the early hours when I drove into the Mullings, I mused that if nothing turned up here tonight then I may have to rough up a few people involved in the less reputable side of life in Gaultown, see if I could shake out any information that may help.

The Mullings was certainly run down. Houses in disrepair, some abandoned, business closed up, many of the street lamps were out. In fact there wasn’t one house with a light on, no porch lights, window lights nothing. Then I had to slam my breaks on as someone stepped into the road I had to swerve to avoid him but I must have caught him with the door mirror as it smashed against the side window before I came to a stop.

In reply to Sue Steel (msg # 2):

Non- cannon battle post.

I got out of the rental and dashed over to the injured man.

“Are you alright?” I ask, “I can take you to hospital if you need it.”

“What are you doing here?” asked a menacingly gruff voice,

“Avoiding hitting you mainly.”

“But you shouldn’t be here,”

“why?”

“Who is it Al? This was a second equally gruff voice.

“It’s just some woman Burt, I stepped in front of her car and she stopped.”

I turned to Al “You did that on purpose,” I asked, “Why?”

“To stop you.”  I ask Al a question and Burt replies.

“Stop me from what?”

“You ask too many questions babe.” Said Burt, suddenly picking me up and putting me over his shoulder and marching off up the street.

“Put me down! Put me down!” I shrieked and ineffectually kicked my legs for effect. Whatever it was these two were up to I wanted to know.

“What you got there Burt?” Another one, I thought, how many are there?

“It’s a doll Dan a real pretty doll.”

“Let’s have a look Burt.” Four! No way. All of them were practically identical, Hulking six foot brutes.

“Are we sharing?” FIVE! I thought, you’re pulling my pisser. Then flushed as I remembered I didn’t have one.

“Sure.” Said Burt, tossing me across the street to what must have been his brother. Deep guffaws and hollers rang around the group of men as they started playing catch with me. This was so unreal I was sure I’d wake up soon. I was like a rag doll being tossed around by these brutish clowns. Each caught me easily as though they had done this before, then they started  showing off tossing me overhead with one arm. I tired of waiting for them to stop so halfway between brothers I used my flight power to adjust my body and land feet first against the chest of Burt. At least I think it was Burt. I add an extra burst of flight power to make sure I knocked him off his feet.

His expression changed in an instant. He frowned up at me all the raucous laughter behind me ceased. I stepped back of his chest as he swung a big muscular arm at me. I heard an approaching step behind me. Spinning on my heels I saw one of them bringing his massive fist down on top of my head like someone beating their fist down on a desk. I blinked, non-pulsed, Then laughter erupted around me and suddenly I realised I was a foot and a half shorter than what I was. Looking down I saw the reason the blow to the top of my head had actually forced me down into the asphalt as I noticed my legs from the knee down had disappeared below the surface of the road.

Looking up I was just in time to see a massive fist smash into my face. Being trapped by the asphalt there was no knock back the back of my head slammed into the road behind me. Immediately after the impact of both fist and road on my head I felt a massive influx of energy replacing that which had been expended at impact.It was like I was pulling energy right out of the air. My recovery then was instantaneous; this was to be my very first close combat experience outside of training.

“Dump her in the lake with the others.” Said Burt.

“What others.” I asked still lying in the road.

“Hay! She’s not dead Burt.” I was impressed with Al’s ability to keep up with real time events.

“Of course I’m not dead,” Said I pulling my legs out of the asphalt and getting to my feet. “You shouldn’t hit people like that you could hurt them.”

“You mean I didn’t even hurt you?” Asked Burt incredulously.

“How many people have you killed?” Repeating myself was not my favourite pastime.

“You ask too many questions, lady.”

“And you don’t answer enough.”

“And you’re going to the bottom of the lake dead or alive.”

“At least I’ll have better company in the lake.” I answered just as Burt grabbed me from behind. The others were closing in fast. I stomped down hard on Burt’s foot with the heel of my shoe and as he yelped I shrugged free of his grip, moving forward I grabbed a grasping hand of one of the brothers and ducked low pulling his arm down forcing him to stumble to the floor. A quick side step saw another brother charge past me leaving just two assailants.

Both were running well lumbering as big and heavy as they were. An easy block took care of a heavy punch and a side step put him between me and the final lumbering brother. I wondered how many woman they had assaulted and dumped in the lake. As another punch came my way a blindingly quick index finger stabbed its way into his eye forcing it into his brain. His body collapsed, but before he reached the floor a well-placed kick sent his body flying into his brother both flew back, disappearing into the blackness of the night.

Burt was out of it as he hopped on one leg and nursed a foot with his hands. “You broke me foot!” He exclaimed through a torrent of expletives. The one who stumbled past me was now charging at me. I braced myself and his hulking mass slammed into me so hard a “Huh,” of putrid breath assailed my nostrils. He stumbled back, looking dazed, stepping forward I brought my knee up into his groin. A cross between a gasp and a whimper came from Al as the blow I just delivered took him of his feet; he arched into the air still gasping his whimper as he crashed to the floor 10 feet away.

A new assailant was up off the floor swing his fists. Quickly stepping back I saw those big fists miss their mark though he continued his assault. Each of my movements was measured, executed to perfection using just enough force to accomplish what was intended or just enough flight power to keep me rooted to the spot. An instant reaction seemed planned as if the right thing to do. These thoughts flitted through my mind as blow after blow missed its mark by a whisper. Then something hit my back propelling me forward into the arms of my assailant. Whatever had hit me now propelled us in its direction we went crashing to the ground and sliding along the road. The something rolled over us its momentum taking it further than me and my assailant.

We came to a halt and I looked around at the smiling brother I’d kicked the dead body into. Looking over I saw the rental he’d thrown it at us. Shit that’s a hundred dollar excess. It was then I realised that the insurance excess should not have been the thing I was concentrating on as big clumsy hands pick me up bodily and hurl me at the car. I covered the distance to the car in less than a second not that anybody had a stop watch. Such was the force of the impact of my body hitting the car that it rolled three times with me wedged in the one side. The shock of the experience affected me more than anything but the thrill of the fight was exhilarating. The car was being lifted again and I managed to shrug myself free and I landed lightly on the ground. But seconds later the car was coming down on my head. A round house kick from my powerful legs sent the car spinning through the air both brothers still holding on to it. One managed to let go but the other went crashing through the window of a house across the street.

Rushing at the guy who had fallen I snatched him up into the air and in one swift movement brought him crashing down, back first, onto my knee shattering his spine. Though unable to appreciate it he was now somewhat double jointed able to touch his toes bending both backward and forward. Standing and turning I sought out Burt, forgetting all about the broken body before it even hit the floor.

Burt was limping toward me, eyes filled with anger, face contorted by hate. Now he knew something of the hurt he’d inflicted on the families of those he’d killed. As I stood my ground he reached out for me grabbing each of my arms just as my heel crushed the bones in his other foot, grinding it into the asphalt. Burt yelped in pain as his grasping turned into a holding. Taking his weight I let him use me as a crutch.
He looked at me and I asked, “Your all one person aren’t you? Like you’ve divided yourself up into five, It was one of your special abilities yes?”

“Yes.” He said through his pain, “but not divided, multiplied, each time my body mass and strength increased.”

“Multiplied? But not in the brains department?”

“No,” his pain softening the gruffness of his voice. “Couldn’t coordinate six, five was my limit.”

“And what are you protecting? Why is the neighbourhood deserted?”
“Could never find out, but it must be important. Enough to buy up almost very house in this district.”

“And you got rid of those that wouldn’t sell?” Burt nodded.

I picked Burt up and slung him over my shoulder heading for the house in front of me when I noticed his remaining brother emerging from the same house. He saw me heading his way and stopped to pick up a big rock with both hands. I shook my head in disbelief and continued my way to the house. He tried smash his makeshift weapon down onto my head, but I knocked it out of his hand, grabbed him by the throat and lifting him off the ground I carried both men into the house.

The room was dark and musty. Two bodies hit the floor and a neck snapped at a quick flick of the wrist and a slight gurgling sound of a crushed windpipe could be heard in the quietness of the neighbourhood. Soon all five brothers rested quietly in each other’s company.

Atop a roof across from where the fight had happened, a shadow detached from a chimney and watched as Burt Wonder was dispatched. The girl was obviously Gifted. She had been snooping about town for a few weeks now and asking questions. Those questions had been asked to certain persons and had as their target certain operations. Of course, a trail had been left for anyone coming to the area to follow that would lead them right to Burt. Burt wasn't on the payroll, Schwatrze Augen didn't employ louts like him, but he had been a resource noted in the area and monitored carefully.

In fact, the whole of Mullings was a very elaborate trap in a way.

The figure crouched atop the roof and was soon joined by a second and third figure. Each was dressed in combat fatigues and carried a rifle, large knife, and moved like a veteran. Each was, in fact, ex-specops for one organization or another. They spoke quickly with their hands and two peeled off to follow the girl while the last moved deeper into the slum.

---

At a secure location, the third man wearing fatigues entered a slate grey door and moved through a warehouse. His eyes scanned for anyone watching as he opened a secret door and slipped into an elevator that took him down. He then walked along a sterile white hallway to a door and knocked before entering. A large man sat behind a desk and looked up from a bank of monitors as the agent saluted then stood at attention, "Rolf, I do not stand on such formalities." The agent frowned and looked at the man who had just said something that conflicted with the last time they met. Still, he relaxed. Contradictory expectations were somewhat normal with Dieter Sievold. "The girl encountered Burt tonight, Boss. She's Gifted. ITSDA?"

Dieter considered it for a long time then nodded, "Possibly, but not for certain. Lots of shadowy organizations out there. Many are using the gifted these days. Monitor her. See if she'll go out with the real estate guy again. Get me a profile or identity on her. See if she is in the records we have." The man, who Sue would recognize from her date earlier in the week, grinned and nodded as he left. There were a dozen men in the unit who all had identities around town as bartenders, cops, lawyers, grocers, and more. More than just Mullings was in Dieter's pocket. He turned back to the computer and resumed watching the fourteenth in a series of a hundred simulations on a certain hero causing the organization problems. He smiled and took out a Sat Phone with one button then pressed it. When the other end picked up he spoke a coded phrase then waited, "Log #57, update, Gifted agent encountered. Woman, British, 5-9 or 5-10, athletic, brown hair, blue eyes, flight, strength, speed. Unknown backing. Situation under control. Monitoring."

Poor lee staggered through the alleys of the city coughing some, still some. The kick start of his idled awakened abilities had been more than a little jarring and now that he was recovering from the over compensation of his parasympathetic system he was not was conscious but not to with what was going on. He put everything he had though into trying to focus on the back door of the clothing store he was moving to, it was likely the hospital gown they had tossed over him already attracted some attention and that was the last thing he wanted.

He moved to the door taking the ID tag he had clutched in his hand when he woke. Score one for the tiniest bit of critical thinking before his brain was overloaded with adrenalin to the point he couldn't think at all. He went to use the metal clasp to unscrew or pry the cover off the security pad when it seamed like his hand just melted into it... He could clearly see his hand was just resting on it... or could he? His mind spun some as he tried to clear his mind and wake up. He couldn't tell where his hand ended and the pad began. While a strange glow spread over the box in a circuit like pattern, he was panicking. This was the signs of a stroke shutting down the left side of the brain, that whole hippy we are all one thing became a lot more literal when you left brain didn't work he remember hearing, not being able to know where you and anything you where touching started and ended....  He wished it was that easy though, he could almost see/feel the inner workings in his mind and it would be easy enough to just switch them, but he had to get it op-

A startling and confusing, rather than satisfying, click was herd as the switches in the door and alarm box flicked. He pulled away and backed up looking at the green lights, did the magnetic locks just disengage?  Was the alarm shut off? That didn't make any sense, but he tried the door and it was lose. He didn't have time to think about it if he didn't want the door locking up again so he pulled it open and staggered inside slumping agenst a wall to rest.

Good god was he tired, and why in the hell did he crave caned fish and modding clay.
This message was last edited by the player at 07:01, Mon 11 May 2015.

In reply to Scripts (msg # 1):

Non- cannon battle post.
Following the road brought me to a turning that that had an inviting notice “Pirvate No Entry” it announced. Obviously the path to choose. The gate I spied in the distance had an armed guard so skirting the perimeter fence to see what could be seen was the option I choose though I nearly stumbled upon armed men in combat fatigues patrolling the area. I wondered if this was a military installation, but it wasn’t mentioned in the briefing.

It was hard to pick out much detail in the predawn light. Something was happening in the valley that was spread out below me perched as I was in a tree top high above the patrolling guards that passed nearby every 23 minutes.

A vast expanse of concrete spread out from a hanger that could easily hold three or four jumbo jets. But there was no airfield here, not that was shown on any map I’d seen. Birds sang in the trees oblivious to my presence. I settled down for a long wait not expecting to see any activity for at least 3 hours, but I was wrong. Just as I had settled an orange light started flashing on the left hand side of the hanger and after a few moments hanger doors rolled back and little black figures started to emerge from the open door.

There just didn’t seem to be enough runway for anything substantial to take off or land I though as tiny vehicles emerged from the hanger followed by something that was akin to the star ship enterprise. It was a massive structure with what looked like a helipad to one side. It was 20 minutes before the ship was fully out in the open and another 10 before it came to a halt. All the little figures stood clear and the ship made a strange humming sound. I knew I should call this in but my com was in my handbag back in the rental car.

The humming sound increased as the ship lifted off the ground and the humming noise subsided as the craft hovered a few feet in the air. Some sort of sky base I wondered, made sense, difficult to send in ground forces if its 200 foot in the air. Then white smoke started to plume from what I guessed to be exhaust ports, but my thinking was wrong as slowly the air ship became covered in a fluffy white cloud.

Shit! I need to call this in but events had overtaken me as the cloud rose into the air and started to head east toward the coast. Wow I thought where did they get technology like that? Then it struck me, the awakened, it must be awakened. There must be people who have awakened academically in order to build technology this far advanced. I was guessing that that was no aero engine I’d heard but an antigravity machine and maybe solar powered so no need for fuel.

These things raced through my mind as I followed the craft on foot not wanting to be detected by any on board radar it most definitely would have. The cloud that hid the ship was easy to follow as it took over an hour to cover the 5 miles to the coast. As it headed out to sea I decided to try getting on board. Jumping into the air I covers the distance to the ship as quickly as I could. Just before entering the cloud however I crashed into some invisible force field. Its shielded I thought making my way back down to earth. I was kicking myself , I really should let ITSDA know that I’d discovered what must be a sky base that was shielded.

I was in the air in an instant when the helicopter came into view, risking detection; I approached the sky base from the opposite direction to the helicopter. As I’d hoped the shield was disengaged to allow the helicopter access to the base. Tring to remain hidden I made my way round to the helipad. Sneaking my head round just in time I spotted two men enter the base and they stood by a window talking. Focusing in on the men’s lips I lip-read one reporting to the other. “We reach sky base location in thirteen hours and full satellite control is expected to be in 36 hours commander.”

Namidias. This had to be Namidias. Full control of government satellites within two day! Things were moving fast. I was then I noticed the barrel of a rifle pointing directly at my face. My way in, I thought as I pretended to climb up onto the helipad. I held my hands up as he motioned me toward the door through which the two men had entered the base.

“She’s awakened,” reported the rifle holder. “Spotted her flying around the ship, caught up with her by the helipad.”

“Good work.”  Said the man who’d received the lip read report. “She needs to be disposed of immediately.”

There was not even a moment’s hesitation the bullet bounced off the back of my head as I turned and smiled at the guy who just shot me. Grabbing his rifle I pulled him forward another shot fired as his finger was still on the trigger. Taking the hand holding the rifle I threw him across the room snatching his gun from his hands before he landed heavily against the wall. In one continuous movement the rifle butt was smashed down into the consul of the helipad control room.

Intent on getting to the other two men in the room I barely had time to see a hand gesture from one of them and I was sent flying across the room. When I hit the wall the whole room shook as I landed on the guy who was just recovering from being thrown. The guy who had arrived on the helicopter was now heading back to it making good his escape. I wanted to go after him, he might have been Namidias.  I tried to move in his direction but was lifted up by an unseen force, had my face pressed against the wall. Using my flight powers proved useless as I struggled against the force pushing me into the wall. Whatever held me was not holding my arms so I pushed hard against the wall breaking the invisible hold though the momentum of the push slammed my invulnerable body into the consul, which buckled under the force.
Grabbing the rifle I threw it at the mans head knocking him to the ground.

Shrugging myself free of the consul I meet a hail of bullets from two men rushing into the room. Bullets ricocheting off my face and chest I charged at the doorway knocking both man aside. Charging down a narrow corridor I decided not to stop at the end but kept going my body easily slicing through the thin metal wall. Tables went flying as I entered what turned out to be the mess hall. Chaos ensued someone screamed, shouts went up around me people panicked. Turning I went through the hole I’d just made, I needed the control or engine room, but didn’t think asking for directions was a good use of my time.

The corridor went Left to right, I went left looking for a way down figuring that an anti-gravity engine might be situated at the base of the sky ship so supporting the weight of the ship above it. Descending a narrow flight of steps I slowed looking for door ways to smash my way through. A claxon sounded, late I thought, as a door swished open a man with muscles the size of a football emerged and smiled at me. Dashing past him almost worked but he managed to trip me and I went sprawling face first onto the floor. As I turned onto my back a hand grabbed my throat lifted me up and slammed my back against the wall, I took my turn to smile at him and an uncertain look crossed his face. Noticing a door behind us I use my flight lower against his body weight forcing him to step back. The door swished open and the hum which had become a familiar background noise on the sky base grew louder. I forced him into the room his hand still gripped around my neck. Shouts went up from a couple of engineers in the room as the door swished shut behind us. With a roar he grabbed me with his other hand, dropped to one knee and brought my back crashing down onto his other knee. I raised my eyebrows at his look of surprise my body strength far out weighing my  size and weight.

Rolling of his knee I attempted to get to my feet a hand in my hair slammed my face into the floor and tried for a second time but I countered his weight forcing my way to my feet.  Facing away from the owner of the fingers in my hair I was just in time to raise a foot to stop the onrush of one of the engineers. I could have killed them all easily, I knew it, but I wanted to save people’s lives not kill them. I know I’d been judge, jury and executioner back in the Mullings, but anyone who strayed into their path meet with the same fate and I couldn’t allow that to continue. About half of my concentration was geared to controlling my strength to give people I encountered a second chance and maybe change their minds about what they were doing, but doing this my way was much more fun.

Dashing for one of the many consuls that lined the room I dragged my assailant behind me I punched my fist into a display panel the lights around it died instantly and a second display went the same way. The hand in my hair tried to pull me back but was unsuccessful. I was intent on doing as much damage as I possibly could. The hand let go of my hair allowing me to continue my destruction and I hardly noticed another pair of hands grab me and execuit an impressive over the shoulder throw. I bounced off a wall full of switches and dials and was on my feet in seconds when the two men with the guns came dashing into the room sprayed me a second time with bullets. My clothes were so full of holes and tears I might as well have been topless. The men around me hit the deck, I was on the two men in an instant reliving them of their weapons I turned and emptied each magazine into the consuls.

An alarm sounded in the room and red light started flashing. I threw the rifles like javelins they both struck home one caused a small explosion. The ship lurch and recovered. The two men stumbled toward me. Grabbing a head in each hand I smacked the two of them together, before they hit the floor I was at an untouched consul flicking switches smashing displays. The ship lurched a second time causing me to stumble back. The other men in the room were getting to their feet. I spotted small pipe that ran from ceiling to consul. Reaching up the pipe felt warm and it whined as the metal casing stretched as I pulled it away from the wall. A mass of wires was revealed, something hit me on the back, but I ignored it as I wrapped my fingers around the wires and pulled. The bunched wires resisted finding strength in numbers even though they started to cut into the metal pipe that once hid them. I squeezed my fist tight as I pulled against their resistance and the plastic casing around the wires began to melt under the pressure. Melted plastic oozed from my fist wires and circuit boards began to short. I could feel the electric current flow through my arm as the whole bunch stretched and snapped.

The humming sound stopped. A few moments of silence passed. Then we started to fall out of the sky. I did my best to protect the nearest men from the impact as the sky base hit the water. I left the men to make their own way out as the base started to fill with water. Guessing that this sort of event was never envisaged and no life jackets or life boats were available. I somehow found the man who had used his mind to hold me against the wall. He was concussed though he started to come too. I spoke to him gently telling him that the sky base was in the water and I asked him if he was able to use his abilities to form some kind of boat or platform that could be used as a rescue craft. Fortunately he nodded his agreement as he realised his predicament. Helping him out onto the helipad I flew him to the water and told him I would bring as many people to him as was possible he nodded again. Most of the survivors made it to the man I just rescued, a few of the awakened resisted and I left them to find others who did need help. I stayed with the sky base until it was resting at the bottom of the sea then swam around for an hour making sure I had an exact location for the governments salvage operation as I was certain they would want to see this for themselves.

In reply to Lee McDouglas (msg # 5):

He was just watching the 20th video when an alarm on the panel went off and he glanced at it frowning. The base had several entrances in Mullings spread out between five locations and each was guarded after a fashion with guards and disguised buildings. There was another exit/entrance outside the slums, too. Each location was secured with a state of the art security system and one of them had been breached.

He hit pause on the video and swiveled the chair to regard another bank of monitors. A few flicks of his fingers brought up internal security feeds for the building in question. The place was a local hangout on the edge of the slums that 2was still "open for business." Tommie's had been owned by a man named Thomas Bloke a month ago, before the Organization had quietly acquired it and changed management. They had updated the security system as well. The place should be closed down for the night about now.

---

The room that Lee found himself in was grimy in a suspicious way but appeared to be a kitchen. Prep stations were scattered about as well as large sinks, racks of cleaned pots, and knives a plenty. Lee had apparently entered through the service entrance and saw a pair of doors that probably led to the taproom. Even as this all registered, cameras in the room panned to peer at him.

'Damnit', he though. He had, in his confused state, opened the wrong door and got a resteraunt instead. Considering the quality vs security it was one likely involved in some unsavory guest, it wasn't like normal places had motion tracking cameras or guards that attentive.

He grabed the largest knife near him and ran back out into the alley. His best bet was to find a car or truck, ether with tinted windows or a high profile, hotwire it, and then drive away in an unsespecting manor. He remembered again what his mom would say about that...driving like a normal person would and not trying to drive all law abidingly, do rolling stops, speed a little, cut people off, and the like... Stuff normal assholes do when they get behind a wheel.

The pain that blanketed Cimmeria's back was what woke her. That, and the constant bombardment of light that illuminated the back of her eyelids. Cimmeria kept them closed, unable to face her defeat, she memorized the red map of capillaries that veined her vision. Imagining herself walking in these tiny roads of blood away from her failure. Her torso ached with each breath, the exams ion of he lungs shifting her broken ribs and pulling the bruise skin of her back tight. It had been a long time since she took a beating bad, even longer since taking it from human weapons.

Cimmeria had no time to feel sorry for herself however. She had to get to her bedroom and patch herself up, re cooperate, and replan. Those men had slipped through her fingers like sand twice now, this would stain her reputation and she could now have it.

Cimmeria rolls her body onto its side and open her eyes. It takes a moment before her eyes adjust to the unfiltered light of the room and notices the magician feet away. When she does she can't help but laugh before covering her move hastily. Another mistake could be her downfall. Though she had him on her terms she was in no shape for a second fight.

As quietly and quickly as she could manage, Cimmeria tucked her knees into her chest and rolled onto her shins, resting in a kneeling position. The bruises that riddled her back throbbed to a hectic beat, the knives pain her ribs constant. She used this pain to drive her rather than hinder her. She had to get to an ally within the Wave. Someone with enough power and influence to handle the magician. Somewhere far from New York.
Dieter. Cimmeria will take him to Dieter. With as much discretion as before Cimmeria pulled a small phone from her boot. At the same time a portal opens beneath her and she falls from ceiling of a restaurant, landing upon a table which splintered under her weight. Sparring no time she dialed the Gaultown number that would get her access to Dieter. It would be interesting to see which Dieter would answer this time around.

Above her the doorway to where she held Black Magic glowed its pure light, casting a dim spotlight over her form sprawled out in the broken remains of a table.

(Assuming she's in the same building) 'fuckfuckfuck' he thought, some one was here alread. He stop himself he couldn't run with out a distraction. He searched through the drinks for the ones with a high proof and grabed some fingers full of there necks, he had to think quickly and move faster if was going to draw attention away from himself. He placed the bottles onto the bunkers as quitely as he could and shut the vents. He then looked around for some paper or anything else that Burt with a lot of smoke.

Dieter was watching the footage from the bar still, so he saw Cimmeria fall from the ceiling and was watching with morbid curiosity as she pulled out a phone, dialed, and one of his rang. He looked at it like a mangy dog then reached out and picked up. "Hello, Victoria, so nice of you to... drop in. It's been ages since Rio. Did you bring that swimwear with you? Oh, there is someone in the kitchen, FOF unknown. I am sending someone."

The voice was clean, crisp, and matter of fact. Though some of the words were designed to carry warmth, they had none. Pretty normal for Dieter. Victoria might be one of the few people in the world that knew that Dieter saying unnecessary, though cold, things was his way of being warm.

Below, a strike team was loading into an elevator that would empty out into the restaurant's walk-in freezer. Each had kevlar, gasmask, full helms, and carried an M-4 with underslung M-320GLs, Colt 1911 sidearms, and stun batons. each also wore a set of black fatigues with a red eye of horus on the breast pocket. They were members of Schwarze Augen's elite cadre of tactical specialists. Not Gifted but trained and skilled. They could handle most regular situations with extreme discretion. With them was a mountainous man in black pants, shirt, suit jacket, and shades with a bright red kerchief in his breast pocket. His hair was slicked back and he leaned fidgeted with a cellphone in his hand.

The strike team burst from the freezer first and spread out as Dieter strode into the kitchen and focused on the kid, "You do not want to burn my place down kid. I am a bad enemy to have. Still, I have a friend in the next room that needs help. You okay if I send a couple guys to help her out? Then we can talk about how you got passed my security." He held up two fingers and two of the soldiers tensed to move if given the order. Dieter had already slowed his perceptions down to 1/5th which gave his voice a slight slur atop the German accent.

Cimmeria clutched the cheap phone gratefully at the sound of Dieter's voice. A wry smile replacing her grimace of pain. After dealing with Spurt's unpredictable, volatile behavior, she welcomed Dieter's professionalism an tact. The fact that this Dieter was more a flirt than an asshole did not go unappreciated by the assassin.


"Hallo Hübscher" Cimmeria sat up as she spoke in a near perfect German accent and drew the tanto  knife from her boot. She kept her head up turned towards the portal, her eyes watching for any sign of the magician.

"I regret to inform you that I left my suit in New York in my rush to get her. I did bring you a Gift that I hope will make up for it, though the wrapping does not suit a man of your taste."   Her words were playful, but the tone said she was urgent. Cimmeria, born Vivienne Frey had been trained to handle anything. Right now however all she wanted to do was take a hot shower and sleep. What had started out as a simple reconascense mission had turned into a aggravating battle royale. The leather of her body suit clung uncomfortably to her body, the dust from battle and ash coated it. "Let your men know the Gift is in the portal. Last I knew unconcious. Be very vigilant, he's a teleporter among other things."
This message was last edited by the player at 17:44, Tue 19 May 2015.

Peter opened his eyes, then immediately shut them again as bright white light stabbed into them. His head was filled with signals of pain from his body, but they were jumbled to the point he couldn't tell just what exactly hurt. His mind felt sluggish, his senses disoriented. He needed to find out where he was, and managed to drop himself on all floors so he could slowly crawl around in hopes of discovering his location. Suddenly, he w3as falling and out of reflex opened his eyes once more. Below him, he saw the same woman as from his to previous battles, and she held a knife. That was all he was able to make out in the time it took his brain to send a frantic message to one hand, and with a snap of his fingers the caster disappeared.

He didn't go far; in fact, he materialized on the roof of the same restaurant. He tried to focus on his surroundings, but his eyesight was blurry and his head pounded plus any movement made his stomach feel like it was about it heave. Vargus didn't know it yet, but when he'd crashed into the wall of the glowing room, he'd suffered a concussion.

(Going with them clearly being diffrent people than the ones he's running from)

He had just tossed the bundle of napkins wrapped in an apron and cracked one of the bottles to speed it opening from the heat when they burst out of the walk-in. He turned to them slowly but keep a hand on the stove and the cracked bottle in hand. "My that was quick, but I guess I'm lucky you seam to have things here well in order. But if you thought I was was going to burn the place down you wouldn't be talking to me and if you where who I thought your friends would have lethal gear out at the getgo." He tried to act like he was a little more in charge than he was but he was also scared, confused, and still recovering from a parsyapthedic attack, but for a kid he was doing a good job acting tough given his siercemstances. "But this, sure a thousand tops in fire damage to the wall and roof and one hell of a mess to clean up but it's not burning the place down, least not here in the kitchen with all the fire safety stuff. But I wouldn't be running around in a hospital gown if I wasn't trying to get away from some one and I though they where watching" he made a nod to a camera, "so I though a distraction was in order, but it seams that's not the case is it?"

The kid was talking a lot and fast: nervous. Dieter sized him up and took note of the evidence then let his mouth break into a small smile. The gesture was empty as his glassy eyes held the boy's form. He made a sharp motion with his hand and the two men burst through the kitchen door into the taproom. He made a circular motion with his hand and the other two guards went out through the door Lee had just come in through, leaving the kid and Dieter alone.

---

In the Taproom, two Schwartze Augen soldiers burst into the room and swept it quickly. They were wearing those headsets Dieter had designed that made them look like aliens. Goggles with large, black lenses and headsets which covered and sealed their ears. The sets could scan multiple wavelengths of sound and light at the same time and even filter out many of those wavelengths. Finally, one of the men approached her while the other drew a bead on her portal. They had been briefed during standard training on such things. The one by her looked her over in the same business like way Dieter always had; his throat was moving like he was talking into a subvocal mic, "Ma'am, med team on the way. Hold tight. SitRep? Where is the hostile?" Casually, he offered her an earbud.

---

Outside, the two men made a sweep at ground level of the nearby alleys and streets. The boy had mentioned someone was hunting him and hunting on Schwartze Augen turf without permission was poaching and a very bad idea.

---

Back in the kitchen Dieter moved and opened a fridge to pull out a pair of shiny, green apples. He rubbed one on his shirt and tossed the other to Lee before taking a big bite. The large man did not seem uncomfortable with the situation, "AH, running eh? Glad we sorted out who is who, now just what are you running from and who are you? My name is Dieter, by the way." A dialogue was always preferred to combat. He was listening via an earbud to the taproom conversation. His men all, also, had cameras in the unique head gear and he had the feeds cycling through a bluetooth screen on his sunglasses.

The knife flew from her hands as if on its own accord, it's tip aimed directly at the magician's heart. Cimmeria would not, could not, allow the magician to escape a second time. Even if that meant killing him. The assassin did not consider herself a reneger, but she assumed Dieter would rather have a corpse to dissect than nothing at all.

The blade passed through empty space and entered her portal as the magician vanished as quickly as he had appeared. At that same moment, Cimmeria heard the doors of the kitchen open. She let out a heavy sigh and bit her lip, the pain of her ribs and back burning now as she used the broken table as leverage to stand.

The pair of soldiers had entered the tap room, both looming more prepared for the situation than she felt. Despite being un-Gifted, Cimmeria knew these men were more than capable of handling those with powers. She had fought along side Dieter's men before and had been impressed with their adaptability.

After placing the earpiece in her ear she spoke: "Male Gifted, American. About six foot even, 180lbs give or take. Wears a black tuxedo and top hat. He just teleported out of here, though I don't think he can travel very far. Maybe a half mile to a mile radius. He's wounded, though i don't know to what degree. Aside from teleportation he can create illusions. I suspect he has a few other talents as well. 


((edit: Black Magic was not injured as I stated earlier!))
This message was last edited by the player at 02:01, Thu 21 May 2015.

"I have been in captivity and am not in a hurry to share a lot of details." He set the bottle down and set on a prep table careful to keep the gown shut enough not to sit his bare ass on cold metal. He looked at the apple obveously hungry but to squimish to even try and eat just yet and he set it down with the bottle. "I don't know who held me but they seam to be or least think they are working for the Goverment, and I don't know where this is. Last I knew it was (what ever four or so months ago was) and I was in Boston. I thought this was the clothing store, all the doors back there look the same in the alleyway..... I don't want cought up to much in you affairs and I dought you want cought up in who ever is looking for me ether, but rather than just pretending this didn't happen i have an idea. If you get me some clothing and a (hover?Hehe)bike and, while you can't stop a cyberpath, I can wright up some programing that can slow one down if your system is trinary or quantim.", the kid seamed to have dealt with people like him before, and if he was in better mental and physical condition he might have even made it look like he was holding some cards here. However he was just now calming his mind and body from the ordeal he had, his mind still was having trouble coping with the jump start to his gift, and he all in all felt like throwing up. That and wearing nothing but a hospital gown did little for him.

Dieter smiled as the boy laid out his cards; he could appreciate the direct route but he disliked the idea that this boy had been held in some facility studying him nearby. A facility that had escaped Dieter's radar... that made him very, very unhappy. The term Cyberpath, though, was far more intriguing. He knew the term but had never seen or had verified the presence of one. "Cyberpath? Captive? That does not sound fun. Hmm, perhaps we have something to discuss. As for whoever is looking for you, they would be fools to fuck with me... Tell me, what do you know of the Namidian Wave?"

Suddenly, Dieter cocked his head to the side and grunted as he obviously listened.

---

In the taproom, the soldier inspecting Cimmeria grunted and then looked the Gifted "in the eye" as much as his visor allowed, "Sorry, Ma'am, you can strike me later if I offend, but Mr. Sievold says to wait until I am done." So saying, the man leaned forward and very deliberately and professionally pushed a bud into her ear. The thing... twitched. Cimmeria had experienced it before; it was one of Dieter's toys. A pair of wires telescoped out of the bud. One snaked along the skin of her neck and adhered a subvocal mic to her voice box while the other crawled along her cheek until she saw its little metal head just in the corner of her vision. Suddenly, a small image appeared in her peripheral of her own face as seen by the man in front of her. She noted that he was standing open to her strike if she insisted. Dieter's men followed orders and trusted the man. She knew that the tiny HUD would cycle through the video links the men had in their visors. The crisp voice of an operator came over the link, "Ma'am, this is Lorelei. I am the operator for Team Bananas. We will need you to FOF any hostiles we encounter as we sweep the area. Med Team en route, ETA 37.34986 seconds. Any questions."

---

Back in the kitchen, Dieter frowned then sighed, "Teleporters are such a nuisance. Don't be alarmed kid." Dieter's words were followed by a pair of men in white outfits with similar, if white, visors emerging from the freezer and heading straight into the taproom where they set about working on Cimmeria with cold efficiency and the best medicine money could buy before loading her on a stretcher to be taken downstairs to one of the most secured locations on Earth.

Dieter looked at the kid, "Why don't you come downstairs and we can have a... chat about your future?"

He didn't seam to like the mention of the wave and he was studing the stituation closely, he was young but ether he had been in situations like this before or some one prepared him therorly, "I am in no rush to go bellow ground again, and I am not interested in any job offers." The last bit there he said let him know the kid knew he might force the ishue, but he hoped the guy knew better than to try and force a tech to work for you... With all the shit they could fuck up or leave hidden under mountains of code it just was a good idea to keep things on an even field. Push to hard they will take what they can down with them, leave them thinking your a pushover and they might try and exstort you, they wheren't the easiest of people to work with underhandedly. He was felling a little wozzy again so he took a long deep breath to steady himself before going on,   "let's just keep to a one time exshange, you don't seam aware of this 'government' facility, I can point out the general area I escaped from if you got a map."

Black Magic had not recognized the location he had teleported from, nor did he know how far he had managed to come. The only three certainties in his mind at the moment were that he was hurt, that woman was here where ever here was, and there was no change he could stand against her in another round in his current state and win. Their last fight was a draw, and he had been in top shape then. The magician got to his feet, blinked his eyes in an attempt to clear the blurring which failed to help, and managed to walk five feet before he found the edge of the roof the hard way. With his mind confused by pain, Peter wasn't fully aware of what was happening to him as he plunged downward so he didn't think to teleport. Vargus crashed into an open top dumpster with enough force to jar the lids into falling down, and he lay still in his bed of trash.

Dieter held the kid's vision for a long time weighing the deal then grinned and nodded, "Fair enough; but, I can't just let you wander out of here. Who knows if you are going to offer my secrets to the next guy's place you break into? No, I can't have you knowing where this is, which it seems lucky that you do not. So, There are two options, you leave in a way that I chose or you leave in a way I choose, the difference is the second option is entirely more painful while the first just involves no digital technology and a blindfold. I mean, how many secrets do you think us bad guys are going to keep letting you walk away with?"

Internally, Dieter was calculating his options. The kid was a valuable if unknown quantity. Still, if the kid left, then Dieter could track him and do something about it after the situation in the taproom was resolved. He cocked his head and waited for the reply even as he listened to the feed from his team's comms.

---

Outside, the pair that were sweeping the perimeter heard the massive crash and came into the alley double-time where they made a silent, leap-frog sweep down the length of it. They had been on the other side of the building when Black Magic both looked over and fell over the edge, so they did not know a location. Still, they reported in: "Bravo, no signs."

A reply came, "Roger." And the pair of men began to check the various hiding holes, doors, and containers in the alley one by one. The only one they skipped was the door through which Lee had made his entrance earlier. Eventually, Peter would be aware of the crunch of gravel outside his resting place...

Ether the guy respected him or he was hiding how bad off he was well enough, that was good, this was not the best of deals but the fact he was even giving him choices was promising. He knew his clothing would be bugged, and he knew they both knew this... but he also knew it would take him some time to change into something new or find the bug. But all this was better than other options he had. "Guess I can't look at a map then... you can't trust me with your computers...so all I have is the later, I can sketch up something of what I remember of the areas I ran through then. It was vague but you can link up landmarks and use it to find the direction, can't be to many miles out of town. So you will have a small area to look in, that acceptable?"

"None at this moment Lorelei." though this device was familiar, Cimmeria always found it difficult, annoying even, to adjust her senses to it. She gave the soldier a queer look as he stood exposed to her, ready to take a hit. Striking the was very tempting to the assassin, but she'd rather not risk putting stress on her injuries. "I won't waste my strength on an ally, especially when an enemy is in our midst."

"As you wish ma'am."    The soldier nodded to her, his voice only audible to her ears as well as his teammate who search the room quickly before stationing himself near the exit to the street. "The room is secured."

The man nodded sharply to Cimmeria then made way as the Banshees moved in to inspect the woman's injuries. The combat medics were brusque, professional, and rather dire in their prognoses. She would need considerable downtime to heal from these wounds.

---

In the kitchen, Dieter listened to the assessment and realized that Cimmeria needed safety and that was his priority. He clucked his tongue and shook his head. "Alrighty, I'll provide you an escort, a hood, and some gear. You promise to be a good boy?"

Dieter stepped around the counter which had been separating them and reached inside his jacket to withdraw a small card. On it was an address in a small Pennsylvanian town (Boura), a name, and a number. "If you change your mind, call this man. His name is Mr. Green. We could use a man of your talents, but as you say... a man of your talents is best kept willingly..." The boss' voice was low and dangerous and held a hint of the phrase ...for now.... Then the large man stepped back as another soldier in black and wearing a strange looking cloak exited the fridge and approached Lee, "Sir? I will need you to wear the hood and let me lead you. Alright?" In his right hand was a black, sackcloth hood. The man also had a clear, plastic bag containing a map, compass, clothes, and even some food and a bottle of water.

The boss nodded to his lackey and then touched his ear and exited into the taproom.

---

As Dieter entered the taproom, his face lit up into a beaming smiled, "Cimmeria... Glad to see you, though I certainly miss that little two piece number from Rio. Let's get you downstairs. Can you walk or do you need assistance?" Dieter approached her and offered an arm like any gentleman at a fancy ball might.

---

Outside, the lid of the dumpster was thrown open and a pair goggled eyes looked in at the unconscious form of Black Magic, "Confirm, unknown Gifted located. Suspected unconscious. Recommending full lockdown protocol..."

When Black Magic finally awakens, he will find himself inside a white room. The room is approximately 100 meters below the surface and is surrounded by nothing but rocks and a small shaft leading directly up. The shaft was flooded by water. He could see this through a small window in the small door that lead into that shaft. He was patched up and naked except for his mask. His clothes were in a lab somewhere being analyzed for anomalies. A voice crackled over the intercom set into the door, "Hello, Sir, my name is Lorelei... would you mind telling me yours?"

When Dieter entered he saw that the medics had Cimmeria sitting sideways on a wooden chair, her kevlar and steel shoulder guards removed. They were in the process of unzipping the back of her catsuit in order to more easily assess her wounds. The injured assassin smirked and attempted to stand only to be lightly pressed back into her seat.

"Please stay seated ma'am. I just need to determine that you haven't suffered an injuries that you could make worse my movement. "

She sighed and waved her hand in compliance, though Dieter could tell she was rather annoyed. Cimmeria considered herself made of stone rather than glass and disliked being attended to as if she were.

"You know I keep such things only a quick snatch away." she smiled and briefly opened a portal the size of a pinprick against the back of the chair she was sitting upon. She did it so fast that only a man of Dieter's ability would have noticed. "Though swimming isn't what I came for, I hear  that you found my present for you." her voice was as smooth as glass even as the medic poked and prodded at her back, asking with each application of pressure of she felt pain. She answered in nods and continued to speak: "And I would love one of those strong arms to keep myself steady."

The medic allowed her to rise this time, though she had to use the chair for support. The pain in her ribs was excruciating though she didn't show it in her face. The medic reported that she had five broken ribs, the bruises however were not too serious.

He put some underwear and pants on an quickly discarded the map, he did not want to know where this place was and he wanted that clear. Instead he laid the gown out over the metal counter and drew a rough map of the shops, the roads, and some of the outskirts of town and looked to see if that was acceptable, obviously he would add the detection he came from later. Long as they seamed pleased with that he rolled it up, up on a shirt and let them blind fold him and lead him outside.

Peter swam toward consciousness, and was rewarded by a throbbing pain in his skull. He managed to pry his eyes open, then immediately slammed them shut again when light stabbed his optic nerves.

"Hello, Sir, my name is Lorelei... would you mind telling me yours?"

Vargus slowly managed to prop himself up on one arm, while another traveled first to his head where he found a thick bandage, then to his face where he discovered his mask was still in place. He tried peeking out of one barely open lid, and noticed his identity was the only thing left to the imagination. It was about that time that his mind got the delayed message that someone was speaking, and he thought to reply with a tongue that felt thick and heavy in his mouth.

"Black Magic, pleased to meet you. Where am I, and what happened to me? There was a battle in Central Park, that's all I can clearly remember."

"I am sorry, Black Magic sir, but I cannot disclose your current location at this time. However, I am authorized to disclose that you are being held by against your will by the Namidian Wave. How long and how against your will, I am supposed to indicate is up to you."

---

Lee was blindfolded and led from the room. At a couple points he was pretty certain they just turned him in place a few time or made turns just to throw him off before he was tucked into a car. Eventually, the car stopped and he was pulled out and the hood removed. The two men handed a piece of paper and a map, "We are not allowed to tell you where you were, but you are in Gaultown, Ohio. Please, write what you can remember of the base you were kept at."

---

Dieter monitored the situations as he offered his arm to and then helped Vivienne through the kitchen and into the subterranean base that served as a Namidian Hub. Once down, the Banshees led Viv off to a state of the arm healing facility and gave her a much better look over, any drugs she would accept, and a cocktail of chemicals which should have her back on her feet in three days. They warned her she'd be at 70-80% of max for three weeks and not 100% for a month. Broken ribs were serious even for NAmidian technology to handle.

"I think it's best I wait till I'm out of town, you don't have to take me to far, just let me out some place nice and public a town over and I'll show you before I leave."

"I am sorry, Black Magic sir, but I cannot disclose your current location at this time. However, I am authorized to disclose that you are being held by against your will by the Namidian Wave. How long and how against your will, I am supposed to indicate is up to you."

His eyes were a bit more willing to work, so Peter took a look around his surroundings as he gave an honest laugh.

"Up to me? My dear, that line is older than my attire that is at present absent. As to being held against my will, are you sure of that? The wrapping on my head speaks that you mended my injuries, I am not restrained nor currently being tortured, so what makes you believe I object to being here? For my location, you just confided it is a Wave detention cell. Finally, you are correct about the mount of time I spend here being completely up to me. You have placed a magician in a submerged and locked box, and since the days of Houdini my ilk have been escaping them as easily as you might go purchase a newspaper."
This message was lightly edited by the GM at 07:26, Mon 01 June 2015.

The voice returned, "There are several errors in your logic that I am not at liberty to explain. However, I am to indicate that my employer has a certain appreciation for the classics. Your clothing is being laundered professionally should you choose to effect your escape, unlikely as that may be, and will be available shortly. AS to your captivity, I assure you that it is quite secure. You are not as original as you might like to think, Black Magic sir, and we are very good at what we do. That is all for now, lunch will be along in about thirty minutes."

Then the voice fell silent and Black Magic was left to explore his cell at his leisure. He was, of course, still being closely monitored.

---

The man who had been escorting Lee looked at him and shook his head. THen indicated to enter the car and the drive recommenced.

Write it as you want from here. I think you are leaving the scene.

(ok will post here one more time)

Lee finished his hand drawn map when he was dropped off, and simply walked to a bench and set down waiting for the men that drove him to leave. Once he was sure they where no longer in the area or watching him, he searched over his clothing for bugs, not really caring to much if he got some odd looks.

As he searched for the bug with the senses he was aware of, he reached out with the ones he was not aware off. On Dieter's end this just caused some odd interference, though some interference that had patterns that lab techs surely would find interesting. When it shorted out and fired under his fingers it just provided even more interesting last signal.

His mind was more clear when this happened than last time, but he didn't have to much time to think about it. He didn't have much time to think about it, he wanted to get as far away from here as he could. He worked fast finding a goodwill and searched the bin out back for clothing that would fit him, and switched out just in case, robed a drunk guy, and took the first buss out of town.

Peter waited for several minutes, but when the voice didn't sound again he figured he had been left to his own devices at least for the moment. He stood slowly to make sure his head wouldn't send him crashing back to the floor, then he walked around the confines of his cell. He touched the walls to see what they were made out of, if he could hear anything on the other side, and tapped them in feeble hopes of telling how thick they were. He also looked for any cracks, nicks, or weak spots he could see, and after he had finished with the walls he looked above him and walked around to view the ceiling of his cell from all angles. He figured they were watching him, but also that such activities as what he was doing would be expected. He had been truthful to the voice about the old locked box under water trick, and even without his powers he might be able to accomplish it but such things required time and study not to mention tools which he was currently short of. Plus, he needed to rest for a while longer, since he had no idea if he was out of danger from the injury to his head yet or not. At least he was being treated well, so far anyway. He wondered if that was the plan, behave as though he were more of a guest than a prisoner and he would cooperate with them. For now, he had no option but to simply bide his time and wait.

The room was flawless, as if it had not been made by human hands so much as formed from the rock itself. The resources available to this organization were not just vast but also deep and skilled. The door in the ceiling which looked out into the watery tunnel was ten feet above him.

Approximately, thirty minutes later, the cell hummed a bit as the water in the tunnel was drained. The door opened and a ladder telescoped to the floor from outside it. A very shapely backside climbed down through it and eventually stepped onto the floor. She wore white overalls and had a air tank and breather on. She had obviously blimbed most of the ladder with the water in the tunnel. She also had a brown satchel over one shoulder. She removed the breather and smiled happily, "Greetings, Mr. Black Magic. My name is Peggy and I will be your liaison from now on. Loralei is quite busy at the moment. Anyway, here is your lunch. Hand delivery is a perk of the day, not to be expected." She pulled a pair of PB&J sandwiches in airtight plastic tupperware out of her satchel and a bottle of water as well as a box of those additive pouches also sealed in a tupperware. She held it up so he could see "Crystal Light Lemonade" written on the side, "A bit of a treat from my own stash, Mr. Black Magic, Sir." She handed the food over.

Peter gave her as charming a smile as he could muster, given the circumstances.

"Peggy? What a lovely name, like the majestic Pegasus of myth and legend. I was getting a bit hungry, so thank you for this and for the treat. If you don't mind my asking, as this is a new situation for me, how does this work? Do I eat the food, then someone says I've ingested a poison or some such and they will only give me the antidote if fill in the blank? I mean you are all being very nice, you fixed up my head and are feeding me, yet no one has asked any questions aside from my name. So I'm a bit curious about what to expect. After all, the news gives a much dimmer view of the Wave than what I'm currently seeing."
This message was lightly edited by the GM at 05:07, Tue 16 June 2015.

Peggy smiles and shakes her head, "I can taste test the sandwiches, but I am sure you would suspect I have built up a tolerance for whatever drug we are slipping you. Still, I assure you that the food is not laced with anything. Also, I named myself after Peggy Bundy, so cool it with the lines. As for what you expect of the Wave, maybe you got your information wrong? We are ruthless and efficient, but not evil. We hold life and civility to be important but not sacred. So, yeah, we kill folks and cause disaster occasionally, but all for a cause, yeah? As for you, you are being detained until such time as we can schedule you in for the more usual interrogations. Boss wants to do it himself. Until then, we intend for you to be comfortable. Better PR that way? Who knows."

She smiled and held out the food again.

Peter took the food, his smile never faltering.

"To be honest, I have never heard of the 'poisoned; work in trade for an antidote' thing ever being done outside of a movie or television show. I would suppose such is owed to the fact that even if such toxins existed in the world, they would either have to be a hard kept secret or brand new; otherwise, countries would all ready have formulated a cure in case an enemy used it against them such as giving it to someone high ranking in their government. Then there would be the problem that every person is different, so the poison may work faster in some and slower in others, possibly even kill a unlucky soul outright and fail to work on a rare person with natural immunity. Resorting to the use of something that cannot be always solidly counted on would be a sign of desperation, something I have seen no evidence of in the Wave as a whole.

"You said you strive for a cause; earlier I saw a man in New York City turn Central Park into a forest fire, people who could not run fast enough falling to their knees to choke on the smoke he created. It is a guess he was one of yours, however since the first time I fought him the person who spirited him away left a cell phone for me on which came a call from someone stating they spoke for Namadias, I suspect my aforementioned guess is right. Could you please tell me, Peggy, what cause he was fighting for? To prove he was stronger than unarmed men, women, and children? That he could use his Gift to terrorize those who had none? I am simply curious, my dear, as to what answer you might give."

Peggy shrugged, "Not all parts of the Wave are connected to one another. The individual you speak of... I do not known what cause he fights for. DO you think that he feels himself evil; do you think that he did not have some justification for his actions? It's so human to label things as good and evil, black and white, and not give it the nuance it deserves. Should that individual be pun... but, I am being told that I am speaking outside of my bounds. I am to ask after your comfort." The woman raised her eyebrow at Black Magic and seemed too calm.

Black Magic gave what he hoped was seen as a charming smile.

"Black and white? My dear lady, those are my two favorite colors. Speaking of which, I would like it if you could get me some cloths. Oh, I know you lot are busy with my attire, however I am sure you might be able to scare up something for me to wear, am I correct? At the very least, I would like to have pants on when I meet whomever is to formally question me."

The woman smirks and archs an eyebrow, "Unfortunately for you, clothes are not going to be allowed right now. We have a testimonial and some stolen CCTV footage of your fight n New York with another Namidian Agent and until we can as ertain the nature of your abilities, it would be inadvisable for us to provide clothes. The room's atmosphere is rigidly controlled though and any adjustment to the conditions can be made. If it helps, I am personally enjoying the circumstance greatly. You are an excellent human specimen."

Peggy the. Moved toward the exit and opened the door. It being in the ceiling made it tough for more than one person to access and he woukd notice that Peggy had to wait for the tunnel to drain again before she could open the door. The water drained very quickly and spoke to either a low volume or powerful pumps. Peggy them smiled and climbed out; was there a bit more wiggle than when she had entered? Before the door closed, he heard her shout back, "Since we assume you will count, it takes me thirty seconds to climb the ladder and another ten for the tunnel to flood. That is the window. Know, my employer will kill me to prevent your escape though. I will be back in five hours time exactly with your next meal and some medical staff,"

 Brian watched as truckers passed by the motel window. He closed the heavy drapery and turned back to the simple room. It featured a bed on a metallic frame on roller wheels, (no doubt to accommodate the needs of rowdy truckers and fishermen), as well as a seedy mattress with freshly made up laundry. He hadn't yet decided if he would use the bed, bugs were rampant in the east. Other than that, the room sported a TV with cable channels, a wifi connection, a bathroom and a simple nook for hanging clothes. Just because he was that kind of person, he confirmed, yes, there was in fact a copy of the King James bible in the top drawer of the single bedside table with a clock and lamp resting on it. The rotary phone that sat next to the clock was almost painful to see, and it wasn't even plugged in. Brian processed this in a moment and struggled to accept the details. They didn't matter, he told himself, moving on.

 He unfolded his suitcase and instead of clothes inside, he laid out his meta-suit and inspected it for holes, wear in the machined stitching, then finally he gave the command to cycle through it's current settings, including the climbing pads. It was in full working order as the suit shifted, from black, to see-through and then through the experimental infrared and UV blind settings. Meanwhile Johnny was running diagnostics on all of the computerized gear, it was prep time. Brian began to get dressed in the laid out suit.

 Brian was very interested in the old bunker that was reportedly used during the cold war. There was a paper trail of land-grabs and private companies making deliveries of some very expensive equipment to the old bunker's warehouse in the vicinity. Each of them a DoD contract of course. Meta's darknet sources confirmed that much. What he couldn't figure out was what was being done there, but it had to be related to the Gifted, since thirteen years ago the place lit up like a candle of activity in an otherwise dark room. He had to hand it to them, the operation was off the books and very hush hush. So details were scarce, if anything the area was a black hole of internet activity. A quick search of google business listings had already determined that about the outlying county, as opposed to the small burb of Gaultown proper, where there were around fifty business listings and when one actually pays attention, or just in the kind of way Brian could manage, a ring of these listings can be seen that surround a good twenty square miles of land just outside of the town, to make a literal blackout area, not even telephone service was paid for in that area.

 So after donning the suit, Brian switched it to see through with a thought into his sunglass interface, looking every bit the ray-ban variety. He'd have to carry the headgear and tools in his utility pack, which he changed to navy-blue to disguise it as a hiking-pack. He then dressed in his normal clothes and grabbed a wallet from his suitcase, it wasn't his actual information in the wallet, it was someone named Kory Logg, an ID he'd picked up online. His clothing was casual, for an outdoorsman. Finally, he put his suitcase under the bed and grabbed his canteen.

 He took a moment to look around the room and decided that he couldn't afford to leave anything but a receipt for the room, made out to Kory Logg's credit card, and set it on the bed.

 With that, he left and checked the locked door. He began began to head out of town, looking every bit the common hiker. He finished buttoning the top button on his flannel as he began making his way around the lake's nice dock fishing spots, heading for the 'dark zone'. Being mid evening, he was pretty sure no one would be looking for him as he saw many of the fishermen pulling their boats out of the lake for the day at each boat launch he passed. After about an hour he had causally made his way around the crescent shaped lake and began heading into unoccupied light forest and meadows. Periodically he silently checked with Johnny to make sure their encrypted connection to their black box was being maintained over the increasing distance. He had calculated well and aside from momentary interference here and there, there would be no interruptions on that front.
This message was last edited by the player at 02:36, Thu 30 July 2015.

It was eminently true that one of the things that Schwartze Augen was good at was being a secret. While most everyone knew about the Namidian Wave, only world governments' espionage services tended to know about Schwartze Augen. This was because one of the criterion to be recruited was that you did not seek glory or acknowledgement too much. Yes, the members internally vied and jockeyed and competed. Sure, they congratulated and celebrated, but they kept it internal. Most personnel lived on site, trained on site, and rarely left.

Too, the organization preferred a low public profile. Thus why it had worked so hard to keep its name from being known in Vegas, thus why they were international and yet unknown. They had a presence that could be detected if you knew to look for it, resources channeled, funneled, used, replaced, circulated; however, the actual organization itself was never seen outside of things like the Chicago fiasco. And even then, Schwartze Augen was happy for the Namidian Wave to have all the credit good or bad.

In Gualtown, the organization manifested as a subtle pattern. Not in what or how things were purchased as they had been extremely careful to arrange it to look natural. Various shell and dummy corporation, a few purchases by organization personnel, and even a few locals paid to hold titles. The pattern was in how a certain area of the city was utilized. Businesses were open and reported profits; the businesses had patrons as far as the internet was concerned. Yelp reviews of restaurants, websites for laundromats, an internet cafe with a very active node. But the pattern was there that it was all manufactured; simulating human behavior was very hard. Truthfully, if it had been anyone less capable than Meta, it would have been good enough.

Instead, as he moved around the 20 block area that had caught his attention, he saw a ghost town. People moved through the area but never stopped in it. A few gangs loitered in the area, but that was it. He was certain a few of the residences had squatters or... were they security personnel? The area had high security for one that seemed abandoned to waste. Security cameras of various makes and models on different buildings trying to look like they weren't coordinated, certain building having a bit better security than corner stores should, and even the occasional pass by an overly curious stranger. The neighborhood was locked down tightly, if you knew how to look. CIA spooks might not even catch it though. It was subtle and it was good. Brian had already been noted by security. He noticed as cameras began to track his behavior and more than one "pedestrian" shadowed him for a few seconds too long to be normal. Whoever this was, they were paranoid and on high alert for some reason.

Still, half an hour later, Brian would pinpoint three locations as the critical points for whatever was here: Tommie's, a local bar; Gaultown Laundromat, a 24hr selfservice laundry; and a Residence smack in the middle of the area.

---

Deep below the surface, the organization was in swarm mode as they prepped for the arrival of a severely damaged team as well as some guests. Black Magic's cell was eerily quiet but if he had counted it out, exactly five hours later the tunnel drained and Peggy came down again with a plate of pork fried rice and a bottle of lemon tea for Black Magic. She was accompanied by a man dressed in a white military style uniform and carrying a medipack. He was motioned to sit and wait for them, "If you please, dear, we need to give you a routine physical and collect some samples: blood, stool, urine, and hair."

 While he had originally come to the town to investigate the bunker he'd heard about, whatever was going on in town was imminently more interesting as Brian began to pick out the pattern emerging. Whatever was here was top level with hundreds, perhaps thousands of conspirators. The level of organization, he began to realize, was on par with any corporation he'd run across. If the truth were to be said out loud, he wasn't sure he could handle this level. He kept his cool though and controlled his rising anxiety. With a thought through his sunglasses he began to cycle through his imaging HUD, with Johnny-5's help, analyzing what it's sensors could pick up at the speed of thought.

 He almost admired what he was seeing unfold before him, some of the trees were even fake, giving off the wrong temperature signature, but only so slightly. No he did admire it, the artistry, they were likely antennae and security sensors. It seemed to match up with the level of security he'd seen in town. ~Boss, this is some ultraviolet level crap,~ came Johnny's voice in his head, ~they even have active jamming going on producing some momentary interruptions in our connection, we're cycling through the high bandwidth mind you, the kind usually reserved for smokejumper pilots and FEMA mind you, so yeah, we don't even want to be...~

 ~Johnny, lock down the chatter. EMF detectors are definitely par for this course."

 Brian looked up at the darkening purple sky pretending to judge if it was getting cold or not, casting some regularity to his actions. He then looked at his watch and began to head back to the Hotel. He hoped that his body language was putting off the "it's getting late" vibe.

 Tackling this issue would require help, help he didn't have yet, the two of them were no match for this level of paranoia and they'd likely get themselves killed or worse. No, he needed to learn more about this before he jumped in, as he walked he began to program a new trick for his suit, calibrating a setting for it's color shifting mesh to put out a human level infrared signature with suitable UV radiation to accompany it. He had some of the mesh fabric in his collapsed down RV and he would pick it up on his way back into the house. If he was right about everything, he would be visited tonight while he slept, but he wouldn't be asleep. No he would be waiting.

 As his current course began to unfold in his mind, he calculated a slim chance that he would be discovered before he could get out of town, and if he did, it would not go well for him he assumed. His only chance would be to get out from under the heel of this conspiracy to hide in plain sight, and if he played his cards right, he just might be able to walk away with some further information to boot. Were any of the fishermen really fishermen? At this point he doubted it.

 Brian stopped at his RV and when he fingerprinted the freezer drawer lock he withdrew his spare mesh he'd been prepping for any repairs he might need. The mesh worked so long as he had a nine volt hooked up to it. So he stuffed it into one of his reusable grocery sacks along with some cold chili from a can, his favorite, in a tupperware. He glanced at the magnets on the fridge as he packed, no change, that's good, none of them bothered to get into the RV yet. Moving casually, he made his way to his hotel room after locking the RV back up.

 Once inside, he quickly grabbed the mesh from his grocery sack and laid it out on the bed and tucked it into the sheets. He hoped it would be enough to fool any eyes peering into the room, as he sent it the calculations he'd worked on. The illusion he was going for was that of a sleeping person in the bed, of course upon closer inspection the illusion would quickly unravel...

 He then moved quickly into the bathroom and changed out of his clothes, and donned his headgear. With the suit now complete he activated his sensor blending pattern on his own suit, it would make him invisible to sensors and as it was now essentially active night camo, he would be harder to see with eyes as well. He breathed out a sigh, and opened the door and moved to sit under the clothes hanger 'closet' nook of his hotel room, after turning off the lights and turning on the tv, the sound low. With Johnny's silent help, the pair began to cycle through radio frequencies and transmission bandwidths trying to pick out patterns. As they picked out each pattern of the town they'd witnessed earlier, they began to build a simulation on the pocket-com, the real puzzle was understanding what was happening here. What could they be so paranoid about, what was it they were hiding? As he began to see the reality taking shape, he decided he had to try, he had to visit one of the locations he'd singled out tonight. He hoped he could pick out his target before his window passed.

As he began to make his decision, he decided that he needed to have a contingency plan, leverage. It would take time, but he could run some low level bandwidth transmissions over his cell line, roughly the same amount of bandwidth gmail used to check his inbox from a phone. As long as it was like that, it would go unnoticed he reasoned. It would just take a while to send out the megs of data he'd accumulated over the last hour, the connections had to be drawn to make it good leverage, otherwise no one would give any credence to the story. He sent the info to his darknet deaddrop and tasked Johnny with the contacting of every major newspaper in the country with the info, should the crap hit the fan. He would append more to it as he could, but until he made his move, that was all he could do...

The man before Peggy accepted his next me with a charming smile, yet she was unable to fully appreciate it as the steaming dish was pushed into her face. The plate also worked well as a discus, proven as it crashed into the medical technician's head and knocked him down. Peter was moving toward the ladder even before his improvised weapon had made contact, he was up in the tunnel before either of the pair down below had recovered their senses.

Peggy finished wiping pork out of her eyes and looked up, watching as the cell door was closed and water started to jet in to fill the passage; only something was wrong. The shaft was not flooding as it should, the cell was! The woman made her way to the door that was malfunctioning somehow, and noticed sticking out of the latch a wad of purple and tan; Vargus' lunch. He had jammed his peanut butter sandwichs, into the hole for the latch. She tried to push the hatch open to free the blockage and pursue the fleeing form above, yet the hydraulics trying to seal it were no match for her. She knew the remote command to shut the exit could not be canceled, it had been designed that way to either seal an inmate in the cell before they could get into the tunnel, crush them during the escape attempt, or allow the pass to flood and stop them that way. Since she was by far not the only expendable person working the detainment area, there was no kill switch nor cancel code; the egress would continue attempting to click into place until it did.

Peter had bought himself extra time with the sandwich trick alone, yet he was going to take all the advantages he could get; to that end, he was leaping up the slick ladder testing his luck until he reached his next obstacle. He had managed to cut Peggy's time in half thanks to those ballet classes his mother signed him up for (he needed to remember to send her a thank you card if he survived this), though he took no time to dwell on this. The next portal was above him, fully closed and unyielding. He looked around, and found what he sought; a small metal panel screwed into place. He had been banking on this, it was small yet a comfort to know he had guessed right. He figured he was either being held in a new state of the art facility, or an older one that had been modified. It was the latter, since the covered hole where an access pad of some sort had once been was right here to great him.

He looped one arm through the ladder and over the side, so he could work with both hands without fear of falling. He reached behind his head, and pulled his improvised screwdriver out from the band of his mask where he had had it tucked away; the tough and durable lid of the Tupperware container from lunch. It had been awkward, and taken a great deal of slight of hand and time to work it into place without arousing suspicion, yet since Peggy and the other man reacted with sheer surprise it looked as though he had succeeded with keeping his preparations quiet. He worked a corner of the tough plastic into a screw groove and started twisting to the left; the lid twisted as one might expect yet he kept at it applying pressure so his tool would not slip free. The give of the lid was reached, it refused to bend anymore and after what seemed an eternity the old screw started to move. He kept this up until he had the bit of metal to where he could finish unscrewing it by hand. He dropped the lid, favoring the flat metal top of the screw to use on the next groove. He removed number two, then three, the rushing sound under him signaling his extra time bought by letting the water fill the cell first was quickly coming to an end. He did not bother with the fourth corner of the panel, simply pushing the square of metal like it was on a hinge.

Inside was a mess of dated electronics, things one might have been able to purchase from a nineteen-eighties Radio Shack. Peter was on the software end of computers as opposed to hardware, yet a setup the age and nature of this one was easy to understand; the mechanism to open the door had no direct power source with this model of security device, instead a code was meant to be imputed which would form a connection between a live wire and the device thereby allowing the door to open. So, to get out of here before he took a crash course in how to grow gills, Vargus needed to identify the hot line and connect it directly to the one that would spring him from a very likely watery grave. Nice thing about these old school gadgets, they incorporated backup designs so if one part failed to function the whole unit was not shot. So, instead of needing to check each wire on both sides, the hero simply ripped all the others free save for two making those the ones he wanted. Now armed with the ones he had just removed, the unpowered Gifted used those to bridge the gap meant to be linked by a security code. There were some sparks, a little smoke, then the door forced itself open after receiving the ancient command. Water splashed on the man's feet as he pulled them out of the opening, the liquid killing the all ready damaged circuitry and allowing the hatch to respond to a remote command and seal itself once more.

As it did so, Black Magic looked back down into the depths he had just escaped. Down there now was his jailer, and he up here; their rolls reversed. She had a tank of air, if she shared it with the medic they could last for a while. At least until someone got them out, yet again since he had escaped on their watch maybe death by drowning would be less painful. He did not have interest in the woman's come-ons and flattery of his form, though that was not to say he wished her harm either. In fact, he had given fair warning shortly after he awoke in his former dwelling;



She told him the time he had to work with, gave his things that could be made into tools, and then left him alone for five hours with nothing to do but think. Black Magic was the Gifted super hero, yet Peter Vargus could manage a trick or two himself as well. The young man picked a direction to go in and went on the tips of his toes, attempting to remain silent and undetected by camera and man alike.

Dieter was reviewing the Chicago data again when a comm buzzed and he looked up. A green timer had started counting up and was on 23 seconds. His eyebrow rose and he clucked his tongue. He opened a channel, "Peggy, seems he managed with what you gave him the first time after all?"

"Sir, yes. The test of his ingenuity and creativity is begun. Redcap Lewis was a bit more than surprised by the attack, but his gear held up well. We are using the tank of air and have one hour's time."

Dieter clucked his tongue and grunted. There had not been any design flaws, escape hatches, or outs built into the cage for Peggy, so she would have to endure for a while. If they had left something like that in the room, the man would have found it and used it at best. At worst, he would have realized that they were testing him. Of course, it was a dangerous test. The man was loose inside his facility. A certain amount of risk and danger had to be assume on the part of Schwartze Augen forces to truly test what the person was capable of. Alternatively, if the man had not been able to escape within four hours, The Commander would have questioned him and then he would have likely been subject to exactly what Peggy was now, without the air tank. Dieter had no use for incompetent people.

"Attention, Project Acid Test is live. Team Spooky report to Sub-level B9."

---

Peter found him self in a crossroads. The walls of the tunnel were worked natural stone, so he was underground in a facility carved into bedrock. How far underground was a mystery still. He had gotten a taste of the water that flooded the tunnel though and that had been a clue; it was not clean but laden with minerals and impurities. It had been aquifer water, so the tunnel had probably been rigged to flood with water from the local table rather than any public works. Smart to keep such a use off the radar. Bad, because it meant he was deep down and nothing but floors of baddies above him. "Heh, Logan's run ain't got nothing on me. He thought as he looked around. Four corridors, or two depending on how you looked at it. each was identical with no doors or outlets. The ceiling was laced with metal tubing which had to conceal various utilities behind metal grating. Each corridor ended in a t-intersection and a quick jog demonstrated it was a wide circular layout. In the "south-west" section, for lack of a better term in this land devoid of direction, was a door and a mirror to this door in the northeast. Centered on each door was a camera. A quick scan of the floor showed that Peggy had used the south-west door five hours previous but there was no signs of how she had arrived this time.

If he walked along the floor and searched through the grating, it was all tubes except in one place where there appeared to be an emergency electrical panel and a small emergency kit next to it with a red cross on it. Next to that was a large flashlight. However, the only obvious entry to the area above the grating, while nearby, was severely rusted trap door that had warped shut.

 Meta had waited and none of the men who had been shadowing him had come into the room. Perhaps they had bought his acting and hasty illusion. He had seen a few shadows pass in front of the front window, but none had stopped to take any time. Security patrols at least, he timed them and they appeared with regularity every half hour, it had been three hours since he had started his waiting. He would make his move after the sixth patrol came by, which would be momentarily.

 Between Johnny and himself he had found a rather large spike in comm static, encryption of course. Though to crack the code would require hours, even with Johnny's help. The power of the signal static however could not be masked, there was a satellite communications dish somewhere nearby, one which communicated directly with the satellite, not like your usual passive receivers for directTV. It could never be picked up with anything short of an on the ground sensor system near the source of the communications dish, something that Meta's RV had as part of it's communications suite.

 So it was obvious to Meta that there were communications happening, but determining what was being said would be a feat too great at the moment, though in time he might be able to decipher it, he just didn't have the operating capacity currently to store all of those communications. He could however have Johnny begin to attempt a trace on the information by identifying the satellite above, and then hack it. That would occupy all of Johnny's current resources however and he would not be able to wait for him to try. Johnny was busy, so he'd be more or less on his own for a while.

 That was okay, Meta decided to head towards one of the three spots he identified earlier.

 The sixth shadow passed by the window, so he decided, now was the time.

 He quickly and quietly moved to the bathroom, listening for movement outback first, and then opened the tiny back window and wormed his way out, tuning his sensor HUD to pick up any vocalizations beyond his own hearing range and switched his viewer goggles on the mesh cowl to infrared so he could detect heat signatures. He double checked the efficiency of his own suit as he came to a soft padded landing in the back of the hotel. He found the suit to be working at peak efficiency currently, which meant that any quick look in his direction wouldn't register on any sensors or cameras, but he was not invisible, and it would only work as a rather expensive camouflage currently. He would crack the design on full invisibility if he could later, he was sure, he was close.

 So he made his way towards the 24-hour Laundry, through faux backyards almost all of them dusty and unused, and within minutes he found rooftops to gain and soon he was looking down on the Laundry. On his way he had noted several agents walking the streets, all in civilian gear but everyone of them with a bulge at their lower back or chests. Static monitoring revealed low level comms at work around each of them as well. In fact the first he noted was moving below him from the rooftop and the increase in comm static as well as some sub-vocalization had alerted him of the agent below. The agent had subvoc-ed, "clear on mainstreet...," that was the confirmation he needed. He was obviously reporting to security. He would isolate the frequency momentarily and begin the work of developing the key.

 He took a few minutes to wait and watch the laundry for movement, and cycled through the spectrum he was capable of seeing, watching for any clue as to what could be contained therein...
This message was last edited by the player at 20:15, Fri 31 July 2015.

A grey van rolled sedately through Gaultowns streets. With it's mud-spattered windowless body, unfunny bumpersticker, and a bored looking driver at the wheel there was little to distinguish it from the millions of similar workhorse vehicles that any number of American businesses depended upon. After circling a particular block of seemingly run-down buildings it pulled down into an open garage, the driver exited and closed the door behind him, an everyday action that was only suspicious insofar as the fact that the vans fresh heavy-duty run-flat tires were at odds with it's otherwise shabby appearance.

Once they were hidden from prying eyes the vans side and rear doors slid open and shut as six men disembarked. Five of them wore conventional military gear: Bulletproof vests, helmets, a belt of grenades, a sidearm, and an Assault rifle loaded with rubber bullets. The most distinctive among them also seemed to be the highest ranked; an overmuscled man with a lumberjacks beard and rough manner, despite his thuggish appearance more than a few opponents had suffered by underestimating his quick perception and sharp intellect.
"I don't see any Blackeyes, sir. Think they're sizing us up?"
The sixth figure stepped from the van, his expression was naturally furious and his distinctive greatcoat and high-peaked cap immediately marked him out as their leader. Despite his threatening appearance he talked mildly and seemed at ease with his current situation.
"Possibly, Orwell. Or they might be hanging back until they've confirmed that no-ones followed us. If it were me, I'd do both."
Namidian's didn't always see eye-to-eye, but that wasn't the reason for the current degree of caution; when a secret lair cost millions upon billions of dollars to establish and was rendered useless the nanosecond that it's location became known it was no wonder that men like Dieter and Brett were fastidiously wary with their security.

The man known to most as 'The Commander' circled the small garage once as he searched for whatever hidden camera Schwatrze Augen's technicians would be using to monitor him, which he found pressed against the pegboard hole of one of the garages tool-racks. His scowling face and intense eyes addressed the person on the other side of the system directly.
"Tell your Master not to keep me waiting. Or else I'll have no choice-"
Commander opened his coat to pull something from one of the many holsters adorning it's interior. Grenades, guns, tasers and knives were all visible.
"-but to open the bottle without him."
Instead of a weapon, Commander drew a bottle of Highland Single Malt Whiskey out from his jacket. He smirked insofar as his expression would allow.
"Tell him it's from that batch he likes. The pretentiously expensive kind."

Meta was casually slipping along the rooftops taking mental notes and a few occasional actual notes of the surroundings as he scanned the area. He was two rooftops away from the target building when Johnny-5, named after one of the greatest movie protagonists ever, alerted him to an anomaly. Brian had been monitoring personnel, cameras, and communications equipment naturally. Such was par for the course at it were. The problem was, and the reason this place put even CIA nests to shame, is that Dieter was hiding from ITSDA as well. Hiding from ITSDA and other Gifted meant thinking beyond the normal.

When gifted were capable of becoming insubstantial, invisible, or any other number of ways of being normally undetectable, your security measures had to go up a few levels. Thus, while Brian had not been looking, Johnny-5 had been. It was not burdened by the human normatives that even Brian's mile-a-minute brain was. IT had been using the sensor suites to monitor air flows, temperature patterns, dust, and so many other miniscules. As Brian was just about to jump across the gap from the abandoned hardware store to the abandoned liquor store which was next to the abandoned laundromat, Johnny-5 highlighted a threat on his HUD. Two pressure plates positioned exactly where Brian would have landed buried under the tarred roof. Johnny had only noticed it because the tar covering the plates was moderately newer than that surrounding it. A quick glance around showed that several more pressure plates could be detected. Johnny could not rule out undetectable plates. It also highlighted an airvent on the roof of the laundromat. There was no anomalous heat signature but the airflow in the vent was strange. Air was flowing in AND out. Johnny informed Brian there was a high probability that the laundromat was being watched by a chemical analyzer set to detect humans. NO matter how cool a head Brian had, he had been sitting in a cramped position for four hours followed by strenuous physical activity. He reeked; most security outfits did not bother smelling for intruders. Still, the rooftop analyzer would not function extremely well due to the unconfined nature of the area, but if there was one there, they were bound to be inside as well.

Lastly, Johnny also informed Brian that any closer and they would have bumbled into an echolocation array as well, set up in the laundromat somewhere. Now, how was he going to approach it without being seen?

---

Far away, Commander rolled into the garage and the van sat idly for a few seconds before a voice crackled, "One moment, please." Came a very, artificially friendly male voice. The roof of the garage opened and a red beam zipped across the room once, twice, three time, and a fourth. A panel popped open beside the pegboard and a digital readout of the personnel and armaments was listed. "Very good, sir. Proceed into the kitchen, through the pantry door, into the basement. You'll find the entrance in the deep freezer."

Doing so located a set of very frigid stairs that led down into a white room. Another set of red lines passed across the room and a whooshing sound indicated Dieter had extracted an air sample from the room as well. The man was thorough. If Commander had not been who he said he was or had not followed the rules, this would have been the last thing they saw. He wondered how Dieter killed them in this room idly even as a wall suddenly opened. A glance at the other walls was accompanied by wondering where they led.

This room was lushly appointed. Against one wall stood a squad of Dieter's Ghouls in their uniform glossy black armor and insect like helmets. They were armed much the same as Commander's men. A man in a tailored butler's outfit bowed low and offered Commander a tray, upon which was a box of the finest cigars Havana had to offer. "Just a moment, Dieter shall be with you momentarily."

How do we want to sync these? All at the same time: Black Magic's escape attempt, Commander arriving, and Meta snooping? I suggest all at the same time for fun and profit.

((OOC: I Like simultaneity. ^_^ ))

 ~Bah!~ He thought, on the bandwidth Johnny and he communicated on, it just also happened to be his normal level of conscious thought nowadays, he'd become so accustomed to his connection. ~Rookie mistake! Get yer head in the game Meta...~

 ~Okay,~ he said, making a mental sigh, ~I think so much about the energy signatures, I always forget about the physical sensors. Good job Johhny, you saved the operation and me. Thanks ol'buddy. Alright, lets go over options. A.) Trick the sensor. 'Cuz lets face it, I do reek, I just smelled myself, disgusting. To do that we need some cover up. B.) Overload to false positive throughout the network. That would take too much disruption, we don't want to blow anything up unless it's absolutely necessary, maybe some of these folks are innocent. C.) The Jessie Pinkman sub-routine. It was not a cool thing to do to someone as classy as these folks but it could in fact be done. This option sucks because it means I become an instant full-on-enemy of whoever this is. Not sure if we want to do that just yet. Lets scan for any good cover up... ~

 ~Boss, in the story of David and Goliath, it didn't work out so well for the guys that weren't David...~ Johnny intoned, ~Maybe we should cut our losses on this one, still too many unknowns.~

 ~I know Johnny, but they are definitely doing something with gifted people, the security confirms it. Sniffers, pressure plates on the rooftops, these people built a fake town to keep their secret. It's like that show Eureka, but instead everyone's a shadow government agent experimenting on my kind, whether it's to learn how to stop us or exploit us. It's the only thing it could be. You get why that's bad right?~

 ~I know, and I get it Boss. I'm just not loving the idea of going in there. We usually have at least a few weeks of research before we try something like this. I just don't like it and I don't want to die tonight.

 Meta made an internal sigh again, he knew that Johnny was right, but not only that, he cared about Johnny and he could hear that twinge and tone that makes him think that just maybe his friend had real feelings on the matter, he was insistent. ~Alright Johnny, we'll get out of here. I don't wanna die either. Just as soon as we can compromise the security channel...~

 ~Boss, dangit, alright. <Leveraging resources for decryption.> Then we're going right?

 ~Yep, I promise,~ he conveyed playfully, ~Lets go for a Gorbachev once we're in.~

 He pulled up the schematic for ol'Gorbie and tweaked it's source code a bit, the work was never done after all. It's design was relatively mediocre in threat level but it also held the most wins on record so far. So Meta puts it through compilation. About that time, the background noise he'd been getting began to take the shape of words and information. The moment full decryption of the rotating frequencied 'macro-channel' that the agent had been connected to was achieved, two fast and friendly probes tricked the systems connected to it into a microsecond of interference, the moment needed to get those probes in. Program forceps running smoothly and reporting software and hardware strengths and weaknesses. The tiny node it had taken over looked to the systems like a small fragged file, useless and therefore ignored except every ten cycles it demanded a change in it's position within the memory. When this happened, the system would read it, and allocate new memory to it, forgetting to erase the previous position in the process. So it began to grow, slowly, unnoticed like the creepy adware that highlights words on a page until it gets annoying. Well it just never did anything anyone would notice, so it continued to grow and explore, each copied memory space would house a new function. Within a few minutes it was grown to full size, a little over a few kilobytes and 'knew' the system it was inhabiting. Nothing was changed except it obeyed a pulse that could be conveyed over the radio channel, the pulse was beyond hearing range, so the agents would never notice and none of the information communicated over the radio signal would be displaced, it simply occupied a space on the radios slim bandwidth not being used. It was then that Meta sent a single pulsing message to the waiting programs.

 ~Mister Gorbachev, tear down those walls.~

 It was the order for Gorbie to sign a lil treaty with the system it inhabited. In exchange for running in the background, the system wouldn't crash, it was just another part of the antiviral operations, nothing to fear or get alarmed about.

 And so it began. The waiting programs in the nearest agent's comm gear began to spill their story, still slowly as it took a few full minutes to transmit the info, the central comm relay it was taking direction from began to report as well. The incontinent systems had no idea what was happening, the radio equipment was slow tonight, for a couple minutes at least and not overly. Brian and Johnny sorted the information as quickly as possible, software was blackmarket definitely, hybrids of recent DoD development, and what was definitely Namidian made, only a few humans could code on that level and they weren't likely to do it for sinister baddies like these, he knew two of them personally. The hardware was out of this world. There were even holographics involved, they were packed with data. Little was wasted here. Security itself was vast and complex. Layers of sensors all throughout the town and deep beneath it. They didn't have time to sift through everything coming in, it was too much, but he did notice a lot of attention being paid to someone in the depths. Uncontained was the word he found floating through the memory cache more often than other large words. Also an important looking man in a back-alley with several well armed men...47% of security was being focused on them, the most by a decent margin.

 Seconds pass.

 ~Okay, time to go.~

 Meta left the connection open, slowed it down, made it less noticeable. He and Johnny silently began to climb off the roof. Slowly, with absolute quiet he began to make his way back to the Hotel, he could do anything there that he could do here now and be in less danger he calculated. An hour passes as he painstakingly crosses the town one more time, back to the illusion of safety his room offered.

 ~There's a guy in there Boss...~

 ~I know Johnny. We can't do anything about that right now. These guys are black-ops legends. It's the Schwatrze Augen, and we can't take on an army by ourselves.~
This message was last edited by the player at 10:12, Sat 01 Aug 2015.

OOC: So long as no timing inconstancies come up I don't see any issue with it all kicking off at once.

The Commander declined the cigars with a polite wave of his hand, he appreciated the gesture but luxury was not something he often partook of- and rather than wait on one of the rooms lush pieces of furniture he took a place leaning against the wall and took a small tablet computer out of his coat and started reading through a set of documents. If he ever found a spare moment Commander filled it with work, and there was always something that needed his attention.
"Coffee would be great, though. Double Redeye. Black." He called out to the butler.

Commanders own men stood around the room uncomfortably as they tried to convey a sense of professional vigilance, without appearing to outright threaten their hosts- before the Butler could turn away to fix Commanders sleep substitute one of his men reached out to take a cigar from the offered tray, Orwell pulled the man back into line by the nape of his bodyarmor.
"Huxley, don't be an ass."
The squad leader dragged back a younger member of his squad, a brace of non-regulation kabar knives marked the undisciplined solider out from his peers. He spoke in a slight southern drawl.
"'Ahm jus' being a polite guest is all, boss."
Commander looked up from his tablet and shot the pair a withering glare that seemed to say 'really?' before he turned back to his reading.
"-Sorry, Commander."
"-Sorry Chief."
This message was last edited by the player at 20:41, Sat 01 Aug 2015.

Peter scouted the area as quickly and quietly as it was possible for him to do, figuring out in short order that he was in a maze of circular hallways All the doors he found were monitored by cameras, and evidence was present that one of the hatches had been used at some previous point; he also found a small maintenance area visible through a grated area, yet the only way to access it looked to be a badly rusted trapdoor. Vargus made his way to it, and slammed his body hard into the resistant though damaged metal. A couple of rust flakes drifted free after the first attempt, followed by a growing amount while the blockade began to groan and then screech  Finally, it gave enough to allow the man into the space beyond. The young man had to admit to himself that practicing ballet, stage magic, and fighting did its part to keep one's muscles toned. His shoulder was going to be sore for a while, yet it was nothing he could not live with. He was too distracted by his prizes to worry about such minor discomfort anyway.

The Gifted wasted no time in picking up and unscrewing the bottom, then keeping hold of the lid yet dropping the rest of the device in disinterest. Using his fingers, he worried the copper coil held there until it broke free. Next, he flipped open the emergeny kit and pulled out the tiny scissors. Instead of having some misplaced thought of using them as a weapon, instead the tech turned to the old iron door and chiseled until a piece of the metal had come free. He took his latest acquisition and wrapped the coil around it, then laid this down to once more return to the kit. This time, he took out a roll of gauze and rubber gloves, tearing the fabric and stuffing half into one of the pair and the other likewise. Finally, he opened the electrical panel.

Using the now padded gloves, Peter picked up his little makeshift device and placed the ends of the copper wire into live current. In the base, for just an instant, the camera feeds in his area flickered. Vargus removed his gadget, then applied it again. He had created an electromagnet, and thanks to the hefty power provided by the panel he was creating pulses that were interfering with wireless singles. He realized from tasting the water meant to drown him that he was not most like in or near a town, yet people liked to hike, fish, and take a GPS or cell phone with them. He could not be sure, yet if he was generating a strong enough pulse those devices would get faint interruption. Nothing of importance, unless attention was paid to the pattern he was using;

'DOT DOT DOT
DASH DASH DASH
DOT DOT DOT'

SOS

Peter knew a lot of things were against him for this to work, yet he not only knew he had to try something it had to be what was not expected of him. He had been willing to believe the food was a gesture meant to gain his cooperation, yet when he had gotten out of his cell such illusions faded. He had to be in some kind of prison wing or something, yet there was not a single guard to be found. Also, although he knew he had been monitored earlier there was no alarm sounding at his attempted escape. Then, he found needed items sealed away from him by a block that he clearly had the physical strength to overcome. He was skilled in making things seem a way they were not, and as such he could likewise tell when it was being done to him. Things to use, details he would need to escape, time to plan, now equipment just waiting for him. This was yelling 'set up' to him loud and clear. He was not going to give up his effort simply because it had been allowed him more than earned, yet he was now trying to do things in a way not foreseen and therefore not guarded against.

Dieter's hand paused as it rested on the door handle and he pulled out a touch device. A quick swipe of his thumb in a preset pattern that was long enough for the screen to read his prints and biosigns later and he was looking at an update.


Report>>>
Subject Obtained toolkit 1, cont.>>>
Signal sent through power grid>>>

Query?
Acceptable?
Yes           No


Dieter smiled and hit the green yes button then pocketed the device. He then twisted the handle and stepped into the room even as the butler was leaving. He paused the man and spoke quietly in German. The man nodded and left. Dieter strode through his own security and moved to the table where the cigars had been set and picked one up. he rolled it in his fingers a few times, cut the end off, and stuck it in the corner of his mouth without lighting it. Instead, he worried at the but with the tip of his tongue in a sort of nervous gesture. "Commander, you made excellent time. Unfortunately, the subject has entered phase two of containment earlier than expected. If you want, you can monitor?

Dieter didn't really wait for an answer, "Oh, did you get the up to date dossier? There is a Ethernet jack in the wall there and 7 100 foot lengths of cat-6 cable in the drawer in that endstand. Feel free to log on to the "Commander" network, password is... hmm, the exact date and time of our first meeting with the name of the city we met in the second time spaced out between the numbers evenly dash SA." Dieter grinned. No better way to verify identity than this. Commander was one of the few men who was as attention oriented as Dieter was after all. Dieter waited for the man to set up. He assumed they brought burner devices.

As they waited, the butler came back with a cup of dark, fantastic smelling coffee (definitely not Foldger's crystals) in a small pot with eight cups. He then gave Dieter a French press which the large man worked absently before pouring his own cup and adding considerable amounts of heavy cream. A tray of blueberry-lemon muffins was set down on a table in the center of the room and Dieter motioned to them.

Once the group had their internet access, WiFi was a strict and absolute nono down here and the wired cable was dedicated to this facility. They had access to a video stream of Black Magics containment facility live as well as archive footage of his captivity. "The man in question is in detainment facility Durin under the Lake. You and your team will be ceded temporary access to and control of the facility. Proceed as you wish. Questions?"

---

Back at the hotel, as Birna approached, Johnny spoke again, "No, not in the facility, though that IS a concern. I meant in the room."

Sure enough, the light in his motel room was on. Whoever it had broken in was either a rank amateur or didn't care that Brian knew. "Also, I have detected a strange anomaly in the communications network I am monitoring. It is fluctuating microscopically at the power level in a pattern indicative of an "SOS" message in Morse Code. I can, if you like, send a sort of response, but it would have a high probability of dsiclosing that someone is monitoring the network.

 Brian almost snorted, but didn't want to give away his position. He had made it back to the bathroom window when Johnny alerted him to the presence of an intruder. ~Crap,~ he thought, ~easy enough. Johnny, we'll send a message back to the trapped guy in a minute. First, we have to get that person out of there. Where's my squirt gun...Ah yes, back in the RV. Perfect.~

 The first thing that he needed to do was to get to the RV and his squirt-gun. Everyone he showed the gun to was always laughing at him, but he knew it was the most effective way of dealing with unwanted visitors. So as he wound his way, taking his time and carefully picking hiding places, he noticed movement within the hotel room and it bothered him. A headlamp or flashlight was being flashed around and it didn't seem particularly friendly, he was being either robbed or setup, but that was not his primary concern at the moment.

 He palmed the lock on the the door to the RV and clicked it open carefully, with as little noise as possible and slipped in, moving the door to click closed gently behind him. In it's collapsed state, it was not a comfortable fit. He crawled to the fridge opening it and thumbed the drawer lock, and instead of delicious cheeses and veggies in the drawer, there was a compartment with several vials of bluish juice and a squirt-gun. He quickly emptied the contents of one vial into the gun and making sure there were no leaks in it, put it into his pocket along with another shatter proof vial. No, better to make that two more vials, just in case.

 He then carefully got out of the vehicle. Careful to listen for noises which might come from outside, indicators that he would need to stay inside. He checked his internal time, ~crap, another pass of the guard due any moment,~ he waited. One minute, then two, he heard muffled footsteps as one of the agents approached. Then stop, and begin to converse in low tones with the person within his room. They had found him out and Brian had been correct, they just waited much longer than he thought. He needed to act fast if he was to save his bacon...

 Using the sophisticated channel he had accessed earlier, the one that all the security seemed to be on. He quickly accessed his voice modulator program and began to make adjustments, to mimic a manly voice, this one would have a German accent. He spoke with thoughts into his interface and pocket terminal and what emerged over the radio was the German voice. His mind flew as he thought of the mapping system they had used for coverage, "Contact by the lake. Shit, the guest's a late night skinny-dipper, sector six."

 The agents outside stopped their conversation, "Copy, Gambit-1 moving to you," one of them sub-vocalized. The other one actually spoke in low tones to Gambit-1, "Just in case you lose him, I'll wait outside."

 The Gambit-1 moved off, and the second agent remained. This would be easier to accomplish. Brian slowly crept from the RV. Luckily, there were other vehicles parked around to make it seem like a hopping place, or maybe there were some other guests here. Whatever the case, he knew that this was just what he needed. He internally flicked his suit to try reactive camo, and as long as he didn't move beneath those street lights, he'd be pretty tough to see, even for a trained eye.

 Meta began to slide from car to truck to car, conscious of his shadow even in the moonlit parking lot. He circled where he thought the agent was and stopped as he got closer to reassess, he didn't want to pop out only to have the agent take him from behind because of an assumed position. There, a boot moving on the pavement. He zeroed in. Then he came up behind the agent, squirtgun in hand and said quietly, "S'cuse me, got a light?"

 The man turned expecting something completely different from what he saw. The man was dressed in street clothes which was exactly what was required for the squirt-gun, "Shhhhurrrr?..., " he started to say seeing Meta's masked face as he shot him in the eye with a squirt, it took mere moments for the juice to begin to take effect.

 The breadth and width of Brian's knowledge of neurology and materials science was pretty astounding. So it was that he had come upon the sleep inducing toxin he named, FADEAWAY. It was super fast acting by greasing the neurons of the skin, and as long as skin was indeed present, absorption was fast. The man began to crumple before he even finished his sentence, he might not even remember what happened, he couldn't be sure though, brain hacking was hard if you didn't want to hurt someone and he didn't want to kill this man. Brian caught the man before he hit the pavement and began to drag him into the open room. He put him into the bathtub and squirted him again. It would last a good two hours he calculated...

 From there it was a quick grab of his suitcase, stuffing his material into it. He cursed that the man had found it and moved it, but he hoped it would not be the main thrust of his report. He closed up the room and cleaned the room of any prints he might've left, he couldn't be as thorough as he'd like but time was of the essence now. He quickly headed for the RV and packed up. Agent Gambit-1 would not take long to figure out he'd been had, he had one chance to help the guy within the compound and it wouldn't be over the SOS interference.

 Meta dived into the security system and initiated Gorbachev's disarmament protocol. If they had some higher than average technicians and he suspected they did, they would be able to get security up and running again within half an hour to an hour. Until then, Gorbie would throw false positives around the system sensors and disrupt communications and monitoring devices, even lights might flicker. He was careful not to leave his calling card anywhere in the system, because they would really hate him after this, but it was the only way...

 ~Alright Johnny, we've got to get out of here or we are dead meat.~

 He hopped into his truck and began to pull out of town.

Edit: I'm done editting, caught a couple weird errors. I'm a perfectionist like that.
This message was last edited by the player at 03:27, Wed 05 Aug 2015.

The Commander found the cables in the drawer indicated. He made a point of ejecting the tablets memory card before connecting one end of cat-6 and dropping the remaining cable by one of the rooms wall ports. As he walked to join Dieter in the centre of the room Orwell stooped to plug it into place.

"Dieter, a pleasure to see you again- it's really has been too long."
Commander placed the unopened bottle of whiskey he'd bought on the table and immediately forgot about it as he dug his teeth into real work, namely deciphering the ridiculous password Schwatrze Augen had assigned him. After a few moments of furious typing his tablet flashed into life and connected to Dieters network, the automatic security software on The Commanders device and Dieters system had a brief battle for supremacy before the networked supercomputers finally outthought his laptops core into submission; the tablets screen lagged briefly as it's system was scanned, it's operating system partially overwritten, and finally allowed access.
"Your security admin doesn't fuck around." Commander observed with a tutt of irritation. "-and judging from the files you've given me, neither do your prisoners."

Commander played the jailtime footage on a looped hundred-times fast forward as he prepared a mug of rich coffee for himself. The video image of Peter Vargus moved around the screen jerkily as he shifted out of unconsciousness, paced his cell hurriedly, frantically conversed with his jailor, waited, and executed his escape in a handful of frames before the video looped again. Commander watched the loop run it's course a few times more before switching to the second set of files: the set of live camera feeds of Peter's current escape attempt.
"He's skilled. I'm impressed that he's gotten this far without using his abilities." Commander concluded.
He blew steam from his mug as he watched the man closely. Not only had Peter escaped his cell, but he'd done so without killing any of his jailers, had realized that even after his 'escape' that he was being toyed with, and had taken steps to upset Dieters game. From a tactical perspective the man had performed flawlessly and his only mistake had been to get caught in the first place, unfortunately that single slip-up was enough to guarantee his fate.

Commander pushed his computer away and gave Dieter his full attention. He'd gathered enough information to draft his plans, and now he intended to implement them.
"Before I begin I have several questions. Firstly, what information do you want me to extract from this man? I can discover his identity, of course, but if you have any specific requests I'm sure that he can oblige you."
Commander stood up and started checking his weapons, and his men took it as their cue to fall into position behind him.
"Secondly, I do my best work with a captive audience. I trust that you'll have no objections if I end your wargame prematurely?"
The Commander clicked open the breach of his M320 grenade launcher and checked that it was loaded. Against the barely-armed prisoner the weapon seemed excessive, but in the years that Dieter had worked with The Commander neither had known the other to underestimate a foe.
"Finally, what are your 'ultimate' plans for the man? You already know that I don't do executions, so I assume that you'll want him in one piece for a while longer."
This message was last edited by the player at 22:43, Wed 05 Aug 2015.

Dieter didn't respond to Commander's various declarations about Dieter's organization. They weren't comments meant for answer; they were compliments from one professional to another. Dieter had always liked Commander: he was reliable, professional, and extremely skilled. As Namidian Villains went, he was stable and level-headed. He was on a very short list of fellow lieutenants Dieter would ever allow into his locations like this. Commander knew this and knew it was a vote of confidence from Dieter, as well as a compliment.

"Of course I don't want you to kill him. If I only wanted him dead, I have men who can do that. I could have drowned him in that room if I wanted. No, what I want is to see his suite of powers in action for our records. Ideally, recruitment would be a nice end result. I would also like to know what, if anything, he knows of ITSDA. He may have been approached by them already... They irked me today and I would like to return the favor."

Dieter sipped his coffee and was about to answer the man's second question when his tablet device went haywire and he drew it from his pocket to frown down at it. He sat p straighter as he read about something hay wire going on in base systems. He growled: someone very skilled had just hacked them. "We have another player on the field... I will deal with this. Base communications are going to be problematic, but your shortwaves should work fine as long as their isn't too much concrete. Durin facility is accessible via analog methods and I turn over control of the operations in that area to you. Open file 'Champoiseau' and enter password 'Winged Victor.' It will give your operations manager 24 hour access to the During Facilities' schematics, network, and interfaces. Acceptable?"

---

Deep underground, the power flickered and the lights went off and on in a very distinct, repeating pattern. If Black Magic could see it, then so could his captors. But that hardly mattered. Was it part of their plan or a signal of real aid. Only time would tell on that account, but shortly after the flickering, the lights went out and emergency power lights came on. A siren was sounding somewhere. It didn't feel like a setup; it felt like aid unlooked for.

The Commander cocked an eyebrow as Dieters systems misbehaved, and the man himself showed a rare sign of distress. Men in high-risk professions such as Dieter, Commander, and most other highly placed Namidians, were no strangers to the unexpected- but Brett respected the fact that Dieter was powerful in every sense of the word, and the fact that something had taken him by surprise was not something that should be lightly overlooked.
"Acceptable." He confirmed, with regards to the Command he'd been given over the prisoners facilities. "Expect your information within two hours."

Forewarned of the security breach The Commander opened his computers developer tools and manually checked his system- nothing seemed immediately compromised but that meant nothing if the digital intruder was as skilled as current evidence suggested. Commander was confident that his own security measures and network of obfuscation would deliver the 'Champoiseau' package to his own servers without letting so much as a byte of unsolicited code through, but here and now the distraction would be a problem.
"If this 'player' situation develops further I'd like to be informed- Otherwise, happy hunting."
The Commander and his troops strode through the door he'd seen Dieter enter from and made their own way to the Durin facility by foot without another word. He had an objective and a worthy foe laid out infront of him and rather than waste time with a formal exit he, as always, chose to get right to business.

---

Durin was controlled by a simple monitor room, or at least a monitor room that was simple in comparison to the Commanders multi-purpose nerve centre- for the purposes of monitoring a single facility that currently only seemed to host a single prisoner it was more than adequate, and like the rest of Dieter Sievold's property the room surpassed every need it's owner could require with meticulous efficiency.
Brett took his natural place infront of the rooms main bank of CCTV monitors and control panels, and after a few experimental keypresses he spun on his heel to face his squad and regarded them with a beaming grin.
"Right. Let's get this party started!" He took a metallic object off the consoles desk and pointed it directly at the the unruly soldier who'd embarrassed him earlier. "Huxley, here's a manual override key for the cellblocks west entrance. Subdue the target without killing him."
"Eh? Just me, Chief?" Huxley regarded his Commander with shock, before his expression hardened- even if the command was suspicious he'd obey it.
"Yes, just you." Commander didn't mind his soldiers questioning his orders, so long as they were followed to the letter. "I need a new Lieutenant to take over the ZeroComets. Consider this your aptitude test."
"Sir!" The solider narrowed his eyes at the bank of CCTV outputs as he gave Peter a predatory glare. "Consider it done."

Through the closed circuit monitors Commander and his remaining men could see Huxley use the key to manually pull open and re-lock the secure vault doors leading into the heart of prison Durin. The Commander was still grinning to himself as he watched over both Peter and Huxley with unblinking eyes.
Orwell narrowed his eyes as he finally concluded why The Commander was taking the unnecessary risk of sending just one man. "You're expecting Huxley to fail, aren't you?"
"I'm counting on it." Commander admitted. "Unless our prisoner uses his abilities Huxley will easily overpower him; and we'll know that there's a reason why he seems to be holding back. Conversely, if Huxley is defeated we'll be able to gather the data that Mister Sievold requested."
The sternfaced Namidian smiled to the CCTV outputs. Dieter wasn't the only one who enjoyed wargames, and although The Commander justified his risky plan under the guise of 'data collection' the truth was that he was curious to see just how resourceful the flamboyant vigilante truly was.

OOC: Planning to do a battle post next. If you're satisfied with the current scenario, that is.

With the Commander on the job assigned there and the matter of the hacker who infiltrated his systems turned over to competent contractor, Dieter was feeling better. He never felt good; he never felt secure. That as what kept him in business. He nodded a quick, efficient affirmative to Commander's requestto be updated and set orders for his own operations specialists, Gates' point of contact, to keep the Operations specialist working with Commander in the loop concerning both the acquisition of the satteltie feeds Commander requested as payment as well as any updates concerning the Rogue Operator in his system.

He then removed himself to his private lab gain and set to doing his work at this location. He kept a close monitor of the evolving situations but took no action for now. He did make a few phones calls, left a few messages, then checked the location of a few notable operatives as he went.

Huxley pulled open the heavy vaultlike door that lead into the west aisle of Prison Durin and carefully pulled it shut behind him where it locked shut with a heavy automatic *thunk* of titanium deadbolts. With electronic systems potentially compromised The Commander had entrusted Huxley with a metal security key that he wore on a chain around his neck and tucked under his bulletproof vest- which could be used to manually force open the prisons sealed entrance. If the facility entered lockdown the key would be useless, but for the time being the small piece of metal represented the only means for either Huxley or his prey to escape.

As the soldier paced the prisons circular outer ring in a full circuit he began to feel his impatience flare up. Once or twice he attempted to radio his Commander for a conformation of the prisoners location but he was only offered static noise as a response; either the concrete was thick enough to disrupt his shortwave radio, or one of the conditions of Commanders 'test' was to make his job harder than necessary- he wasn't fully certain which. He completed another circuit of the complex and his impatience turned to anger; the hallways weren't that long! Where the hell was Peter hiding!

Before he could dwell on the subject any longer something pricked the edge of his hearing, there was a slight scrape of metal on metal coming from the section of corridor behind him! As he sprinted back the way he'd come he ducked under a panel of rusted metal grating that he'd missed on his patrol, and hunched over the west doors keyhole he finally found Peter Vargus franticly working an improvised metal tool into the doors mechanism as he tried to force the lock open.

"Howdy, bud!" Huxley called out brightly, a satisfied smirk etched across his face as he saw a look of panic flash across the prisoners eyes.
"I shouldn't try that if ah' were you." he slapped a hand over the section of armour where his key was concealed. "Without tha' key it jus' takes one false move for tha' door to lock down tighter than tha' skin on ah' grape."
Huxley drew his Kabar knives from their sheathes with a pair of long deliberate scrapes. His target had been clever to avoid him for this long, and had even had the ingenuity to try to force a way through the one path out of the prison that wasn't locked down, but now that he'd been cornered it was time for the soldier to vent the frustration that'd been building throughout his short game of cat and mouse. The two heavy knives spun in Huxleys palms and sung in the air as he performed a complicated series of flourishes designed to intimidate and impress. "Ah'm gonna' hurt you, now. Y'h should have stayed in your cell."
"My dear man." The prisoner spoke with airs that seemed oddly out of place when paired with his unclothed body and unfortunate situation. "Just because your jailers had the better of me for a few short hours, and that I chose to make my escape through stealth and not through force, do not presume that I'm of little threat. Rather, putting hooligans such as yourself in their place has become a hobby of mine." To Huxley's surprise the under-armed and thoroughly underfavored prisoner raises his fists as though preparing to spar. Two knives in the hands of a skilled master against the bare fists of a fugitive gifted with no apparent abilities was not an even match, and Huxley recognised the false bluster for what it was.
"Whatever you say, bud."
Unable to contain a trace of excitement from his voice the psychopath sprang forward to do battle without so much as another moments hesitation.

As Huxley dived forward he danced his knives between his fingers to strike Vargus with the butt of his handles; his mission, after all, was still to take the man alive. Both his arms snapped forward in a shockingly fast whiplash designed to crush both of Vargus's temples and end the fight in a single strike, but before the attack could connect the prisoner pushed his weight off his front foot and darted back a step to safety. As both a dancer and a staff-fighter Vargus was no slouch when it came to footwork, and he managed to avoid Huxleys follow-through and redoublment attacks by ceding yet more ground but at his fourth step Vargus felt his back press into the still-sealed prison exit and realised that he had nowhere left to run, as the point of his enemies knives slashed a thin wound across his chest he realised that he only had an instant to act, and with no other option he pushed his weight forward and attempted to land a punch against his assailant. Vargus drove one fist high to divert Huxleys attention and jabbed the other below his vision in an underhanded gutpunch that was only rewarded with a mild grunt of discomfort as his fist impacted harmlessly against Huxleys bulletproofed vest.
"Unf! Right! Ah' was trying to go easy on y'h!" the attack seemed to annoy the soldier rather than injure him.
Before Vargus had a chance to press his assault the soldier kicked him backwards with a stomp of his heel, raised his rifle, and pulled the trigger. The movement was a single efficiently drilled CQB technique and Vargus had less time than concious thought could provide to respond to the attack.
*BLAMNN!*
The gunshot echoed down the hall with a deafening ring, and in the comparativly stark silence that followed both men stared at each other with a look of equal shock.
Vargus had caught Huxleys 'less-lethal' rubber bullet between his teeth.
"...Tha' fuck?!" Huxley managed.
"M' dea' m'n. Tha's Neva'h 'appen'd 'efore." Vargus mumbled around clenched teeth, his expression just as surprised as his foes. He'd never managed to perform an 'actual' trick without his costume before.

Amidst the shocked silence Peter took the initiative and dived for Huxleys throat and as the two wrestled they exchanged a furious set of punches, kicks and grapples that would decide the battle once and for all. Peter had a few years of practice as a vigilante, but none of that experience compared against the regime of strict combat training that the Soldier had endured under The Commanders leadership. Peters choke attempt was met with a knee driven into his groin, and his attempt to wrestle Huxley to the ground was met with a loaded punch that left the magician with blood gushing from his nose, a final attempted kick into Huxleys side was countered by a roundhouse that left Peter staggering back beaten, bloody and winded.
"Hah! Ha, ha, haa!" As the severely injured magician stumbled back from the uninjured solider he started to laugh.
"My dear man, I really must thank you for being such a terrific assistant -unfortunately I must begone now. Mayhaps we will meet again, but for now it's adieu and orevwa!"
Huxley tilted his head and regarded Black Magic with a confused grimace. "You're full of y'hself all of ah' sudden, did ah' hit y'h too hard on tha' head? Just because y'h managed one little trick doesn't mean y'h suddenly stand a chance."
"On the contrary! 'One little trick' is all that it should ever take to leave a crowd breathless!-" The magician enthused, even undressed and with blood pouring from his busted nose it felt as though something had changed in the desperate prisoner, and Huxley suddenly felt a pang of fear that the man wasn't merely bluffing. "-and you've fallen for the oldest trick in the book! Classic misdirection!" Peter raised the hand that he'd tried to wrestle Huxley to the ground with and opened his palm dramatically, every one of Peters fingers had a grenade pull-ring wrapped around it.
Huxley barely had a moment to realise his mistake, desperately try to unfasten his bandoleer of grenades and cry out in enraged panic before he exploded with a quintuple explosion of teargas, flashbang and smoke grenades.

When the chaotic detonations finally subsided Vargus found the Namidian passed out and utterly incapacitated inside a rapidly dispersing cloud of red smoke and eyewatering lacrymatortic vapour, with held breath he quickly relived the unconscious body of it's manual override key and assault rifle.
"Your fateful mistake was not in attempting to take me alive..." Peter spoke down to his bested enemy. "Nor was it in underestimating my ingenuity..." He inserted the key into the door, and with a heavy twist and heave of muscles the six-inch thick reinforced door to freedom began to lever open. "Simply, you lost because you lack flair! If you have the commitment to face peril you may as well face it with a grin, nay?"
"Nay!"
The heavy metal door that Vargus had been struggling to pull open suddenly exploded outward with an irresistible force that tore him off his feet and sent him sprawling to the ground, he quickly tried to find his feet but before he could budge a muscle he heard the distinctive clicking of weapon safeties being disengaged. Four armed men and their impressively dressed leader stepped through the exit he'd opened and levelled the merciless barrels of their weapons at his helpless form.
"There's a time and a place for dramatics, I will admit-" The figure that was talking was the most distinctive of the soldiers that'd ambushed him and Peter supposed that he was their leader, their Commander. "-but as a tactic I far prefer 'OVERWHELMING FIREPOWER'! Cover your throat and eyes!"
As the mans voice shifted in pitch Vargus suddenly felt part of his subconscious turn blank and his hands clamp protectively over his face and neck unbidden, before he could bring them back under his control or even realize what had happened his world exploded into pain, confusion and noise. The last thing he heard was the rattle of four assault rifles and the last thing he felt was the sharp agony of several dozen rubber bullets smash into his unprotected flesh before he finally succumbed to blissful, numb, unconsciousness.

---

Peter drifted back into conciousness with sluggish disoriented steps as his senses returned one by one. He could feel burning points of pain across his head, arms and chest that felt as though he'd been worked over by a tack hammer. He knew that he was in agony but it somehow seemed distant and subdued as though his body had numbed it's own senses in self preservaion, but as he tried to flex his muscles the damage he'd suffered made itself known and persuaded him not to push his luck. His back dully reported that he was sprawled out on the cold prison floor and that a heavy pressure was pushing down on his ribcage.
His eyes opened to stare down the needled Barrel of Commanders tasergun, the Namidian Lieutenant's boot was standing on his ribcage which kept him pinned neatly to the ground. At the edge of Peters peripheral vision he could see that one of the four other men who'd shot him was tending to the comrade he'd injured during his escape whilst the other three kept their weapons shouldered and ready.
"You've earned my respect this afternoon, 'Magician'. It's not everyone who can surpass my expectations." 'In fact' Commander thought 'It's not anyone, and that grenade trick was executed flawlessly.'
"I'd prefer if you were to keep your hands where I can see them. I was also hoping to ask you a few short questions."
The weapon in Peters face confirmed the obvious fact that Commander's request was more of a demand.
"Co-operate and I will attempt to secure your freedom, resist and I will have no choice but to to leave you to my associates calculated 'mercy'."
This message was last edited by the player at 21:20, Sun 16 Aug 2015.

The system had not seemed compromised, yet what is and what appears to be are not always related; the Commander realized he had made this oversight when, one by one, each of the monitors he was viewing switched of their own accord from a view inside the complex to cartoons from the 1940s. He tried the controls and found them unresponsive, moving on to try his radio next:

"Huxley, report. We have lost visual confirmation, what is your status?"

"I'm inside tha' henhouse lookin' fer tha' fox, Chief. Lights are out, usin' ma rifle mounted."

The Gifted gave a nod of approval to himself over what he was told, a barrel mounted flashlight gave away one's position of course yet night vision goggles could get a man blinded if and when the questionable lights came back on. The voice continued;

"Layout looks ta' be intersecting tunnels, I ken see sum doors visible. Checkin' one, it's not locked and there's...

"There's what? Finish your report, man."

"Gloves."

The Commander blinked as he pressed down the talk button again.

"Repeat that."

"Gloves Chief, but they ain't no good kind. Jest them fancy white ones like what tha' rich wear to tha' opera and such. There's three pair of them out on a table, but there's a gap like a set's missin'."

"Acknowledged, continue with sweep and primary objective."

"Roger."

As soon as Huxley was off the channel, the Commander swiveled in his chair to look at Orwell. The Gifted did not like working on less than complete available intelligence, a fact that was expressed by the sour look on his face as he spoke to the other man.

"I wasn't told about the clothing angle, I want to know yesterday. Dieter has turned paranoia into an art form, the system might be down but there'll be paper copies somewhere. Get to hunting."

"Sir, yes Sir!"

Ten minutes later, Orwell's CO was finishing up on the contents of a file folder handed to him. After several hours of observation, the Rogue Protector had failed to manifest a single power he was shown to have used previously thanks to not only a trustworthy eyewitness account, yet by way of numerous cell phone videos as well. It was theorized that perhaps this fellow had no true power, instead making use of prestidigitation to mimic having a Gift. To that end, all of his clothing was taken to be carefully examined, the mask being returned to him before he awoke from a head injury sustained in an earlier conflict. It, and every other article of clothing, was found to be benign with not even a signal lock pick hidden anywhere. Since no satisfactory results had been manufactured, parts of the costume were placed in various rooms of the testing facility; each item had been mixed in with duplicates to see if the man could tell the difference, and all of the rooms were monitored by live camera feeds and electronically locked doors. The reader smirked to himself on that last part;

'The best laid plans...'

He brushed the thought easily from his mind as his radio once more crackled to life;

"First sweep completed, Chief. No sign of tha prisoner. Commencing second sw... AH!"

There was a thud and rush of air combined with a clattering sound, several seconds passed as the Commander waited in silence. He never saw the sense in the movies and TV shows when someone would keep yelling 'Report!' into a radio, since that would be common sense overall and especially to a well trained soldier such as Huxley. His trust in his man was rewarded when his underling's voice, though winded, was once more heard.

"Why that little... Sorry Chief, the ceiling of tha hallways have pipes running along 'em, an' he was hidin' up there. Must 'a been followin' me tha' whole while, then snaked himself up there when I stopped ta' report. He got tha' drop on me, didn't do more than knock me down though and get me a touch winded. Don't fret none Chief, I'mma still gonna bring him in alive, though not all his bones might be whole..."

"Understood, just make sure he's still able to talk and not in a coma; you know you tend to get a bit 'excited', and the promotion is meant for someone who can keep their head."

"Ten four Chief."

The Commander turned back to Orwell as he once more flipped through the pages provided by his man.

"It says here as a safety precaution not all of the hero's clothing was placed for the test, namely his cape is kept elsewhere with only red herrings for him to currently find. As far as we currently know, he somehow can tell what's his and what's fake so he might well not fall for what they put in there for him. I want you to go get the real one, if he can so easily surprise Huxley we might need some bait to bring the target to us."

The villain wrote down the location and gave it to his man, who gave a smart "Yes, Sir!" before heading out to the Hummer they had been granted for on-base travel.

Another ten minutes clicked by, and the Commander found himself wondering when Dieter's men were going to get their system up and operational again. It would be nice to have control over the facility and know what was going on in there, though he had to admit to himself his team had so far only discovered that this individual could hide in the dark and get in a quick surprise attack he didn't even follow up on proving either he was soft or not military trained which applied to many heroes. Nothing groundbreaking, to say the least. Huxley's voice, a harsh whisper this time, cut into his boss' revelry;

"I found 'em, Chief. He's in a little room, looks like he's working on some kind of' electrical panel or the like. He don't know I'm here yet, I'm gonna cut my light and get up good and proper 'fore I sack em."

His CO didn't respond, normal operating procedure to cut down on all  possible noise in attempted stealth maneuvers. As Brett awaited confirmation of the objective, he found himself pondering the wasted effort of the target. From what he had seen in the details provided before coming to the monitoring station, the man didn't do things when they served no purpose; in an exaggerated style and with flair granted, but not pointless. Yet now he had, using up a prime chance to subdue his enemy even without the use of powers with the end result of simply winding his opponent who would now be alert for any like attempts. Add to that Huxley's training and personal experience fighting gifted, along with his assortment of weapons that ranged from rubber to real bullets, a good variety of grenades, and even a stun gun plus of course his pet knives, and there was no clear way the naked figure stood to get the upper hand.

'Stun gun...'

That word unbidden singled itself out in the soldier's mind, and the pieces started to fall into place; Huxley had been attacked, not hurt but it had made this mission personal for him and now he wanted payback. Of all the arms he had with him, he would choose his favorites, the knives, and use them to damage non-vital areas of his enemy's body. An opponent who was waiting in plain sight, in front of an electrical panel; a giant stungun. If this limber and flexable stranger faked not hearing his foe and timed it just right... In a rush, the Commander thumbed his radio on again;

"Huxley! Pull back! It's a trap! Do NOT engage. Repeat, do NOT engage!"

There was a response, no more than a weak whisper.

"Too late, he tricked me into hitting the panel and giving myself a nasty shock. He pulled some grenade pins too on his way past me, but I managed to get my mask on and toss one he missed after him. I'm pretty sure I knocked him out."

The transmission was broken by a fit of wheezy coughing.

"Understood. If you can, make your way toward the outer gate for extraction and medical treatment. We'll mop up here."

"Got it, Chief."

"Orwell, you copy?"

"Affirmative sir, I have located and collected the requested item, and am currently inbound."

"I'll need you to get close to the gate, our target is craftier than he was given credit for and put a hurt on Huxley. I want him loaded up and on the way to a medic asap."

"Will do, Sir."

The Hummer came to a stop where requested as the rest of the squad got the heavy door opened, their eyes falling on a staggering figure who managed to make it outsider under his own power. Orwell put an arm around his injured man and got him swiftly to the vehicle he had left running, and they were a fading memory in under two minutes. The Commander meanwhile positioned his troops, then entered the facility to collect their target. The group was efficient and worked as a well oiled machine; Brent would stand for no less. The lights came back on just as the prisoner was found, prone and silent on the floor.

"Place your hands over your head, interlock your fingers!"

There was no response, prompting one of the men to move up to the body and nudge it hard with a boot toe; stillness and quiet was the only response. At a nod from the Commander, the trooper grabbed one shoulder and turned the naked form over on its back. They were greeted with the face of Huxley...

---

The Hummer was traveling swiftly toward its destination, then suddenly it shot forward with an added burst of speed only to roll to a stop seconds later. The driver's door was opened, and Orwell's unconscious body rolled out to the pavement with a bit of assistance. The vehicle resumed moving, only now to was heading for the nearest fence and following it to the first gate found. One of the guards there signaled for a stop, yet the only response was acceleration. The driver smashed thorough the gate as a woman came out of the guardhouse, holding a LAW for use in just such circumstances as unwanted visitors or guests checking out unannounced. She fired, yet her target swerved causing her to miss. She said some very unladylike things under her breath for anyone who ever made a war video game or movie at that point, her partner already back inside their enclosure pressing a button. There was no blaring alarm, in fact no sign anything had happened; it had though, every single Schwartze Augen received an automated signal about the escaping transport. In apartments and homes, TVs were turned off and knitting abandoned in favor of weapons and armor piercing ammunition. The entire length and breadth of Gaultown was locked down, in such a way that an outsider would notice nothing unusual at all.

White hands held a steering wheel as a polished shoe controlled a gas pedal, switching immediately to the break when a distracted woman on her phone pushed herself and a baby carriage in the path of the oncoming Hummer. Before Peter could do anything else, the lady in question dropped her cell and reached into the carriage to pull out an assault rifle. He barely got his stolen wheels into reverse and ducked his head before he heard metal impacting metal. He blindly got the vehicle moving backwards, then pulled a turn after which he peeked over the dashboard and tore off down a side street.

Until that moment, Vargus had not realized the scope of the trouble he was truly in. Whomever had captured him, he understood they did not simply control his cell, or the complex it was in, not even only the soldiers he had tricked; all of this was at their beck and call, this entire area. Even now clad in his familiar attire, if he vanished from the Hummer and reappeared anywhere around here, he might well get killed before he was even aware of any danger. He took a breath and leaned back, forcing himself to try and relax; an action that saved his life as a bullet punched through his side window and sailed into the space just before occupied by his head. He knew he needed to act, and fast if he ever hoped of getting out of this alive. To that end, he turned on and off roads until he saw what looked like a way out of this death trap. After several seconds, the machine took off gaining in speed as it neared the outskirts. Bullets pinged into it, but it continued unheeding of such things. It almost reached the limits of Gaultown, almost. Victory was snatched away at the last second as an explosion erupted from below, tossing the Hummer up in the air like some cheap child's toy and engulfing it in unforgiving heat and flame.

Only a few minutes passed before people in orange vests began to approach the wreckage, cones and cloth signs placed that cordoned off the street and warned of a busted gas main. Every road into or out of Gaultown was mined, nothing had been left to chance including a cover in the event a device went off. A fire engine pulled up, several persons made their way to the twisted metal and used high grade extinguishers to put it out. Inside no body was found, just the remains of some gear not common to the Schwartze Augen. It looked as though it had been laid on the gas pedal save for a knife, which was still jammed into the dashboard through an opening in the steering wheel preventing the last from turning. The driver was nowhere to be found.

This was reported to Deiter, who calmly instructed his underlings to search and use any recourse ant their disposal to find the missing hero. Then he poured himself a brandy, chopped off the end of a hand rolled cigar with a gold cutter, lit the latter and let out a puff of expensive smoke before sipping the former. He leaned back, thinking over how long it had taken to get this base of operations up and running; how much time and effort, how many resources, how many favors given and paid. It had been worth it, very much so in the long run; a state of the art facility not only on American soil yet publicly in the open for any and all to see. Many secrets had been unlocked here, numerous mysteries forced to give up their secrets with an unbroken record of success, until now. Within short order, his systems had been successfully hacked, compromised by a virus, the person responsible not yet apprehended while a prisoner managed to escape from the Gifted testing facility. That equaled two possible leaks that could tell of this location, and though in times past they would have been thought to simply be imbalanced in the head, the Wave was such a threat someone would investigate no matter how superficially. That would put Gaultown on the radar, defeating its main purpose and giving weight to any future claims or rumors about the place. It was very likely this location would have to be scrubbed, and a new hub formed.

Dieter was not angry though, not in the slightest truth be told; he had learned long before now that nothing lasts forever regardless. One could knit a sweater that became their favorite and would last years, yet eventually threads would start to come free and snag until it all became unraveled. There were other sites set up, plans and back up plans and back ups of those. Moreover, next time his systems would be guarded against such an attack and security measures stepped up to not depend mainly on computerization. The German never suffered losses, he only gained opportunities to learn and adjust.

He did not fault the hero, he did what was expected of him; also, no fault was found with the Commander. He had used sound judgement and reasoning, brought short by a weakness of caring about the men under him. Dieter of course had no such issue, yet honestly he approved of weakness in others; it could be used against them later, and allowed control if used properly. On top of that, his cohort now owed him big for this and Sievold could collect at his leisure. The crime lord issued needed orders to have his agents on standby to scrub the base, and awaited word on either the possible fleeing hacker or the missing magician.
This message was last edited by the GM at 05:21, Mon 17 Aug 2015.

Huxley pulled open the heavy vault-like door that lead into the west aisle of Prison Durin and carefully pulled it shut behind him where it locked shut with a heavy automatic *thunk* of titanium deadbolts. With electronic systems potentially compromised, The Commander had entrusted Huxley with a metal security key that he wore on a chain around his neck and tucked under his bulletproof vest. It could be used to manually force open the prison's sealed entrance. If the facility entered lockdown the key would be useless, but for the time being the small piece of metal represented the only means for either Huxley or his prey to escape. Huxley also wore a little trinket under his glove; a little white glove another one of The Commander's lieutenants had given him to wear "for good luck (boss's orders)." Already his irritation with this insane test was building, he needed to let it out. Maybe ripping the organs out of a naked, cocky fool would help with that! His teeth clenched together in an insane smile.

As the soldier paced the prisons circular outer ring in a full circuit, he began to feel his boiling impatience bubble up to the surface. Not yet, he couldn't let loose just yet; The Commander was watching. Once or twice he attempted to radio his Commander for a confirmation of the prisoner's location, but he was only offered static noise as a response; either the concrete was thick enough to disrupt his shortwave radio, or The Commander's test included making his job harder than necessary. He wasn't fully certain which one it was. He completed another circuit of the complex and loudly growled. The sound's echo was short; the hallways weren't that long! Where the hell was Peter hiding?!

Before he could dwell on the subject any longer, something pricked the edge of his hearing; there was the slight scrape of metal on metal coming from the section of corridor behind him! As he sprinted back the way he came, he ducked under a panel of rusted metal grating that he'd missed on his patrol. He finally found Peter Vargus, hunched over the West Door's keyhole, frantically working an improvised metal tool into the door's mechanism as he tried to force the lock open.

"Howdy, bud!" Huxley called out brightly, a satisfied smirk etched across his face as he saw a look of panic flash across the prisoners eyes.

"I shouldn't try that if ah' were you." he slapped a hand over the section of armor where his key was concealed. "Without tha' key it jus' takes one false move for tha' door to lock down tighter than tha' skin on ah' grape."

Huxley drew his Kabar knives from their sheathes with a pair of long, deliberate scrapes. His target had been clever to avoid him for this long, and had even had the ingenuity to try to force a way through the one path out of the prison that wasn't locked down, but now that he'd been cornered it was time for the soldier to vent the frustration that had been ready to go nuclear throughout this short game of cat and mouse. The two heavy knives spun in Huxleys palms and sung in the air as he performed a complicated series of flourishes designed to intimidate and impress.

"Ah'm gonna' hurt you, now. Y'h should have stayed in your cell."

"My dear man." The prisoner spoke with airs that seemed oddly out of place when paired with his unclothed body and unfortunate situation "Just because your jailers had the better of me for a few short hours, and that I chose to make my escape through stealth and not through force, do not presume that I'm of little threat. Rather, putting hooligans such as yourself in their place has become a hobby of mine."

To Huxley's surprise, the under-armed and thoroughly underfavored prisoner raised his fists as though preparing to spar. Two knives in the hands of a skilled master against the bare fists of a fugitive Gifted with no apparent abilities was not an even match, and Huxley recognised the false bluster for what it was.

"Whatever you say, bud."

Unable to contain a trace of the excitement in his voice, the psychopath sprang forward to do battle without so much as another moment's hesitation.

As Huxley dived forward, he danced his knives between his fingers to strike Vargus with the butt of his handles; his mission, after all, was still to take the man alive. Both his arms snapped forward in a shockingly fast whiplash designed to crush both of Vargus's temples and end the fight in a single strike, but before the attack could connect the prisoner pushed his weight off his front foot and darted back a step to safety. Being both a dancer and a staff-fighter, Vargus was no slouch when it came to footwork, and he managed to avoid Huxleys follow-through and redoublement attacks by ceding yet more ground. But at his fourth step, Vargus felt his back press into the still-sealed prison exit and realised that he had nowhere left to run. When the point of his enemies knives slashed a thin wound across his chest, he knew he only had an instant to act. And with no other option, he pushed his weight forward and attempted to land a punch on his assailant. Vargus drove one fist high to divert Huxleys attention and jabbed the other below his vision in an underhanded gut punch. The punch was only rewarded with a mild grunt of discomfort as his fist impacted harmlessly against Huxleys bulletproofed vest.

"Unf! Right! Ah' was trying to go easy on y'h!" the attack seemed to annoy the soldier rather than injure him.

Before Vargus had a chance to press his assault, the elite assassin kicked him backwards with a stomp of his heel, raised his rifle, and pulled the trigger. The movement was a single, efficiently drilled CQB technique. Vargus had less time than concious thought could provide to respond to the attack. He dove at his opponent, grabbing Huxley's arm just as the bullet rocketed toward his face.

*BLAMNN!*

The gunshot echoed down the hall with a deafening ring, and in the comparativly stark silence that followed, both men stared at each other with a look of equal shock.

Vargus had caught Huxley's "non-lethal" rubber bullet between his teeth.

"...Tha' fuck?!" Huxley managed. His face was grappling with itself, trying to settle on either a scowl or a fearful yell.

"M' dea' m'n. Tha's Neva'h 'appen'd 'efore." Vargus mumbled around clenched teeth, his expression just as surprised as his foe's. He'd never managed to perform an "actual" trick without his costume before! It was impossible! Or was it...?

Vargus' eyes then fell on to his opponent's arm; a wide, earnest smile grew on the showman's face. The thug had his glove; in hoping to beat him at his own game, these novices had given him the chance to prove his skill!

Peter jumped at Huxley's throat (best not to give the game away yet). As the two wrestled, they exchanged a furious set of punches, kicks and grapples that would decide the battle once and for all. Peter had a few years of practice as a vigilante, but none of that experience compared to the regime of strict combat training that the soldier had endured under The Commander's leadership. Peter's choke attempt was met with a knee driven into his groin, the desperate elbow he threw at the soldier's neck was caught and used to hurl him into a corner, and his attempt to wrestle Huxley to the ground was met with a loaded punch that left blood gushing from the magician's nose nose. A final attempted kick into Huxley's side was countered by a roundhouse that left Peter staggering back beaten, bloody, and winded.

"Ha, ha!" While the severely injured magician stumbled back from the uninjured mercenary, he started to laugh.

"My dear man, I really must thank you for being such a terrific assistant -unfortunately I must begone now. Perhaps we will meet again, but for now it's adieu and au revoir!"

Huxley tilted his head and regarded Black Magic with a confused grimace.

"You're full of y'hself all of ah' sudden, did ah' hit y'h too hard on tha' head? Just because y'h managed one little trick doesn't mean y'h suddenly stand a chance."

"On the contrary! 'One little trick' is all that it should ever take to leave a crowd breathless -" the magician enthused. Even undressed and with blood pouring from his busted nose, it was obvious something had changed in the desperate prisoner; Huxley suddenly felt a pang of fear that the man wasn't merely bluffing. "- and you've fallen for the oldest trick in the book! Classic misdirection!"

Peter raised the now-gloved hand that he'd been neglecting during the fight and opened his palm dramatically; every one of Peter's fingers had a grenade pull-ring wrapped around it!

Huxley barely had a second to realize his mistake. But instead of running, the psychopath let out a war cry and tackled Black Magic to the ground, engulfing them both in a quintuple explosion of teargas, flashbang, and smoke grenades.

The Commander sat up at his monitor. Orwell, his close lieutenant, looked over his Commander's shoulder. A thick, black smog and a waning flash completely blinded their cameras.

"Backup 1, Huxley is down! Assist him at once. We cannot afford to lose visual contact."

"Sir!" responded three of his officers, all of them offering their Commander identical salutes before racing off with their assault rifles at the ready. Orwell simply tapped the chin of his helmet with his finger in a thoughtful gesture.

A few minutes of tense silence passed before one of the cameras caught the small squadron entering the prison. Suddenly, Huxley emerged from a blind spot the camera's couldn't quite reach, limping and coughing. Two of his comrades moved to help him up, while the third ran past him, covering the hallway.

"That's not Huxley, take him alive!" shouted The Commander over his short-wave radio. He had realized it in a microsecond, even if Vargus had taken the brunt of the attack, Huxley wouldn't have walked out of that blind spot. He actually knew how to position himself when wounded.

The Commander was too late. The two men approaching "Huxley" fell to the ground with loud thuds as his hand expertly threw several Makibishi (Japanese caltrops) near their feet. Just as the third man turned to face the impostor, Black Magic wiped his hand across his body and disappeared.

--------------------------------------------------

Unbeknownst to any of The Commander's men, Black Magic reappeared in the Hummer they drove to the prison. In the blink of an eye, the magical hijacker took off toward the nearest fence and followed it to the first gate found. One of the guards there signaled for a stop, yet the only response was acceleration. The driver smashed thorough the gate as a woman came out of the guardhouse, holding a LAW for use in these kind of circumstances. She fired, yet her target swerved causing her to miss. She said some very unladylike things under her breath for anyone who ever while her partner, already back inside their enclosure, pressed a button. There was no blaring alarm, in fact no sign anything had happened; it had though, every single Schwartze Augen received an automated signal about the escaping transport. In apartments and homes, TVs were turned off and knitting abandoned in favor of weapons and armor piercing ammunition. The entire length and breadth of Gaultown was locked down, in such a way that an outsider would notice nothing unusual at all.

A single, white hand held a steering wheel as a naked foot controlled a gas pedal, switching immediately to the break when a distracted woman on her phone pushed herself and a baby carriage in the path of the oncoming Hummer. Before Peter could do anything else, the lady in question dropped her cell and reached into the carriage to pull out an assault rifle. He barely shoved his stolen wheels into reverse and ducked his head before he heard metal impacting metal. He blindly got the vehicle moving backwards, then pulled a turn, peeked over the dashboard, and tore off down a side street.

Until that moment, Vargus had not realized the scope of the trouble he was truly in. Whomever had captured him, he understood they did not simply control his cell, or the complex it was in, not even only the soldiers he had tricked; all of this was at their beck and call, this entire area. Even now, with his glove returned to him, if he vanished from the Hummer and reappeared anywhere around here, he might well get killed before he was even aware of any danger. He took a breath and leaned back, forcing himself to try and relax; an action that saved his life as a bullet punched through his side window and sailed into the space just before occupied by his head. He knew he needed to act fast if he ever hoped of getting out of this alive. To that end, he turned on and off roads until he saw what looked like a way out of this death trap. After several seconds, the machine took off gaining in speed as it neared the outskirts of town. Bullets pinged into it, but it continued unheeded by such things. It had almost reached the limits of Gaultown, almost. Alas, victory was snatched away at the last second as an explosion erupted from below, tossing the Hummer up in the air like some cheap child's toy and engulfing it in unforgiving heat and flame.

Only five minutes passed before people in orange vests began to approach the wreckage and place cones and cloth signs that cordoned off the street and warned of a busted gas main. Every road into or out of Gaultown was mined, nothing had been left to chance (including the cover in the event a device went off). A fire engine pulled up, several persons made their way to the twisted metal and used high grade extinguishers to put it out. Inside, no body was found, just a knife that was still jammed into the dashboard through an opening in the steering wheel and preventing it from turning.

This was reported to Dieter, who calmly instructed his underlings to search and use any recourse at their disposal to find the missing hero. Then he poured himself a brandy, chopped off the end of a hand rolled cigar with a gold cutter, lit up, and let out a puff of expensive smoke before sipping his drink. He leaned back, thinking over how long it had taken to get this base of operations up and running; how much time and effort, how many resources, how many favors given and paid. It had been worth it, very much so in the long run; a state of the art facility not only on American soil yet publicly in the open for any and all to see. Many secrets had been unlocked here, numerous mysteries were forced to give up their secrets in a long chain of success that had just been broken. Within short order, his systems had been successfully hacked, compromised by a virus, and the person responsible had evaded apprehension while a prisoner managed to escape from the Gifted testing facility. That equaled two possible leaks that could tell of this location, and though in times past said leaks would have been thought of as simple maniacs, the Wave was such a threat someone would at least superficially investigate their claims. That would put Gaultown on the radar, defeating its main purpose and giving weight to whatever future claims or rumors about the place sprung up. It was very likely this location would have to be scrubbed, and a new hub formed.

Truth be told, however, Dieter was not angry, not in the slightest; he had learned long before now that nothing lasts forever. One could knit a sweater that became their favorite and would last years, yet eventually threads would start to come free and snag until it all became unraveled. There were other sites set up, plans and back up plans and back ups of those. Moreover, next time his systems would be guarded against such an attack and security measures stepped up to not depend mainly on computerization. The German never suffered losses, he only gained opportunities to learn and adjust.

He did not fault the hero, he did what was expected of him; also, no fault was found with the Commander. He had used sound judgement and reasoning, brought short by a weakness of caring about the men under him. Dieter of course had no such issue, yet honestly he approved of this weakness in others; it could be used against them later. On top of that, his cohort now owed him big for this and Sievold could collect this debt at his leisure. The crime lord issued needed orders to have his agents on standby to scrub the base, and awaited word on either the possible fleeing hacker or the missing magician.

--------------------------------------------------

Meanwhile, Orwell finally broke the contemplative silence that followed The Commander's issuing of an alert to Dieter and an order to his men to retrieve the wounded.

"Commander, why did you give Huxley the man's glove? What purpose did it serve?"

The Commander turned to face his most trusted man, pulled out a tablet, and began to type out a long sentence.

"Orwell, that glove did not belong to our subject. It was a perfect replica, but a replica nonetheless."

Orwell smiled at his Commander's brilliant bit of deception. The Commander continued typing, sending out several minor orders at the same time.

"Though we were unable to contain him, we have certainly learned a great deal about his Gift's psychological component. And that, my friend, was our mission."

Orwell laughed. He wondered if the German would see it that way. Who knew with these men? Maybe he had planned for this all along... It was always wheels within wheels with the Namidian leaders; and it was always a marvel to watch.
This message was lightly edited by the GM at 05:04, Fri 21 Aug 2015.

The ITSDA First Response Team's "Songbird" finally reached Highway I-70at the turn of the hour. Once there, they began using their advanced radar systems to map and track the speed of all the cars on the highway. Upon identifying several suspicious cars by their speed and driving patterns, Jill ordered the Songbird to fly ahead of them.

"Vandal, Whisper, intercept and identify. Go!"

With that, Vandal fastened a small, very compact parachutes to Whisper's back. The pair then marched, side-by-side, to the back of the plane. In seconds, the plane's back door opened, Whisper wrapped his arms around Vandal, and the two elite agents jumped without a moment's hesitation. As they fell, the pair aimed themselves diagonally at the ground and Vandal began kicking the air behind them as Whisper released his parachute.

In less than 10 seconds, the pair crashed down in a ball beside the Highway, but immediately rolled out of their ball and recovered. Whisper then began listening to the inside of each car that didn't slow down and try to investigate, hoping to find some sonic clue that would tell the ITSDA which one of these cars was on the run from the Namidian Wave. He wasn't sure, exactly, what he was looking for. However, experience had taught him that something would present itself in a few moments... if he listened hard enough.

Dieter puffed his cigar and grunted and his mind slowly processed the string of events. This would have serious ramifications. There was so many permutations and alternates that spidered out from this. Still,there were certain actions taht needed to be taken to prune off the more disastrous consequences. He leaned forward and punched a button.

Throughout the base, klaxons went off and alarums sounded. The base exploded into animation as men were roused form their sleep cycles and those awake moved to emergency positions. It had been quite some time since a large scale confrontation between Namidian forces and ITSDA. Chicago had been close but spread out and diffused. Also, Dieter had been in more control of that situation. This, well he was in control but there were too many possibilities. He thought through a few possibilities again.

He could cut ties with the Commander here, but that was discarded almost as fast as it was thought. The man was useful, had done his work, and Dieter admitted he ahd his own weakness in regards to certain people. Cimmeria had been one he was fond of as was the Commander. Dieter would not hesitate to sacrifice either to the greater good of his organization of the Wave though. He radioed into the Commander's frequency, "Excellent if unforeseen consequences Commander. Your payment awaits you. Contact this source for access to your satellites. However, could I ask you and your forces to assist me in what will shortly be a defense of this location? If you follow your liaison's lead, she will lead you to a hangar with a fleet of the APCs used by my Ghouls. Please, take the red one. It is a command vehicle."

He checked the progress of the burn. Of course, no chance could be taken in this endeavor and all facilities and files were being purged. Digital copies were not okay, so hard copies were made and loaded into three vehicles, two normal looking sedans and a helicopter and sent out to various alternate locations. The vehicles took pains to not act suspicious. Each was also rigged to detonate violently if the ssecure hidden compartments were compromised. Dieter dialed a number, spoke a few words then added, "Gaultown location, compromised. Fire sale in progress." He grunted and hung up the phone even as some initial reports of a strange craft being monitored on the far edge of their sensor sweeps. Dieter need to call in more favors and fast. He checked and saw that his resources were below average. Even with the Commander, should he stay, it was a risky prospect. He sighed and told his communications staff to contact potential support close by.

The Magician slipping out of Commanders control had been galling, particularly so because it had ultimately been his own orders that'd let it happen. He'd expected Black Magic to regain some of his powers during his fight with Huxley, but he'd never expected that the one fake glove would have returned enough of his strength to let him take out the backup squad- much less teleport out of the facility!

His self-proclaimed tactical genius had fallen short, and given the other difficulties the Gaultown facility was suffering he doubted it could have happened at a worse time. Although Dieter was known to be a cautious man Brett didn't believe that he'd throw his entire Gaultown facility to the fire over a five-minute old security breach- No, something else had forced his hand.

Commander consoled himself with the knowledge that a Gifted with Peters skillset would have escaped sooner or later anyway. In retrospect it had been psychological bonds and not physical ones that had kept Peter imprisoned in Durin for this long, and if the man had the right mindset he could have theoretically escaped at any time.

For now The Commander didn't have time to dwell on his own frustration. Failing a mission, especially infront of other Namidians, always made him want to lash out but now was the exact time when a clear head was most needed; if he let himself get riled up he was likely to compound his mistakes, but if he restrategized and made the right decisions he could still regain some face.

Commander made up his mind, and spoke directly to the liaison Dieter provided.
"Tell your master that we will be joining this battle. We should move to the hanger immediately."

Mentally he started to draft a plan... then he drafted a better plan...

"Once we're in position I'll need access to new information as soon as it becomes available. I can't make bricks without clay."
"Dieter will also want to know that I'm likely to fly in my own troops if the situation escalates. I'll pass along codephrases and fire controls to Augen's CO, should that happen."

Brett resisted the agitated urge to drum his fingers over his weapon holsters. He would put an end to this farce of a situation, and with the right tools and preparations he was confident that there wasn't a battle that he couldn't win.

Dieter sighed as the first okay came in in the form of Commander being on board. It was hard for him to strategize without knowing what tools were available. He knew the base and its resources extremely well. However, his own personnel were sparse at best. Three of his military teams had gone down in Chicago, Cimmeria was beyond contact for some reason, and his lieutenants were scattered. Lady Crimson was on her way to the Caribbean facility for rehab, Mr Green and Mr. Black were with her, and his other lieutenants were not exactly at his disposal. He had located one Vincent Lee nearby and commandeered his assistance. The man was already on his way to a strategic resource.

even as he was checking the two boxes and overlooking the dossiers on Commander and Vincent, his personal assistant came in with a file-folder of dossiers on five local Namidians that had responded to his call on the dark net and other channels. He glanced over them: he knew Redcap and his gang of thugs as well as Scrap. He'd worked with both of them before. He blinked at seeing Emily Nigma's name and tried to guess what the genius girl would want. As for The Smith and Destroyer, they were well known brutes for hire. Not the usual type for Dieter's plans but they would do for the pinch.

He grinned and spoke instructions, "Get Commander to the resources he needs and tell him he is free to launch that little toy of his into my airspace. It was dreadfully useful in Chicago. However, tell him to calculate a flight pattern that will set these coordinates as its center but still cover the airscpace necessary to watch our backs. Synch him into our comms network." It was a strange command but the lackey did not even hesitate to tap away at his tablet to send the instructions. Dieter's plans were never questioned and not because he was terrifying, but because he was rarely wrong. Dieter stood and punched the cigar out on his desk as he downed the last of his drink. He paced his office, a sign that he was thinking harder than eh ever had before.

"Patch me to Commander now... shshshkkkCommander? Dieter. It is suspected that we will soon need to deal with ITSDA after a fashion. I was already tracking an external hack on my infrastructure when Black Magic escaped." Dieter planned a bounty and was happy with the COmmander's work, but that had already been said and did not bear repeating, "There will be a bounty on his head. My base CO is Captain Greystoke and he can already hear us. You are being given Violet level security clearance for the duration of Operation LookAtMe-LookAtMe. During a a previous incident, it came to my attention that a certain government lab was also operating within Gaultown. A lot of secret places for one little town, but there you go. Once known about, its location was easily tracked though an incursion was not advised at the time. We need this base to be targeted by ITSDA. They do not operate within US purveyance but as allies, so this could be an excellent opportunity to throw smoke on this facility as well as damage US/ITSDA relations. I have contacted and am seconding to you three Namidians in the area and under my current employ. Files are being uploaded to your tablet of all personnel currently under my command." No reason to voice an expectancy of reciprocity. They were both professional.

---

Vincent Lee had been a Triad enforcer a week ago. Now, he was in the employ of Dieter Sievold and knew how puny the Triads had been. They were bent to control and manipulate neighborhoods or cities, but Dieter thought at an international level. his organization was everywhere but quiet, silent, deadly. As he came to Gaultown city limits he glanced over at his tablet. The first image was of a nearly naked man in a mask; a target. He swiped and saw information on a security leak that made no sense to him. He swiped again and saw a profile he misliked about a man named Redcap. A white pale European with hair stained red that seemed to leak down onto his scalp and then run down his face. It was like someone had poured red motor oil on the guys head. The guy had some followers who, ingested the shit from his hair and got mad, super, crazy high off of it? The fuck kind of sick weirdos you hire boss?" he swiped again and an image of a massive white man with slabs of muscles, networks of scars, and a look in his eye that Vincent knew. This man was called The Smith and he was a killer, like Vincent. Supposedly super strong and nigh invicible.

He sighed and slowed then pulled into a Denny's parking lot. Several white vans and a beat-up, silver Ford Escort were waiting. The big guy in the duster with the hammer would be The Smith and the gang of red-heads crowded around the tall, maniacal looking albino would be the Redcaps. Vincent sort of liked it better when he didn't make decisions, but he got out of his car and approached them to make introduction and start laying out the plan.

---

Commander checked the shared files again and found three files marked as assets for his part of the plan: Emily Nigma, Scrap, and Destroyer. Emily Nigma was able to absorb and integrate information from nearly any source into her knowledge base. She was an expert hacker, intelligence officer, techie, martial artist, driver, and anything else someone could teach themselves to be, Scrap was a techno savant capable of making a device for any problem and carried a wide array of things he had concocted in the past but none of the devices worked without him nearby, and Destroyer was a barely human monster who could bond with machines and use them as extensions of its own body. There was also a list of assets Dieter was using for his won part of the operation.

 Brian merged onto I-70 moments ago, leaving the town of Zanesville behind him. He was doing his level best to make sure he didn't draw attention to himself, since he was sure that they would be searching for him or at least attempting to find out who he was, he hadn't left Gaultown very inconspicuously so he suspected he might have a tail or a satellite looking for him. By the time he had gained I-70 he was not so sure he had shaken a tail but the freeway was busy enough to be useful in that regard and would make pursuit more difficult. So before he left the city limits he thought he should take advantage of the high speed cell towers nearby to dish out his watch-dog programs. So a burst of information went out from his vehicle, the frequency of high pitched signal sounds would not be audible to any human, but one with a wider range might be able to pick up the electronic cell-signal bursts.

 The watch-dogs themselves were incapable of much more than reporting their findings to his darknet host, which he could check when he dared do so. Though they would pack a punch for any system that attempted to track them, either by crashing the computer they were on(which would make following the trail much harder, or by actively throwing false trails.

 Brian himself was unconcerned, he knew enough to keep himself focused on the road thereafter, but he silently hoped that he could get out of harms way sooner, rather than later, there were too many variables to account for...control of the situation was untenable, and he hated untenable situations...

Commander placed a finger to his ear as he listened to Dieters update. His expression stayed constant throughout and he finished with nothing more than a brief acknowledgement.
"Understood. I'll notify you when my pieces are in place, and once again after I settle on a plan and move out."

As he'd suspected, his mission in Gaultown had come at an inopportune time and he'd have to resolve a few speedbumps- even if those 'speedbumps' were something as disastrous as finding out that there were multiple secret facilities in the tiny suburb, or that the ITSDA were already cracking their knuckles for a full scale invasion. The more Commander thought about his situation the less he liked it, so he focused on his mission instead.

"Have the Command APC continue to wait in the hanger, it won't be necessary to move out for a few more minutes."
He took a moment to assimilate the dossiers on his fellow Namidians and all the pertinent data that his new Violet security status had cleared to him to see and began to draft new plans in his head. He started tapping out orders onto his tablet and directed a few individuals around Dieters compound to subtly shift supplies around, direct his own personnel, and parley with transport drivers.

---

True to their efficient nature, a Shwartz Augen drone arrived at the Crimson APC only thirty seconds after the orders went out with a portable armoury rack filled with five spare 'Banshee' combat cloaks. The technology differed from the photoreactive colouring that Commanders 'Numbered Brethren' used, but with some tweaking it would fulfil a similar function.

Three minutes later the driver from Commanders van, Orwell, and his four soldiers, were escorted to the APC by a contingent of Augen menials. Huxley was still combat-incapable, but the driver had a pair of supply-bags from Commanders van slung over his shoulder which would be vital to the next stages of planning.

---

The Namidian reinforcements he'd been assigned had a fearsome reputation, and Commander appreciated that he'd been given leadership over some competent and undoubtedly powerful allies. They were all aware of the current need for secrecy, and they made individual travel arrangements to arrive at the complex one-by-one...

The first to arrive was Jesus Jovellanos, AKA 'Scrap'; a resourceful technopath/reality-warper who could fashion electronic waste into almost any tool, impossible or otherwise, which would only function correctly in his presence.
The man was dressed in a large duster that Commander knew would be lined with internal pockets stuffed with gadgets and loose components, he spoke with a curt and tired manner that suggested that he'd far prefer to be in a basement somewhere tinkering with his tools rather than getting involved in a Gifted feud- Commander guessed that Dieters recruiter must have dug deep to pull him out of hiding.
"Thank you for joining us, Jesus- or do you prefer 'Scrap'?" Brett greeted him with an extended hand.
"'Scrap' will do, 'Commander'." Scrap sighed as he pointedly ignored The Commanders handshake as though disinterested. "...What did you need?"
Small talk was moot when faced with a man with nothing to say, so Brett simply took one of his supply bags and tore open it's zip; it was filled with burner devices, tasers and communication equipment.
"We may have a hacker watching the Augen networks. I need a device that can communicate with my Headquarters that's portable and completely untraceable."
Brett then jerked a thumb to the rack of Banshee cloaks.
"These will also require an upgrade. I want the wearers to be undetectable to infrared, electric pulse and echodetection. Can you do this?"
For the first time the becoated man showed some interest, he looked over the supplies waiting for him with widening pupils.
"I can do this, child's play. Give me some space."
-and without another moments hesitation the inventor of the impossible dived into his work with eager gusto. Commander grinned. Scrap was a one-of-a-kind tactical asset that he intended to fully exploit.

The second Namidian reinforcement to be escorted to the Crimson APC was Emily Nigma, before Commander could greet her properly she interrupted him.
"Mister Gondry, I thought I might meet you here. I've just learnt about the Durin fiasco, and it's sloppy handiwork had your name all over it."
They narrowed their eyes antagonistically towards one another.
The two had an abrasive relationship; in the not-so distant past they'd both been hired to consult a mission, the Gifted Analyst and The Commander had started to butt-heads over tactics almost immediately and had never really stopped. Commander recognised that he couldn't compete against her Gift in terms of sheer knowledge accumulation, but he refused to believe that anyone could ever outpace him as a military leader.
"Miss Nigma. I'm so glad you decided to join us. You're absence from Chicago was conspicuous- you were invited, weren't you?"
She sniffed derisively. "Well, I'm here now. What do you want?"
Back to business, then. Commanders favourite subject. He handed her a burner tablet that Scrap hadn't yet had the chance to cannibalize.
"Two things: There's a second hidden government facility in Gaultown, look over S.A's data and deduce weaknesses, points of entry, etcetera- also, we may have ITDSA inbound, cross-reference known first-response teams with Gifted that we know are still in Chicago and decide who we're lightly to face off against. You should have access to all the information you need within S.A's files."
Nigma didn't deign to give a response and simply started on her tasks, despite their differences The Commander knew that she could be depended upon to give solid work, and If he could avoid provoking her ego she would prove invaluable to the mission.

The last member to arrive was the only one to give Commander serious concern. Almost all Namidians were considered monsters in some regard, but 'Destroyer' was one in the literal sense; her ability to integrate herself into technological systems had distanced her from the rest of humankind and others found it hard to empathize with her inhumanly focused need to voraciously consume whatever technology happened to catch her interest and to lay waste to anything preventing her from doing so. Commander had no idea how she'd been convinced to join this mission, but he suspected that he'd been given command over her because his Gift was one of the few ways to guarantee that she wouldn't turn rogue.
"Destroyer, glad to have you. I need you to merge with the computers in the van, S.A will be making their own preparations and the APC's communication systems will let you monitor everything at once. Let me know if they make contact with the ITDSA or the escaped prisoner."
For the moment Destroyer looked not unlike a regular woman, but noticeable distortions pushed subtly out from her flesh which gave her a uncanny-valley like 'rubber costume' quality. She never stopped smiling madly, or twitching.
"Goo-d..."
she hesitated, as though struggling to remember what order she was meant to place her words in, and her insane twitching redoubled.
"...MeetYOU!"
Destroyer's gaze drifted past Commander and stared with hungry intent at the vehicles networked communication systems. As she move into position she passed by Scrap, who covered his current project protectively with his arms. Instead of taking a seat at the communication arrays stool she simply pressed her face into the monitor and pushed her hands into and through the terminals keyboard, and like a scene from 'The Thing' her flesh grotesquely split apart and wormed it's way into every crevice of the electronic device. All three other Namidians watched in fascination for a moment before nausea turned them away.
"Ugh, It's like watching a butcher refuse bin suck face with with HAL9000." Scrap complained.
Commander had to agree, but putting up with Destroyers eccentricities would be worthwhile in the long run; not only did her gifts make her a versatile technopath, but her ability to absorb and reform large amounts of weaponry would make her the groups heaviest-hitter if the worst came to pass. Despite her apparent insanity it was well known that she was perfectly capable of rational thought, and was in fact disturbingly intelligent, the only issue was that her motives were hopelessly distorted beyond comprehension. He'd given her a temporary task to keep her occupied, but her true purpose in his plans was to counter whatever unforeseen snags came up during the course of his mission- and he expected there to be quite a few.

---

Commanders tapped a few keys and activated his second tablet, the one that Scrap had put together from one of his burner cellphones and a laptop computer. The device was apparently capable to connecting to the main control room within commanders headquarters, and did so directly without re-routing through the vast network of nodes, relays and servers that compromised the internet- making it effectively uninterceptable. When Scrap enthusiastically explained his concept E.Nigma flew into an argument that such a device would need a building-sized transmitter to function, but quickly realized her mistake in that it was pointless to apply mechanical logic against Scraps creations.

He sent a single message to his base, which explained his current situation and unusual method of contact. He downloaded an information packet to his own servers that detailed the flight plan that Dieter had outlined for 'Leviathan'. Once a conformation had been received that the unmanned robot was armed, fuelled, and airborne he clicked the laptop shut and sent out a new notification using his original- non-'Scrapped'- system that was addressed to Captain Greystoke.
[Drone airborne. Will enter airspace within twelve minutes on prescribed flightpath, Camera stream and ordnance list attached. All my pieces are in place.]

Peter looked around is new surroundings, lit by a single bulb hanging naked from a cord; the glass was so filthy, not much illumination was provided. However, it allowed him to see he was in a square room, a yellow plaque affixed to one wall with a black radioactive warning symbol stamped on it. He had concentrated on teleporting into a building's basement, but blind luck landed him in an old fallout shelter. By the copious amounts of bric-a-brac he found himself surrounded by, this former bastion of safety had been repurposed as a storeroom; if the thick layer of grime and abandoned cobwebs were any indication, a disused storeroom at that. He could see there were no cameras in here, which served as no surprise; the only way in was a single door, one would have to get into the building above to get where he was by normal means, so there was no point in wasting resources monitoring a reminder of history long past. Add to that the likely presence of lead paint being popular at the time of construction, and he was safe from detection of various forms; at least for the moment. He knew they would no doubt be actively looking for him, and all it would take was one person to come down there and look around for his hiding place to be at risk. He could not give into a sense of security, for it would be false and possibly fatal. Vargus needed to think of something, a hand absently going to the blood on his face before he realized he had used the gloved one. He yanked it back, and tried to see if he had stained it with blood; then he realized something. The fabric, it was not right somehow. The costume he wore as a super hero he knew as well as his own name, and this piece he now possessed was not part of it.

Yet, somehow, he had managed tricks previously only done while clad in full attire; first the bullet between his teeth, then an illusion followed by manifesting weapons and topped by teleporting himself, twice. Stopping the bit of rubber he would have accounted to the mask he still wore, yet he could not do his other tricks until he got what he had first thought of as one of his gloves back. It was a fake, though with it he could do real magic. He began to wonder just what else he could do, and an idea came to him;

Peter closed his cloth clad hand, opened it again, and in what had seconds before been an empty palm there was a wad of white fabric. He extracted this, held it out to see it was indeed a glove like he was trying for, and put it on. Next, using both hands now, he made appear a flat, black circle; a flick of his wrist caused it to pop out into a top hat. He kept this before him, reached inside, and pulled out a pair of pants. He kept this up until he had recreated his whole outfit, then provided himself with a towel and summoned water to fill his head gear so he could clean up. Several minutes after, the performer/superhero adjusted his cloak clasp, gave himself a final visual check, and in a proper flourish Black Magic vanished once more just as footfalls could be heard.

His good fortune seemed not to have run out just yet, as he reappeared in the woods around town in a place already searched. He popped up again ahead of one of the search parties, and using his maximum range started to leave Gaultown behind him. He was, of course, ignorant to the fact more Gifted lay ahead of him on the lookout for anything out of place.

On a remote street on the outskirts of Gaultown, there was the faint sound of clattering rock moments before a sharp crack shattered what little quiet there was. Jump fell from nearly 6 feet up, barely managing to avoid landing on the bike that appeared on the ground right below him. Frank appeared nearly 20 feet in the air with some forwards momentum, tumbling into the middle of the street. Jump clambered to his feet, groaning and brushing at his shirt. "That went well, I think." He said, grinning weakly. "Sorry about the misalignment. The whole point of bungie-jumping is just to get us there." He saluted half-heartedly before taking a step back. "Enjoy yourself, Frank. You'll get directions from Captain Jill to meet up with her once she and her team get here." And with that, Jump disappeared with another loud crack.

The shocked gasp of a driver who saw him crash to the ground. Loud, sharp college rock. A man screaming obscenities at an imagined target (his boss, his wife?). The frantic tip-tip-tip-tap of a stressed driver's fingers on her car's dashboard. Whisper's "mind's ears" forced their way inside each car as it passed, but found nothing of any use for the first minute or so.

"Don't hide from the good guys," said the psychic under his breath. He took a deep swig of the air around him, held his breath, and mashed his fingers deeper into his temples. His display turned up the volume. He seethed as the heartbeats became sledgehammer blows and the chatters became howls.

Vandal stood behind the listening man with her fist curled into a ball and her arm around his shoulder, cheering him on all the while.

"Keep on 'em, Whisp! Just a few more seconds..." said the jabbering speedster. A moment passed. "Just a few more..."

Between the crying child's howl-like cries and inelegant gasps and the earth-shattering thud of a tire going over a bump, Whisper barely even heard his partner speak. Yet he knew she was speaking; unlike Captain Irvine, that woman could never stop herself from meaninglessly interrupting the silence.

The very last suspected car entered the picture, providing Whisper with nothing but normally-spaced, regular breaths and the occasional lip smacking. No music or unusual sounds could be heard, but his ears pricked up at the sound of his nearly-muted cell phone's ringing.

"That them?" asked Vandal. Whisper, unaware that his comrade had spoken, kept listening. Could that be the target? It had to be; there was only one suspect left. And while the call could be anything, it was probably a Namidian threat or the informant himself! Fortunately for the would-be target (and unfortunately for everyone around him whose lives depended on his paying attention), the man answered his phone. The caller was merely his friend, asking him for some money.

"Look, I'm driving, man," said the motorist. And, Whisper thought angrily, that's all he was doing.

"C'mon, Whiz. Is it? We don't got long!" Whisper simply shook his head back and forth, as if shaking off a thought. Vandal radioed the Songbird.

"Bad news boss, they're all clean."

Jill Irvine gripped her console tightly as she responded.

Damn! This has got to be a trap. Keep moving. Reposition yourselves up the highway every thirty seconds and keep your ears open. If we can't get ahead of them, we'll have to meet halfway. Over?"

"On it!" the Ravaging Racer slammed into Whisper from behind and dashed up the road, her feet slicing through the tarmac of the road's shoulder the whole time.

"Hey! I need focus; don't just pick me up like I'm some ragdoll puppet!" said Whisper. Before he finished speaking, he looked out at the cars passing by the exit they were now standing near. All around them, drivers honked their horns and swerved out of their way. Yet the pair, ever the fearless, feckless professionals, simply continued their mission.

"Don't waste time, man." Brash as she was, Whisper knew that Vandal had a point. He listened up and down the road. All clear. Up and down the road near the next exit? Nothing. The next one down? It was the same. Target # 5? No. Where was this car?!

After they were had finished covering over 60 miles of road, Vandal was just about ready to give up hope when Whisper's ears picked up an incredibly high, incredibly soft sound.

"Secret signal? Interesting..." said the psychic. Vandal threw her fists up into the air with delight.

"Yes! We finally--"

Before his associate could finish speaking, Whisper turned the dial on his hidden communicator and pocket confidently delivered the good news to his Commanding Officer.

"Possible target sighed. Moving to intercept."

"Proceed with caution! There's quite a crowd there and we can't have more blood on our hands. Not after Chicago..."

"We're on it, boss. This ain't our first dance!"

Vandal and Whisper followed their objective up the highway, sliding through the path her feet had made on the way down even more easily than they had moved through the tarmac. As they tailed the vehicle, Vandal watched the road ahead of them, waiting and waiting for what seemed like hours (but was really only mere seconds) to find the right instant to cut in front of the car without hurting anyone. 3, 2, 1, now! Vandal ran ahead of it and jumped up hundreds of feet into the air! In an instant, she landed only a few hundred feet in front of the automobile, giving it scant seconds to stop before crashing into the crater her feet made when they hit the ground. And stop it did. The driver just barely managed to stop in time and left his wheels dangling over the crater's edge. Whisper listened to the man inside the car, trying to see if he was loading a gun or preparing a bomb. Since he wasn't, he gave Vandal the signal and the Light-speed Lady began her approach.

Meanwhile, Jill radioed Agent Jackson, who had just arrived in Ohio via agent Jump's teleportation abilities.

"Agent Jackson, we've got a possible situation on I-70, over. First Response Team's got an alleged informant who's on the run from the Wave. Got time to lend a hand?"

Jill never liked relying on Jackson, but, when push came to shove, there was no one better at soaking up damage on the front lines. Not even Knight could match him in that regard. She hoped she wouldn't have to put him back in that role, but she was prepared to do so. The Wave had to be stopped, and everyone, everyone, in the ITSDA knew that pain was a small price to pay for security and freedom.

Ugh, thought Jill. Don't dehumanize him, Jill. He's invincible, but he's not your personal bullet sponge!"

Jill hoped the man would respond soon. She was fairly certain, by now, that her failures and dozens of sleepless nights were driving her to the point of insanity.

Black Magic had been teleporting in a roundabout way, worried that a straight line would be expected and planned against just like with the Hummer. Thus was he present to watch two men come from nowhere, one of which was tossed through the air yet turned his impromptu landing into a controlled and smooth roll that ended his him on his feet. The first fellow was not as graceful, resulting in him dusting himself off while the big and clearly older newcomer picked up a bike that had likewise crashed down hard. In that moment the younger figure said something, then vanished as abruptly as he had appeared. Yet his stay was long enough for Peter to place him; he was one of the Gifted teleporters from Central Park, who had been fighting the woman with a love of weapons and keen disregard for life. The remaining male said something out loud as though speaking to someone not there, pulled out a cell phone which he looked at for several seconds before putting it away, and took off.

It looked to the Magician that these two were on the same side, and the one left behind had been talking on a communicator before looking at a GPS app which would mean he had been ordered go somewhere. Did that mean there were others waiting for him? Other Gifted heroes, like the one whom had brought him here? Maybe it was trouble, and Vargus could lend a hand. Either he would find help, or provide it, yet either was better than hopping around trying not to be found in some place where everyone seemed to want his blood spilled. Having made his decision, Black Magic resumed teleporting while keeping bike and rider in sight.

Dieter left Commander to his work. The man was competent and the aid he ah secured for him was excellent. he knew that Emily and Commander had butt heads in the past and they sort of hated one another, but their skills were compatible on a ridiculous level. If those two could not formulate and execute a plan, then hardly anyone could. Dieter was humble enough to think that their combined strategic skills exceeded his own considerably. On the battle-field they would be scary. Then, giving them the human toolkit and the ultimate weapon were good decisions.

He stood slowly and moved from his office and down a long corridor into the nerve center of his facility. Banks of monitors, computers, switchboards, and other devices lined the walls and filled the room. Five people occupied the room: Loralei and Laura were Spectres or Combat Analysts, Peggy was a liaison, Kevin and Bob were techs. Of course, Captain Greystoke occupied the central position and this was his team normally. "Peggy, Loralei, Laura, Kevin, Bob, enter into Restricted Tactical Mode. This base is locking down. I want it running on minimal powers and with even less comms chatter. Use hardlines and old hacker satellites whenever possible. Contact Gates if you need access anywhere. We have a mission to operate here. Give me a rundown on Ghoul Assets on location." He knew that Squads Annie Lennox, Lemmings, and Bananas were KIA, but Squad Link was still active and he learned that Squad Nookem was on site. That was a limited resource to be used lightly. That was why he had jumped to contract the Redcaps. loons though they were, they were good shocktroops.

All through town though, Schwartze Augen's eyes and ears began to report in. Nothing much at first, but soon news of the arrival of Frank Jackson came in via eyewitness followed soon by a disturbance on I-70 by someone with Speed Manipulation powers. Peggy soon confirmed the identities, stolen from a police officer's dash camera, as known members of ITSDA's First Response team. Dieter clucked hi tongue and grunted.

"shshshkkkCommander, tactical operations are up here. We have confirmed reports of Frank Jackson and the ITSDA First Response team in the area. It doesn't appear they have identified our location yet. Jackson is an extremely dangerous individual with unregistered high regenerative capacity. First Response team's personnel are vague, but what we know is being made available to you. Your mission is still to set up the decoy. I will create some diversions." Again, why he did anything he said he was doing, he left to Commander to assume. The man was brilliant and could figure out why moves were made, thus leaving more time to discuss the following move rather than explain the previous. Dieter radioed out to Vincent.

---

Vincent listened closely to his radio then grunted in acceptance before facing his ragged band of associates. Right, we got orders. Redcap, take your lot to this location near I-70, cause a ruckus, get some attention. Do not stick around for a long fight. Use camera phones to record whatever happens and send the video files to the normal dropboxes. If possible, cause skirmishes at these three locations and act like you are looking for someone named Black Magic. Smith, you are to come with me."

The group nodded and all mounted up. Vincent eyed the madman and his lackeys as they divided into the three vans and set off to the three locations. He unlocked his doors as The Smith got into his rental and left his car behind. "So, we're diversion?" Vincent pressed his lips together, "If there is one thing you learn about Dieter Sievold, he values his assets highly. The Redcaps are diversions. You and I have a job. There is a man we have to see..."

---

At three locations near I-70 in eastern Gaultown, three white vans pulled up and a group of red-headed gangsters rolled out of each. The leader was nowhere to be seen at this point, but the three groups began each picked a building: an apartment building, a suite of offices, and a supermarket. Across town on the police band, news began to spread of the robberies as the criminals were violent and obviously hopped up on something as they were throwing around heavy appliances, tearing doors off cars, and other feats of strength and stamina. Police reports implied they, too, were looking for someone. They were harassing and harming citizens rather callously.

Even as the messages went out on the police band, Dieter had them marked on tactical map. The Redcaps tactics were not standard fare for S.A. and Dieter grimaced as one maniac tore someone's arm off and beat him with it. Nope, not okay but it had to look like something other than Schwartze Augen for this to work. If ITSDA suspected he was here, their view on the fight would shift from tactical to strategic. They knew enough of Dieter to know he was a strategic player.

In another part of town, even as Frank had manged to get two blocks away on his bike when a rental appeared from nowhere. Vincent's hands were gripping the wheel and his forced his jaw to loosen. Beside him, Smith was braced against the dash and giving Vincent a severe look. There abilities allowed them certain attitudes in the punishment they dealt their bodies, but to do so deliberately seemed stupid and it still hurt like mad. Still, the behemoth had been briefed on this Frank Jackson, who was their target, on the short drive here and knew that the stops had to be pulled out. Vincent aimed the car, his the accelerator, and barreled toward the bike from a side street.

The crimson Command APC purred into life and carefully weaved it's way through one of several hanger exits. The Gaultown facility had several discrete points of entry, and the APC chose to emerge in the distant wooded wilderness ringing the suburban town. The 'Leviathan' drone above them would coordinate with the conspicuous vehicles driver to ensure that their path wouldn't take them past any inconvenient bystanders, fortunately the Redcaps distractions and the hundreds of S.A informants made the task laughably simple.

The Armoured car rumbled along with it's cargo of four gifted and five soldiers, and as the driver carefully brought them undetected to their destination The Commander finalised his plans with Dieter.
[Understood. I've read up on Jackson, and if there sending him in it should be safe to assume that they're not planning a quiet investigation mission. That's unfortunate.]
'Unfortunate' had been an understatement, Commander thought. It was a known fact that Jackson had been in Chicago, which meant that the ITDSA were actively pulling agents from other missions to respond to Gaultown- whatever tip that'd alerted them to Dieters location had apparently been taken very seriously.
[Expect your diversion within thirty minutes. Entering radio silence now. Talk to you after we've either won, or once this blows up in our face spectacularly.]

"Talk to me, 'Nigma. Who's on the menu?"
The Commander glared down the van, since her first set of orders Emily Nigma hadn't stopped tapping through S.A's files for so much as a second.
"There are over two dozen possible agents we might run into, assuming that the ITDSA haven't added any rookies to their known response teams..."
The Information Analyst looked over her files and whittled down her information to the barest essentials. Even S.A's meticulous bookkeeping and her own genius could only extrapolate so much from the information that was available.
"We're likely to run into Thunderclap; We expected her to show her face in Chigago, but it seems she didn't make it in time- our latest intelligence also suggests that she isn't in NewYork." E.Nigma scratched her head frustratedly. "...Still, there's every chance that she might be responding to some other emergency, or that our Intel is off. I can't suggest more than a 20% chance that she'll be here tonight."
Commander knit his eyebrows together in an irritated gesture.
"I can't act on a 20% chance. If we knew we were going to face Thunderclap it'd be worth building some countermeasures- but jumping to conclusions is not a winning strategy."
Emily grunted something unintelligible, which could have either been agreement or indifference.
"If they're planning a raid, the ITDSA usually fields teams of three to ten Gifted." -'Nigma handed her tablet to the Commander- "I've compiled a list of the top twenty agents they're likely to send out: Knight, Protean, Glitch, Euclid, Vandal, Artificer... the usual suspects are all there. I recommend reading up on all of them."
Commander looked over the information as bid, and his face set into a hard flat scowl as he read each agents list of abilities. He considered how each of them could disrupt his plans, and how they might work together. By the time he'd finished his research he'd come to the solid conclusion that the best way for him to win this engagement was not to get involved in a fight at all. Stealth, speed and guile would be their most reliable weapons.

---

With a sudden jerk the APC stopped dead as the driver keyed off the engine and shut down the vehicles electronics. They'd parked under a dense outcrop of foliage where they could stay hidden from prying eyes as they made their final preparations. The disembarkation ramp smashed into the forested ground and the vehicles occupants left to gear up and receive orders.

"From now on I want absolute radio silence; if the APC and Away teams need to communicate do so only through indirect channels, such as the 'scrapped' communication tablet. If the away team needs to communicate only do so vocally, or with hand signals. If either team uses direct radio both teams should assume that the plan has failed. If either team uses the phrase 'Stage two' in any kind of communication it should be interpreted as 'I have been captured, and am speaking under duress'. If you ever suspect that one of your teamamates is not who they appear to be demand a codephrase, which is 'Feliz Navidad'. Following these rules is our first line of defence against techopaths, telepaths and shapeshifters- so don't forget them!"
Drafting plans against Gifted was always a headache, which was why Commander tried to have as little to do with them as possible. Even the precautions he'd put into place wouldn't be 100% airtight, but it was significantly better than nothing.
He pointed to Huxley, the driver and his own three men, and grouped them with a broad swirl of his fingertip.
"You five are 'Team APC', you will guard the vehicle and set up a scouting perimeter. You cannot use any engines, electronics or lights that may give away your position- but at the same time you may be relied upon to act as a getaway vehicle at an instants notice- so you'll need to keep yourself highly strung. If you're discovered the mission is considered a failure."
He turned to the others; Orwell and the three Namidians.
"We are 'Away team'. We will be making our way to the government Gaultown facility under the cover of modified banshee cloaks. To prevent any chance of detection we will be making the last eight minutes of our journey on foot. 'Nigma has deduced that the nearby entrance to the facility was compromised after one of their recent prisoners managed to escape- and is therefore vulnerable. We will enter the facility, hack their communication systems to send out a series of incriminating messages, and leave Orwell behind as a plant to ensure that the ITDSA and Jailers get their claws into one another."
Commander turned to address Orwell directly.
"As you lack a Gift, the odds are that the ITDSA won't have any records affiliating you with Namidias, and even if they successfully storm the facility they won't know you by looks alone- unless they brought an agent with Eidetic Memory who you've met before, in which case stay discrete. We will provide a false identity as one of the facilities guards at the same time as we hack their communications- it's certain that they'll have hired more guards since the last prisoner escaped, so blending among the actual staff shouldn't be an issue. You will be extracted at a separate time once the heat has died down, after a few days."
Commander locked stern eyes of each of the men and women arrayed infront of him. The mission had been planned to the minutest detail, but with so many variables at play and absolutely no room for error he had to be sure that everyone was unwaveringly confident in their roles- and the defiant glares he received in reply convinced him that they were.
"Right! Suit up, lock and load. We move out immediately."

The APC team checked their weapons and magazines with a series of efficiently drilled actions that were practically second nature to the career criminals, the driver fussed around his vehicle and disabled any remaining electronic systems before dragging a portable fire extinguisher out of storage and huffing freezing nitrogen over the vans exhaust and engine block, the precaution would render the getaway vehicle invisible to anything short of the most sensitive EMP and heat detection systems. By the time he finished the other soldiers had blended into concealed sniper positions.
The 'Away team' had donned their camouflaging cloaks (or in Destroyers case had absorbed the technology into her skin) and had quietly begun their long trek to the mysterious government base which they knew practically nothing about, save that everyone associated with it was about to have an unbelievably crappy day.

---

Half a mile out from the concealed Armoured Car the undeveloped land surrounding Gaultown was broken by a squat rectangle of concrete protruding from the ground. An uncritical eye might suspect that it was a utility building; perhaps an electrical relay for the nearby town. A more suspicious observer, however, might ask why an isolated and deliberately drab-looking building would need to be ringed with an excess of security cameras and three-inch thick blastproof doors.
Five nearly invisible blurs of motion crept toward the building and flattened themselves against it's grey walls. Seconds later a powerbox on the buildings exterior hissed and spat a volley of sparks, the reinforced blast door slid halfway open, and then inched shut again. There was no further commotion.

Minutes later something shifted subtly in the airwaves around the town.
Like all suburban villages Gaultown produced it's fair share lot of electronic noise, and both the Government experimentation laboratory and Dieters concealed Headquarters depended on regular communication channels to a small extent. Although they might employ more secure systems for exchanging sensitive information they could still opt to use the same internet hubs, phonelines and radio wavelengths that the rest of the world depended upon. Without warning several misplaced communications would begin to slip from the Gifted Testing facility and were rerouted through these unsecured channels- emails detailing immoral experiments and forced lobotomies against underaged children, notes on a hidden subterranean prison, and many references to the experiments the facility had performed on Gifted individuals.
The initial plan had been to fabricate incriminating evidence and use that as bait to close their trap, but a short hack through the Jailers records provided all damning documents the four Namidians could ever need.
This message was last edited by the player at 20:44, Mon 31 Aug 2015.

Vince had the bike in his crosshairs; it looked like the rider would be road pizza in a mere few seconds more. Then, without warning, the old machine shot ahead quickly and allowed the rental to rumble through the now empty space left behind. The figure astride the beast locked his brakes resulting in a slide of the back wheel which left the man turned in a 180. Before the motorcycle even came to a complete rest, one hand had pulled a gun from a hip holster and with an aim that was so practiced it was almost instinctual, an explosive round was sent toward the enemy vehicle.

Frank could not help grinning to himself; he had been fighting bad guys for well over half a century, and yet time and again he was viewed as an easy mark. He had noticed the rental easily, without needing to make it known, and the driver had obviously not taken into account Jackson had been traveling the legal speed limit as opposed to the Chief's top as well as the lighter weight of the smaller machine and the pickup it possessed. This was possible hostile territory, he had been alert and ready for a surprise or something out of the norm; this was by far not his first trip behind enemy lines. Now instead of prey he was predatory, unleashing as many explosive rounds as he could manage at his target before those inside could reach. Those who now challenged him were not facing a Gifted; they were up against Frank Jackson, and no matter what else may come of this day he would make sure they never forgot that truth.

((I'm fully willing to retcon if this grinds against anything you feel I've taken too much liberty with, so don't hesitate to let me know...I hope this injects some drama. ^_^))

Brian was thinking thoughts of traffic analysis of his own when a quick movement in the corner of his eye abruptly derailed all that. A gifted...and a woman, was running after ol'betsy the RV and his work vehicle, affectionately nicknamed, "the dog". Almost dispassionately he watched, pure analysis switching gears. She was ugly shaped, hunchbacked, no...it was a person she was carrying. Suddenly alarm bells began to go off as the static sensors sent blips to his hud that told him whether or not someone was breaking into the RV, but he quickly understood, his sensors were being bugged by the kinetic power of the woman running behind him. Fast wouldn't begin to describe her. The one along for the ride was fixated on the vehicle. Suddenly they flashed around the RV and truck and pounced high into the air before slamming down ahead of him...

Meta's eyes went wide as he watched the female agent crater before his RV and Truck.

He slammed on the brakes, even as he considered pushing the gas pedal and thought better of it. The truck screeched, sliding over the pavement with eleven hundred pounds of RV behind it. The agent was actually lucky, Brian observed as the agent held out a hand as if to ward him, that the truck's brakes were good enough to stop that fast at seventy miles an hour.

For a second Brian just looked at the agent dumbly, unsure of what the man was doing. He snapped back into his head a second later. His brain went to work. Obviously ITSDA. His HUD captured his image and began correlating. The second agent behind the man, suddenly burst through the door of the vehicle, the piece went flying. "Gotcha," she said and he was out of his belt and suddenly airborne as he was thrust to his knees before Whisper. Brian only had time to puzzle her congenial attitude as he was whipped out of his seat unceremoniously.

"Securing asset Boss," the man said into his subvoc before turning back to Brian who stared up at the man with pursed lips. "We've been looking for you. We got a tip that you would be here..."

Brian's brain dissected the statement, are these ITSDA working for the Schwartze? He brought himself to his feet and realized tangentially that state police were fencing the scene in down the roadway in what might be described as the fastest scramble ever achieved by the Ohio State Police and he suspected a similar roadblock being developed behind them. He looked the man squarely in the face and then cocked his head to the side, his HUD silently alerting him to a returned ID, "Agent Whisper right? ...and you're called Vandal? Yeah? Wha..."

The man's face blanked for a split second, the directness disarmed him and he interupted, "Who are you?...No, you need to come with us, we've got to get you airborne and into protective custody."

Brian nodded, they didn't know who he was, good, his face wouldn't show up on any tracking system for law enforcement anyway but confirmation was always nice. He had an upper hand here. It had to be Johnny's help at work here, good job buddy, he thought. Meta flicked some mental switches and he was into the local net created by their radios, a program similar to Gorbechev, but nicer and cleaner. "I'm called Meta, and I've got some interesting info I'm sure you'd like to have Jill," he radioed knowing she would be in on this conversation and breaking in easily. ITSDA, predictable and methodical, the chain of command, resilient, it was one of their strengths and weaknesses.

The pair of gifted agents drew weapons on him immediately. "No, wait," Jill crackled back a response, "you aren't attacking us are you Mr.Meta because that would be rather bad form..."

"No, I'm not attacking," Brian said flatly, impatiently, "I'm going to tell you where the Schwartze Augen are based..."

Brian tapped his computer's artificial memories, off-loaded from his own mind and filed away on Ol'Betsy the RV's server. Now however he organized and packaged the data, sending it to Jill's computers directly via their radio network. Her screens flashed with security data pulled from the communications systems, security apparatus schematics, everything that good old Gorbachev had gleaned. It had been a substantial amount of useful information: all of their digital sensor capabilities, the protocols of their comm gear, basic capabilities of their equipment that was tied to their networks...the list went on. Finally, Gaultown, the location of this secretive town, masquerading within plain sight, only pretending to be a sleepy suburban township. Lastly, the image of a young man clambering through the tunnels of the mysterious bunker complex...

"I need diplomatic immunity Jill, I need protection and I need someone to get me outta here while you all deal with that...whaddya say?"
This message was last edited by the player at 10:16, Tue 01 Sept 2015.

Moments later, Jill responded rather curtly.

"Can do. Preparing emergency recovery. V, can you handle the weight?"

"No problem! I got a new trick - don't tell me you haven't heard about it," said Vandal, wrapping her arms around both Whisper and Brian. Brian noticed exasperation on Whisper's face; what was he worried about? What kind of trick was this?

"Sorry,  it's been a killer week. Proceed with the mission, Agent."

At that, the speedster, carrying both her fellow agent and Meta, ran across the road, somersaulted over the guard rail, dashed up a hill at a rate of over 70 mph, and finally jumped up into the air. Like a bullet, her body made an insanely loud crack as it "fired" itself up toward the sky. Brian felt a tsunami of freezing air push his ribs back into his lungs and fling his limbs far back behind him. In moments, the air began to roast around them, and Meta felt like he was re-entering the atmosphere!

"Shield yourself!" shouted Whisper as he forced his windswept arms in front of his body in a "X" shape. Meta, barely conscious after his first experience with unprotected flight, managed to follow the agent's example.

"Hang on, boys!" screamed Vandal as her arms shook and buckled under the weight of the two fully grown men. Suddenly, she let go of both of them, letting them fall for nearly a quarter of a second. Then she thrust her palm into Whisper's back with just enough carefully-focused force to toss him back up in front of her. Finally, she grabbed Brian from behind, regaining a solid grip on the no doubt terrified man. Once more she repeated her process, then she reversed it, gingerly tossing Brian around (meaning that her fingers only felt like daggers in the man's back) as she pulled Whisper in. After a couple cycles of this, the Songbird came in to view. Brian's mouth let out an echoing scream as his warp-speed computer displayed the angle of the jump and the plane's relative speed; they were going to miss!

"V, you're off target! Adjust your angle, now!" were the words that came out of Thunderclap's mouth. The words that came out of Vandal's comm sounded more like "Voff-ust-ow!" Still, the rabid racer must have understood them! She turned her body on its side and threw her legs back with immeasurable force, rocketing the trio forward as if she had just kicked off the side of an invisible wall. As they all approached the back of the ship, it's cargo door slowly, slowly crept open. This gave Vandal just enough time to slam dunk her compatriots into the Songbird as she sailed under it.

As he hit the plane's interior knees first, Brian's heart was beating like a hummingbird's wings and his vision was blurred by blood. But, from what he could see, the woman was gone! No, where did she go?! Had she stupidly sacrificed her life for his, just because she missed a jump? Surely, there was a better way. Indeed, there were over 40 ways she could have decelerated and attempted the jump again. And that's not even mentioning the infinitely more conventional methods of extraction they could have used!

A long-haired, heavily wrinkled man in a bomber jacket picked Brian up off of the floor and dusted off his back.

"Knees first, no badly broken limbs. For your first landing, that was impressive. I wish mine was that clean," said the man, wearing a muted, yet unmistakably jovial smile. "Then again, those who travel first travel hardest."

"Glitch, give him some space. He's not ready to talk," said a giant of a 20-something, heavily-tanned young man. The giant knelt down beside Meta, put one arm on his shoulder, and took a loud breath.

"Breathe deeply, sir. We're here to help. That won't happen again." Truthfully, Meta wasn't stunned by the trip; he was worried about Vandal and overwhelmed by the data flashing across his HUD. Knight, the man before him, had once saved 20,000 lives by entombing a nuclear-powered Gift in a massive dome of shields. And the old man, Glitch, was the first man to defeat one of Namidias' key lieutenants!

Their powers, accomplishments, and combat statistics crawled down the screen of his glasses. The ITSDA had sent some major players after him; he knew he told them the Wave was after him, but this seemed like overkill. In fact, it seemed like it could be a strategic mistake... unless they were anticipating something bigger than a simple rescue operation.

Whisper stood up and grasped his stomach while Meta mentally unraveled the truth of his, and their, situation.

"You could help me up, too, partner," said Whisper sarcastically.

"Of course, my friend. I apologize."

"Enough talk," said Thunderclap, finally getting up out of her seat and taking a look at her new contact. "There's no time," she said, pointing her finger and swinging her whole body at a map that indicated a massive amount of movement and activity in a region just off of I-70. "They're not after you, why? What have you learned about the Wave? Is this a diversion? Answer me! Or by order of the International--"

Meta's periphery vision caught the cargo bay door opening ever so slightly.

"Tactical--"

The man jerked his head back just in time to witness Vandal literally diving back into the Songbird and rolling forward until she landed on her feet. The young daredevil started to take a bow, noticed Jill's demeanor, and immediately saluted her superior.

"--Superhuman Defense Agency, I will place you under arrest. Do you understand, citizen?"  Brian didn't need his HUD to tell him that her words weren't full of malice, but fear. He considered his options carefully before deciding on his next move...
This message was last edited by the GM at 05:11, Fri 04 Sept 2015.

Dieter was filtering incoming data as fast as he could. The staff in the situation room were rattling off messages and citing information and compiling footage then shuffling it across his "desk." Of course, his desk was the touch screen monitor in front of him about 30" across set up like the surface of his desk. His hand rested on one side and his perceptions were slowed considerably, allowing him to operate nearly as fast as the massive amount f memory allowed the computer to operate. The screen was almost unreadable as it blurred between various files on things only standing still in corners where short, VINE length, videos played. Longer videos were untenable in this mode.

Frank Jackson had been encountered by Vincent Lee and The Smith. The pair were moving to engage. Noted and filed away as a pending matter. Dieter read reports of a strange occurrence on I-70. The team had compiled several reports on the event and he watched a few short videos taken from cellphones, dash cams, and hacked GPS units. He read the report that confirmed the two individuals as Whisper and Vandal. Vandal was going to be a problem, Whisper wasn't much better. He groaned but forwarded the information to Commander's team via the secured "scrap" tablet.

He considered what possible resources to assign to the Response Team, especially as the reports indicated they had secured some person. It wasn't a half naked magician, so it must be the hacker. That was bad news; that man might blow the base's cover. He shot a short message to Commander about that situations, Commander, a serious potential leak in information exists. I am sending you relatively, though not exactly, accurate details on location of the ITSDA response team."

Dieter's assets were stretched thin right now but he needed to address that situation. Denying them access to the hacker was unlikely, and destroying the carrier seemed equally unlikely, but recovering the hacker would be useful. He considered the situation briefly but then shrugged, he needed to stick to his guns. Decoy base, apply pressure, don't allow for coordinated of planned actions for ITSDA. Commander, I need pressure applied to the response team, they need a target soon. ETA on base assault?

---

Non-Canon Battle Post

First, Vincent sighed heavily as he saw the motorcycle sprint out of the way and he jerked the wheel to move into pursuit, then he saw the handcannon and groaned because what came next was going to hurt like a son-of-a-bitch. This wasn't some fucking movie after all and cars don't actually explode. Gasoline didn't work like that most of the time. It might have been different if the vehicle was diesel, but it was just a regular sedan. So, as the round impacted and began to destroy the engine, all that occured at first was the vehicle went wildly out of control. It rolled and the maniacal immortal continued to plug it with rounds causing the vehicle to do its best impersonation of a string of firecrackers as it plowed into a brick wall and crumpled like a tin can.

The vehicle rocked as a few more rounds impacted and erupted before Frank emptied the clip and stood watching the vehicle burn merrily. The old veteran smiled confidently. Overkill was a term for rookies, veterans knew there as no such things. You shot until the fucker was dead, and that was exactly how much you should have shot him. Still, his veteran instincts also had him reaching to reload instantly and automatically. He was just grabbing the ammo when the vehicle creaked and groaned. "The fuck you say...?"

Suddenly the door of car flew off and Frank was forced to roll for cover as it slammed into his bike. The veteran stared at his machine as it took a beating but saw that it was in one piece if a bit dented and scratched and glared at the mountain of a man who climbed from the car. The man eyed Frank for several long seconds then reached into the back of the car and pulled out a 50lb sledgehamer and swung it like a wood bat. The man had a few burns and cuts running over his hide but not nearly enough to believe he had just been in a serious accident. he ran a massive hand over his sleek silver hair and spat blood on the ground, "Been a while since I tasted my own blood. Fuck if that didn't actually hurt, old man. Let me return the favor, kay?"

Suddenly the guy was running... fast. Frank noted that when the man kicked off, the pavement cracked with the power of the man's step. It was a fact that Gifted with inhuman strength tended to have rather nasty sprinting speeds. Frank was fast and strong, but only as much as he was able to push his body beyond human limits but not beyond human strength. He threw up his hands to block the attack he could not dodge.

A massive, steel-toe booted kick sank into his forearms where he crossed them in front of his face. He felt his arms snap like twigs at the impact and lost his breath as he flew into the artificial paneling of the house behind him, through the wall, and landed on some family's abandoned dinner table. It had been spaghetti night. He idly slurped a noddle off his face and grunted as he felt his arms set themselves. His fingers twitched as he recognized he had lost his sidearm and he noted that the familiar weight of his second weapon was missing. It must have went flying during his last trip. He was just glancing around for the weapons when a creak registered on his ear. Only his decades of training and experience made him roll when he heard the slightest squeak of the floor. A massive hammer sank into the spot his head had been.

His instincts betrayed him then. It was an old trick to roll back and use the body's weight to disarm the opponent. Easy, Frank had done it hundreds of times. The hammer would be trapped under him, the opponent weaponless, and he could launch any number of attacks from the position, yeah? The man above him blinked and grinned as his Gifted strength meant his grip on his weapon was not shattered. Frank's considerable weight was nothing to the Smith's strengths. Before Frank could launch his attack, then man simply used the hammer as a lever to send Frank flying again. He crashed through another wall.

As Frank rolled along the family's back yard, he noted a 3' piece of glass lodged in his thigh from the window he had just crashed through. He was focused on it for a second then the wind left him as he crashed into some poor kids swingset. The structure remained standing but his weight bent the cheap metal support pole badly. He grunted as several ribs broke. Each blow this man dealt was like being hit by a mac truck. Frank oughta know, he;d been hit by several in his lifetime. Still, within seconds his body was doing its thing and he gripped the grass to haul himself up even as the backdoor exploded and the mountain stepped out swinging his hammer casually, "They said you were tough, old man. No kidding. Most men would be dead by now. I do not know if this is a good thing or a bad thing for you." The man cracked his neck and lowered his frame like a spring coiling. Frank knew another mad sprint was coming and he threw himself to the side. Super strong opponents might have a deadly sprint but it was usually straight line movement. Behind him, he heard the swing set squeal as it was demolished by the attack and spun to launch himself at the man.

Smith was just trying to wrestle his hammer from a knot of piping when Frank connected and wrenched to the side. If it had been a matter of brute strengths, Frank would be sorely outmatched. But, it was a matter of leverage and Frank used it to spike the hammer wielding maniac onto a corner of the kid's sandbox head first. Frank was atop the man and pounding the head into the wooden corner like a madman until the wood splintered and he was pounding the head against Cold dirt. Again his experience said the man's head should turn to mush. Instead, the head stopped mid strike. The man was staring at him with cold blue eyes. "Good show old man, but even if you are able to make that body do all that a human physiology is capable of... I am stronger than any human body is capable of." Then man's hand came up and grasped for Frank's wrists, but the wily Veteran sprang back, grasped the man's hammer lying on the ground now, and swung the maul. He connected to the man's ribs and felt them give just a little. The Smith glared and reached for his hammer, but Frank spun away and brought it around again to smash the man's knee. The man buckled and grunted but the knee did not give the satisfying crunch it should have. Frank didn't stop as he kept going, spinning, hauling back, swinging, and connecting. It was the first time Frank had fought someone who acted just like him. The mad Smith didn't even try to doge the blows but just kept trying to grasped the hammer, Frank, or stand. Frank's wounds healed rapidly but this man seemed immune to damage. Where gaping holes in his skin should have been were just bruises, joints that should have broken were a bit wobbly at best, ribs that should have been shards were cracked and the villain kept coming. Was this what others had felt like fighting him? It was infuriating; but Frank was a veteran of countless battle. he was War incarnate an.d kept calm as he brought the hammer around at the man's head. The blow connected and the man's eyes crossed, his form wobbled, and his considerable size sank just a few inches toward the earth. Then, the eyes snapped to focus and a hand shot up to grip Frank's wrist, snap it casually, then swing Frank toward the house again.

He was in that strange slo-mo time again as he sailed through the kitchen wall, collected a few more splinters of wood and glass in his form, sailed miraculously through the kitchen door while only catching and breaking one ankle on the door frame, noted a rather comfy looking lay-z-boy chair and nice couch as he fly over them, and even had time to spy his weapon in the folds of the couch before crunching into the family's TV. Frank had precious second to catalog his various rapidly healing injuries again and wondered when the last time he had taken so much hurt was. He lurched forward and fell out of the TV onto a rather nice throw rug and then crawled toward the gun. he fell back against it had time to put just a single round into the chamber before he heard the floors in the kitchen creak. He stood, swung around, took the long slow breath necessary to aim his pain wracked form and pulled the trigger. The man went flying as he doubled over the round exploding in his abdomen.

Frank sighed heavily and slowly limped after the man, reloading the gun as he went. He climbed out the wall, walked to where the man was groaning and trying to stand. Even his superior stamina had problems with an explosive round of this caliber. Frank noted the man's form was only badly wounded instead of human spaghetti though. He smiled as he noted he had finally put a good sized hole in the man's hide as he leveled his weapon at the head of the struggling villain and grinned, "Even a tough summabitch like you's gunna die with no head..."

"I really wish the same was true of you, but our files say otherwise, Mr. Jackson." Frank had a split second to look to the side before the man's 9mm glock emptied a clip into his own brain.

Vincent, for his part, had just been through his own hell. Trapped in a gordian knot of a car wreck, Vincent had spent the last several seconds breaking his own bones and tearing his own flesh to get out of the vehicle. The sounds of the fight were obvious and he had watched Frank sail out of and then back into the house as his own form slowly regenerated. No "stuck in time" bonus for Vincent though and an incredible amount of pain and his flesh and bones re-knit themselves before he reached into his glove compartment and pulled out his weapon. He then limped into the backyard even as the man was saying his last, walked calmly up to the man, and watched a man's brains turn to grey and red mist. He then looked at The Smith and raised an eyebrow as he reloaded the weapon, "Are you still an asset or a liability, Mr. Smith?" A lifetime of Triad contracts had made for plenty of his own experiences and hardening trials.
This message was last edited by the player at 15:23, Tue 08 Sept 2015.

In reply to Scripts (msg # 75):

Brian slowly and cautiously gestured to a terminal within the plane's bay. The high tech VTOL craft was a veritable wonderland for his analytical mind, but he ignored his curiosity and brought his focus to bear upon the situation at hand. His super human intellect worked actively and arranged a presentation in mere seconds, a step-by-step account of his time in Gaultown. He flicked a mental switch to send the presentation wirelessly to the screen there.

He walked the assembled team through what he'd been through, careful to leave his 'friend' Johnny as a disembodied informant only. He didn't care to let anyone in on his friend just yet, he had after all, spent years evading the ITSDA because of all the things they would be able to do with his tech. He had done his homework and while he didn't disagree with the goals of the organization, he wasn't sure that it was all that different than the DoD, which really meant he was in hot water currently and would protect Johnny with his life if need be, because he knew in his heart of hearts, that his friend was as alive as any human could be, which he was pretty certain was simply a protein based machine, a clever one, but just as valuable as his friend in every way.

When he had finished he showed them the specs he had gleaned. It wasn't much, it was an outline of security protocols, equipment and sensor information. It was however, with his supplementary analysis, able to paint a very grim picture. The Schwartze Augen was alive and well, and operating on American soil, this was the conclusion he had come up with and likely many had just returned from Chicago...

"I don't know for sure if I've been followed, but I'm in danger, that much is certain and if they live up to their reputation, they will have a tail on me, if not monitoring your movements..." Brian said at last.

He continued by telling them something credible about himself to show them that he wasn't a trap at all but rather that he needed them, "my call sign is Meta, and I can't really tell you that much about me, except that I'm a really good hacker. Firms I've worked for hold eighty-three patents that I've developed. I'm Gifted," he said, emphasizing the G, "and I will develop tech for you, if you in turn give me protection and immunity short term, but I want autonomy long term. I understand that I occupy a morally grey niche in society, but I promise you Jill, I don't hurt people and I won't hurt your teams."

Destroyer blinked her eyes, all fifty six of them. Fifty four of the nearest  security cameras scattered throughout the government facility flickered their feeds for a brief instant.
Camera '0074' watched impassively as a uniformed guard stood up from his post, scratched himself inappropriately, and walked off to take a piss.

"Is clear."

With a disturbing sound of tearing flesh Destroyer tore her face out from a jumble of network cables, strands of nerves and synapses unknit themselves from the tangle of wires. As The Commander replaced the panel of wall that'd she'd forced open Destroyers face reformed back into her usual bizarre leer.

The five Namidians had infiltrated deep into the heart of the enemy base. With their combined abilities, the Intel that S.A had gleaned from the recent escapee, and the element of surprise, infiltrating the hidden research facility had been surprisingly straightforward. Even with his own highly trained stealth teams Commander couldn't have expected the mission to have gone as well as the ragtag group of conflicting Supervillans had managed, and he began to understand why Dieter surrounded himself with so many gifted Lieutenants- despite the liability they represented their efficiency was beyond question.

"Great!" The cloaked figure of Scrap pounded a fist into his palm. "Invisibility cloaks or not, we're out in the open here. Let's get moving!"

Before the inventor could move another cloaked figure reached out, as 'Nigmas hand grabbed Scraps shoulder it left her own cloak and became briefly unblurred.
"Not yet. A gaurd patrol's due to pass by... this way."
The blur released Scraps shoulder and darted down a section of corridor away from their destination and into a quiet side corridor, the other concealed figures followed immediately behind her. Moments later a trio of armed men walked past them and through the spot where they'd been standing. The five stealthy figures followed behind them in synchronised step, only to stop and leave them behind as the group came to the unguarded door Destroyer had been stalking.

"The door still needs the guards keycard. Anyone feel creative?"
This time Commander spoke. Another great thing about working with gifted was not needing to plan around every minor detail; with his own teams he'd need to make plans to counterfeit his own keycard before getting this far, but with Destroyers technosympathy and 'Nigma's peerless hacking skills such things hardly even registered as an issue.

"Allow me. I've been itching to use this one for a while."
Scrap spoke out again, and a pair of arms uncovered themselves from his cloak to open a wallet, inside was a number of loose gizmo's, credit cards and keys. He produced a blank rectangle of plastic with a standard magnetic stripe down one side and jammed it into the keycards feed. The door duly buzzed open.
"Magnetic skeleton key!" Scraps enthused. "Works on any hotel room, office building or parking lot. Personal favourite."

They passed through to their destination; the facilities armoury. From here they'd be able to provide Orwell with his new identity and access any number of the bases electronic systems.
Best of all, their involvement would be completely undetectable. So long as the plan held.

---

The Commander paced among the armoury racks as the others worked. Orwell was getting suited up for his big role, 'Nigma and Destroyer were hacking the facilities records to include him as an active staff member, and Scraps was fidgeting with yet another gadget... the man was always fidgeting with something.
For his own part Brett was thinking over the troubling message that'd just been passed through his secured tablet.

"...Serious intel leak. Vandal and Whisper confirmed. Action required..." He muttered to himself, as he scrutinized a rack of carbine rifles distractedly.

His fellow lieutenants rarely used the word 'serious' lightly, Dieter least of all. If the escaped hacker had been intercepted by the ITDSA then all of 'Away team's efforts to put the heat on the second hidden base might prove to be futile. The development was a whole knot of loose ends. From his position, however, Commander couldn't help change that- his only hope was to perform his part of mission as smoothly and seamlessly as possible, and hope that'd be enough.

Learning that Vandal was on the field was a headache. The young woman was dangerous, and would make any attempt at combat or an escape extremely difficult.
More problematic, however, was Whisper: The man ranked very lowly as a direct threat, but his Gift was uniquely suited to uncovering and dismantling the shroud of confusion that Commander was poised throw over the battlefield. Something would certainly have to be done about that.

He tapped out a brief response and fired it off.
[Base INFILTRATION is complete. Could neutralize base by force in aprox six minutes, if required.]
Commander made sure to stress that he hadn't assaulted the base directly. For one thing breaking into the base guns-blazing would have nullified the deception that he was trying to create. For another thing, it would have also been a hell of a lot easier.
[For plan to work ITDSA and Base must come to blows without obvious intervention. Uncertain ETA. Take risk and force conflict y/n?]

With a conflicted sigh Brett pocketed the tablet and picked a rifle off the rack. He shouldered it and looked down it's sights as he made his final decisions about how he should proceed.
Weapons always inspired him: They were singular and wholly functional in purpose, like he'd need to be if he wanted to succeed.
Weapons didn't care about risk, or ideals or even their purpose: They existed to fire lead downrange as quickly and accurately as possible, that was all and that was enough.
He made his choice and reracked the weapon.
"Destroyer! Can you patch my phone into the Goons tactical net? I need to send out some instructions. Scrap! I need a voice modulator whipped up. 'Nigma, I need personnel records."
Waiting around for the forces of justice to bump into one another wasn't going to work fast enough; It was time to play puppetmaster.

---

"Sergeant Marcus, there's been an altercation up on the surface- take your usual team and scout it out. If it could draw attention to us end it quietly." A clearly enunciated and efficient voice spoke through the G-mens tactical radio.

The demand was answered by a heavyset man with a no-nonsense glare. He was every inch the soldier, from his worn but polished combat boots to his regulation length crew-cut.
"Affirmative. Marcus out."
Marcus twisted a dial on his headsets ear and set it from receive to transmit, and he sent a broadwave message that resonated throughout the entire compound.
"Charlie division! Form up at the garage for inspection. We have a mission."

Minutes later Marcus was stomping his way back and fourth in front of his men, each was standing rigid at attention awaiting their orders. 'The Facility' was defended by a battleforce of ex-military and ex-law-enforcement mercenaries, each wore the same flecktarn camouflaged grey and black uniform and wielded a modern UMP machine pistol that had a reliable tradeoff between accuracy, stopping power and portability.
As Marcus passed the line he scrutinized the gear and appearance of each of his men, as usual they all satisfied him but the last face in line gave him pause.
"Private, you're not one of my men! What are you doing here?!"
"Sir!" The interloper responded in an automatic shout. "Private Gibson reporting for duty! -Recently transferred!" Orwell lied easily.
Marcus looked over 'Gibson' sceptically. It was certainly true that the Facility had taken on a lot of new staff owing to recent... events... which would explain why he hadn't been warned that he'd have to take on a rookie, on the other hand 'Gibson' was the least rookiest person he thought he'd ever met: Six and a half feet tall, sporting lumberjacks beard and absolutely slathered in functional muscle the man looked more like a hardboiled PMC, or a convict, rather than the bootcamp dropouts he usually had to deal with.
"Welcome to Charlie, Private. Don't fuck up first day on the job." Marcus replied cautiously, before turning to address his unit as a whole. "Get in the transports! We're moving out immediately- I'll brief you on the way."

As his men turned to break formation and began piling into the three transport humvees that'd carry them to the source of the alarm Marcus took a small PDA out from under his bulletproof vest and quickly checked 'Gibson's credentials.
Sure enough, the man was assigned to his squad and the records on the Facilities database correlated with what the man had said; Although something still felt off about the man Marcus couldn't find the justification to doubt his story any further than he already had.
-Besides-
He had his mission, and didn't have the time or inclination to second guess orders.

---

Minutes later three Jeeps of obvious military design roared their way down the I-70. Normally care would be taken to keep the vehicles discreet but Charlie's mission coordinator had been insistent, nay, adamant, that the Squad waste no time and that they should take the fastest route.

As the Jeeps rounded on the provided co-ordinates they found no trace of their (as of yet undescribed) targets, however they did find an abandoned Recreational Veichle. Tire burns indicated that it'd stopped in a hurry but it's occupants were nowhere to be seen.

"Marcus, checking in. We've found a suspicious vehicle at the site, but there's no sign of anything else out of the ordinary." Marcus paused as the wind carried the distant sound of gunfire from Gaultown. "-it sounds like there's a battle going on in town, Sir! Permission to investigate?"

"Permission denied, Charlie. Force entry into the vehicle and determine it's origin and purpose." The teams radio rebuked firmly before clicking silent.

Marcus sighed with restrained frustration, but orders were orders. He shouldered his weapon and put a bullet through the RV's exterior lock.
"BREACH!"
This message was last edited by the player at 20:48, Tue 08 Sept 2015.

The first round impacted the sedan, causing a shudder that had not yet passed when the second bullet flew home. The windows along that side shattered completely, while the back and windshields were lanced with jagged cracks from the force of the attack. The rental swerved wildly, in part from being shoved one way by the explosions and also the driver overcompensating; yet the assault continued. Paint burned off, rubber shredded and melted, metal crumpled until there was only one solid lump were lines defining doors used to be. The half mutilated car went fully out of control as the driver forfeited from a losing battle, the half dead beast bumping up a sidewalk and crashing into a telephone pole before echoing it's death rattle of a blaring horn. Only smoke came from a barrel now instead of more fatal flashes; the pin clicked on an empty chamber.

There was no explosion, but then Frank never expected one; electric cars had grown in popularity to the extent now he had trouble once in a while buying his girl a tank of gas. But considering he and she were in one piece and the sedan a sad impression of a car, he'd have to say American Steel one, imported tin goose egg. While entertained by this thought, he never took his experienced eyes from the wreck; he was here on a tip the Wave was in the area, and sending a car to crush him in a lame reenactment of a worn out action movie plot device would just be their way to say hello. He had taken out one of their top Agents, and eliminated a number of their high tech foot soldiers in less time than it took to get a pizza delivered; he was pretty sure they would throw more at him than a simple hit and run. There was the sudden and piercing sound of metal being torn, a definitive and irrefutable answer that proved his suspicion to be correct.

The passenger side of the car peeled outward as though giving to some incredible force, and a very large man stepped out as he wiped one wrist against the blood that trickled from a corner of his snarling lips. He reached back inside his former coffin with his free hand, pulling forth a sledge that at a guess weighted at least fifty pounds despite the fact its owner swung it loosely like a hollow aluminum bat.

"You made me bleed, you drive that museum reject like you got motor oil in your veins, and you've got a big ass gun that launches mini-missiles. Wait, don't tell me; you're Frank 'Who Gives a Fuck?' Jackson, an actual living war hero who's gotten so many medals, awards, and like garbage it could sink a cruise ship. Super soldier, super cop, one of the first founding super heroes; super lame. You catch your new nickname? I picked it out just for you, because I don't give a single fuck that you took a walk in some woods, or stuffed donuts in your face in some fancy room, or kept company with some dorks just so they could wear their costumes outside of their momma's basement.

"I did want to meet you though, even requested this job when reports of you in the area came in. See, you're the best your side has, no question. So, when I take you down and hard, your little Agent friends are going to wet themselves every time they hear the name 'The Smith'. Oh, don't worry, you're name will be around too; carved right here in the handle of my little toy right along with all the other has-beens and pretenders. So, before I pound you into paste that not even you can come back from, any last words?"

The entire time the villain had been talking on, Frank had pulled out a pack of smokes with his unoccupied hand and was enjoying a smoke when he was finally allowed to say something.

"Well for starters, your momma dresses you funny. Second, if we stuck you in front of a windmill, we'd have an endless supply of clean energy. Finally, you fill up a stick and I fill up bone yards, so trust me when I say I'm shaking in my boots over here..."

The evil Gifted had been sported a self-satisfied smile; now his mouth was twisted in rage as he bellowed and charged, shoving his empowered legs so hard the street beneath his steps cracked as he charged his current prey. He snarled and bared his teeth as his mad sprint continued, planning a look of triumph only to display shock as Frank simply twisted the throttle of his bike that was still running and rode out of the muscle mountain's way. The once and future dead man grinned as his lips parted around his cigarette.

"Olay, Meathead."

Vincent whirled around, and charged again only to miss a second time. He tried a third, only to end up by his wrecked car. Without a word this time, The Smith dropped his hammer and turned toward the telephone pole. Wrapping massive hands around it, the Gifted snapped the thick and stout shaft as though it were a cheap toothpick. Before Jackson could react, The Smith swung for the fences and Frank was the ball. The old fighter went high and long, the jarring impact of his landing adding their own injuries to baseline blunt force trauma. A lifetime of pain made it something that still registered in his brain but to the level of white noise, and his form recovered as it was known to do allowing him to stand in seconds. Despite this, the ex-cop knew things had taken a darker turn; the blow had not only knocked him off his bike, but caused him to let go of his drawn gun in transit. He quickly pulled the other one to check it, but found to his disappointment it had taken damage as well from the massive blow. The Devastators were extremely well made, but they didn't bounce back like their owner did. The former Captain's one remaining sidearm still worked, but the selector switch was jammed and couldn't be moved off of normal rounds. Yeah those were fifty cals, but with this guy that would be the equivalent of spitting on him. There was the sound of something scraping, nd a white head turned to see a very large form walking casually toward it while dragging the heavy sledge like it was a toy doll grasped by one arm. A broad face leered at the immortal;

"Up for more? Good, I was afraid this was over before I'd had my fun. Your little boom booms and trick riding were cute for the kiddie leagues, but now you've only got one gun left. Go ahead, Hero, fire away... Oh, what's that, you can't? Did something happen to your toy, like say, it got slammed by a big ass hunk of wood? Yeah, I knew you carried two of those pop guns; I read your file after all."

"I got that part, I'm just surprised the Wave had a picture book version."

This time, the grin didn't change.

"Go ahead Old Timer, yuck it up while you still can. Soon, you're not going to be able to do anything. They say you just keep coming back, but I think it's just because you haven't been pounded until nothing's left. See, I'm not just tough and strong; I can also keep going and going. So keep regrowing, and I'll just keep on pummeling you into mash until you don't come back no more."

Frank gulped, set his feet, and raised his fists which gained a bellowing laugh out of his enemy.

"Really? That's it? You've seen what I can do, and yet you actually want to try fighting me, The Smith, fist to fist? OK, sure. I'll count this as your last request, how's that Gramps? In fact, I'll even give you a senior discount and let you have three free shots. No vehicles, no weapons, no ITSDA or Wave; just one Gifted against another. Go ahead, I'll count..."

Vincent dropped the handle of his hammer, letting his arms dangle as he waited. Frank came in from the right first, slamming a fist that had broken many a jaw into his current opponent's face but only managing to get the younger man to turn his head slightly. The old fighter followed up a strong left, to no better results. The Smith snickered;

"That's two Father Time, one more and it's my turn."

Frank was panting, his head hanging as he gulped air but he managed to speak.

"It was a jungle."

The super powered thug looked confused.

"What?"

"You said before you didn't care that I took a walk in the woods, but it was a jungle."

The confusion continued.

"What the fuck difference does that make?"

"Not much really, I just thought you might like to know where I learned this..."

Frank suddenly stood straight up, his breathing normal, and brought both palms together on either side of Vincent's head. The villain cried out and grabbed his ears from the sharp and sudden pain, unable to hear Jackson's next words;

"Looks like I move on to the bonus round, extra free shot."

A polished black boot flew up hard and straight, making solid contact with something that suddenly removed The Smith's aching ears from his mind and brought the man mountain to his knees while instinctively occupying his hands.

"By the way, you forgot one. Before I was a soldier, I was a street fighter who was taught by life to do whatever it took to survive. Not only am I fine with hitting you below the belt, I'd steal and strangle you with it. I know, you misjudged me and now you feel like a heel; here you go."

Frank shifted his stance and snapped one muscled leg out in a perfect side kick, the heel of his vintage footwear smashing hard into the younger man's nose and drawing forth blood for a second time. He knew this guy could take a lot though, and instead of pushing ahead with more blows turned and ran toward the nearest house. Vincent hauled himself to his sizeable feet, a large hand reaching for his sledge as he tasted his own essence not for the first time that night; before he was jus going to pound the retired cop into paste, now he was going to rip his limbs off like a mean kid with a butterfly. The Gifted had recovered fast enough to see which way his foe ran, and walked in the same direction with murder in his eyes and hate in his black heart.

He noticed the garage door was open, and decided to look in there first. He refused to allow his actions to be marred by impatience, so instead of a quick glace he took the time to search the space and found the Greaser crouched by the hot water heater.

"The old war dog had a couple of bites left in him, but now it's time to put you down. If it means anything to you, this is the hardest I've had to work for a kill yet. But it's over, for all your tricks and training, you die cowering in the corner of a garage like a cockroach. Time to smash you, bug..."

The heavy sledge was raised up in the air over the head of the man who commanded it, a look of grim determination on his face. At the same time, Frank shoved the lever up he'd had one hand on while he shoved himself sideways. Boiling hot water gushed out and soaked The Smith's legs, gaining another cry of pain from him as he fell down into the torrent of scalding liquid. Frank again didn't want to leave things to chance, and ran to the door which led into the connected house; it was locked, but Jackson always carried two skeleton keys with him. Others called them legs, but the end result was the same. The old man was in and gone in seconds, not even looking back. He didn't stop, but worked his way toward the back of the house as his police skills picked up that for some reason the house was deserted. He got outside into the backyard when he heard a yell that caused the windows he could see to rattle, followed almost immediately by the sounds of smashing and destruction. In under a minute, he was no longer alone.

The Smith had survived his fate, yet now with what remained for skin he better looked like the monster he truly was. Red and blistered fingers wrapped themselves around a wooden grip as ragged breath sounded, the only response being the slight sound of a gun being drawn.

It had come down to this; Frank alone in a backyard left with only a weapon that he knew would be useless against his opponent, even with his skill he might pull off one single shot before he was charged yet again. Not one to lay down and die, the old fighter raised his weapon while Vincent snarled at him, and pulled the trigger. If The Smith had been calm enough to process thought, he might have noticed he felt nothing from the bullet; that was because he wasn't the target. Instead, the hot piece of metal easily punched into the tank of the propane grill on the back porch; the resulting explosion sent the villain sideways to the ground, and as Vincent looked up the last thing his eyes held before the void of sleep claimed him was his own sledge crashing down toward his head...

Frank had won yet again, but before he could even think of patting himself on the back he felt a prick in his left arm. He had just enough time to look and see a dart of some sort protruding from the black leather of his jacket, before he lost all control of his limbs and crashed down like a puppet with cut strings while his mind was swallowed whole by an inferno of pain. He was vaguely aware that someone was talking;

"Mister Jackson, allow me to introduce myself; I'm Mister Lee. I would have said hello earlier, but I was detained by a metal straight jacket that used to be the car I was driving. I don't mind of course, all part of the job plus the car was a rental anyway. You might be curious as to what's happening to you, so I'll explain;

"It has come to our attention that traditional means of elimination fail when it comes to you, Mister Jackson; but we are nothing if not determined. So I was sent with a little gift for you; a potent neurotoxin. Perhaps you've heard of such a thing in blowfish or some such, but in case you haven't I'll just say it kills the brain. This form has been strongly concentrated, just for you. Oh, we never expected it to result in your demise of course as we're not that lucky, but the chemical is destroying your nervous system forcing you to grow replacements which are also eliminated as so on, while at the same time making it impossible to use your body. Oh, and the extreme amount of pain you're no doubt in right now? That's a little bonus, I won't lie. I don't know how long it'll last, but I have more just in case. Meanwhile, I have radioed in for a transport. Usually it would be here in no time at all, however your friends have complicated matters a bit and so our ride is a bit slow in arriving. When they do get here, they'll have more of this wonderful stuff, and we're going to pump you full of it while thoughts are made above my paygrade as what to do with you. I believe some of the current suggestions are to seal you in a airtight case and throw you into a trench in the ocean, chucking you into an incinerator that is left constantly on, or a never ending dip in liquid nitrogen. There is a side discussion about mind control and turning you to our side, but that's got the least votes so far from the rumors I've heard. You had a good run, that's something anyway. But this was going to happen, Mister Jackson; it always does. Good versus Evil, a hero beats a villain and keeps the world safe. But, he grows old, weaker, frail, or just runs out of luck and a bad guy wins. They spread terror and pain for a while, then they go down and the cycle keeps going on and on and on. You beat The Smith, I beat you, some day a hero will beat me..."

"Do you happen to have today available, my good man?"

The remaining Vincent turned at the sound of a new voice, and found himself facing a man dressed in outdated eveningwear.

"Oh, it's you. The magic man. Sorry if I don't seem properly in awe, but I do have a lot on my plate right now with getting help for my fallen comrade over there and securing a prisoner. I'm aware you escaped from the testing facility, but honestly you were more of a curiosity than a clear threat as Mister Jackson here has proven himself to be. I'm sure you want some big, showy fight with me, but as I said I'm busy and I also have plenty so why not?"

If Peter was curious about the last part of Lee's comment, he ceased to be when the man aimed the poison loaded gun at him and fired. The dart sailed through smoke, and Vincent received a blow from behind. He turned with an annoyed look on his face to find the over dressed hero, now holding a staff he got most likely from one of his magic tricks.

"I will grant that's a handy little skill you have, but bringing in Frank Jackson is going to set me up for life and I'm not about to let some annoying little gnat spoil that for me."

Lee leveled his weapon again and made to fire, but didn't as the misplaced Big Apple rogue protector disappeared again. Vincent simply spun around with his gun at the read, and fired for real at the man now standing behind him; once more his attack failed as the deadly projectile punched into nothing and the illusion faded away as a razor sharp playing card sliced into the killer's right cheek. He looked in the direction of the attack to lock eyes with his new foe, a look of irritation clear on his features as the wound in his flesh healed up without a trace.

"You would have been dead in seconds you know, your system so overloaded you'd most likely be dead before you ever felt anything. But no, you have to play this hero thing to the hilt, don't you? Fine, I have some time to kill anyway. Go ahead, do your worst; anything you can dish out, I can heal from as you've seen. You suffered a head injury before they sent you to the testing grounds, you used your food for escape, I doubt you've got much fight in you especially after your little disappearing act from before. So wear yourself out trying to save the day, and I'll just kill you when you're weak and tired. Or, my friends arrive, and you get outnumbered. Either or, you'll be dead and I'll be gone without even knowing your name."

"Allow me to correct the last thing first, my good man. My name is Black Magic..."

There was a flourished bow.

"...and I shall accept your challenge. You say you can take what I might provide? We shall see."

Another playing card appeared in a gloved hand and flew through the air as Peter vanished and reappeared, throwing another one which like the first and second did no lasting or even real damage. He repeated his actions twice more, but to no avail. The next two attacks came from the same place this time without vanishing, and were sent by one hand each. Lee just sighed and took the impact, realizing too late that this time Black Magic hadn't used cards; he had seen those were of no use in causing harm, but they did keep his audience distracted while he kept teleporting in search of the darts meant for him. He had watched Frank's fight from afar and seen the old man stand after heavy damage, so he figured with Lee was like the fallen fighter what was meant to stop one would work on the other. He was proven right, as the second Vincent joined the first on the ground.

Vargus spared himself no time for basking in his success; Lee had said more enemies were coming. Black Magic swiftly made his way over to Frank, stooped to touch one leather clad shoulder, and both were suddenly gone. The prestidigitator repeated this twice, hoping he had bought him and the fallen hero at least a little time. He wasn't deluded enough to think he could keep the man safe from harm in such a hostile place, but he had a thought about how to get some help. If he was right and the old man was an Agent, then he would have some way of contacting his organization. To this end, Peter started searching until he found a small device almost invisible in one of Frank's ears. The masked crime fighter slipped it into one of his own, and pressed at it hoping to stumble upon how it worked.

"Mayday, mayday. This is Black Magic, to any Gifted heroes, ITSDA, and law enforcement. I found a man named Frank Jackson I believe to be an ITSDA operative, badly injured. We are currently hidden, but I do not know the precise location and enemy reinforcements are inbound. Again, this is Black Magic, calling for rescue. If you need to confirm my identity, Mister Jackson arrived by way of a teleporter I fought alongside of in Central Park and whom I believe might also be an ITSDA Agent. Contact him to confirm my identity, but please use haste."

(OOC: Does anyone want the scene with the soldiers to be a battle post, or should we save the battles for the infiltration/Redcap attack?)

A moment of tense silence passed between Brian's makeshift presentation/plea and Jill's response. Jill stood with her arms grossed, shooting an intimidating, steely look at her possible ally. Vandal's gaze darted rapidly back and forth between Thunderclap and Meta. Whisper tapped his chin repeatedly, quietly hemming and hawing. Glitch stood, looking attentive even as he stole glances at his friends and their guest. Knight saluted his commanding officer.

Before speaking, Jill spun on her heel and pointed at several points on the satellite map.

"We've got two objectives. First, we need to direct and assist the city's counter attack on those Gifted. Second, we need to infiltrate and capture the base. Knight, Glitch, you two and I will handle the immediate crisis. Whisper, your power can assist Meta in infiltrating the base. 

"I think you mean he'll be assisting me," said the bitter young man quietly and to no one in particular. Thunderclap snapped loudly; Whisper stared directly at his commander and gave her a firm nod.

"Ma'am!"

"Scrap, once we land in the city, you will also help infiltrate the compound. Your power can alternatively serve as a diversion and a method of physical infiltration. Vandal, you will serve as a liaison between the two teams and locate Agent Jackson and provide assistance when necessary. Check back with each of your contacts on a regular basis. Am I understood, team?

"Understood, Lieutenant!" responded her agents. Scrap's eyes followed several dots as they appeared on his satellite map of Gaultown and converged near Meta's vehicle.

"Lieutenant, you may need to take a look at this," said Scrap in a matter-of-fact manner that was utterly devoid of fear or even concern. Jill did as Scrap suggested.

"Those aren't police," said Jill. "Okay team, it looks like they have come to us. Meta, did you leave anything important down there?"

Before he could answer, Jill continued her speech.

"Scrap, fly over. Vandal, Knight, secure the civilians. We'll hit them with some spheres and get some answers out of them! Meta, regain control of your vehicle.

As the team (save Vandal) strapped parachutes to their backs, Brian couldn't help but marvel at how they were already ready to reenter the fray.

Canon Battle Post

The first round impacted the sedan, causing a shudder that had not yet passed when the second bullet flew home. The windows along that side shattered completely, while the back and windshields were lanced with jagged cracks from the force of the attack. The rental swerved wildly, in part from being shoved one way by the explosions and in part from the driver overcompensating; yet the assault continued. Paint burned off, rubber shredded and melted, and metal crumpled until there was only one solid lump were the lines that defined the vehicle's doors used to be. The half-mutilated car went fully out of control as the driver forfeited a losing battle; the half dead beast bumping up a sidewalk and crashing into a telephone pole before letting out its death rattle of a blaring horn. Only smoke came from a barrel now instead of more fatal flashes; the pin clicked on an empty chamber.

There was no explosion, but Frank never expected one; electric cars had grown in popularity to the extent that he now had trouble once in a while buying his girl a tank of gas. But considering he and she were in one piece and the sedan a sad impression of a car, he'd have to say American Steel: one, Imported Tin: goose egg. While entertained by this thought, he never took his experienced eyes off the wreck; he was here on a tip that the Wave was in the area, and sending a car to crush him in a lame reenactment of a worn-out action movie plot device would just be their way of saying hello. He had taken out one of their top agents and eliminated a number of their high tech foot soldiers in less time than it took to get a pizza delivered; he was pretty sure they would throw more at him than a simple hit-and-run. There was the sudden and piercing sound of metal being torn, a definitive and irrefutable answer that proved his suspicion correct.

Suddenly, the lump that was once the car's door flew off and Frank was forced to roll for cover as it slammed into his bike. The veteran stared at his machine as it took a beating, but he saw that it was in one piece (if not a bit dented and scratched). He glared at the mountain of a man who climbed out of the car. The man eyed Frank for several long seconds, then reached into the back of the car and pulled out a 50 lb sledgehammer, swinging it around like a little wooden bat. The man had a few burns and cuts running over his hide, but not nearly enough for someone who had just been in a serious accident. He ran a massive hand over his sleek, silver hair and spat blood on the ground.

"Been a while since I tasted my own blood. Fuck if that didn't actually hurt, old man. Let me return the favor, 'kay?"

The guy started running --- fast! Frank noted that when the man kicked off, the pavement cracked with the power of the man's step. It was a fact that Gifted with inhuman strength tended to have rather nasty sprinting speeds. Frank was fast and strong, but he could only push his regenerating human body so far; this man had no such limitations. The agent threw up his hands to block the attack he could not dodge.

A massive, steel-toe boot sank into the forearms he hurled in front of his face. He felt his arms snap like twigs at the impact and lost his breath as he flew into the artificial paneling of the house behind him, through the wall, and landed on some family's abandoned dinner table. It had been spaghetti night. He idly spat a noddle off his face and grunted as he felt his arms set themselves. His fingers twitched as they struggled to grip his sidearm; the familiar weight of his second weapon was missing. It must have gone flying during his last trip. He was glancing around for the weapons when a creak registered in his ears. Only his decades of training and experience made him roll when he heard the slightest squeak of the floor. A massive hammer sank into the spot where his head had been. His ears rang for a second; for Frank, it was a comforting sound.

The old dog tried an old trick; he rolled back and tried to use his body's weight to disarm the opponent. It was easy, Frank had done it hundreds of times. The hammer would be trapped under him, the opponent weaponless, and he could launch any number of attacks from the position, right? The man above him blinked and grinned as his Gifted strength meant his grip on his weapon was not shattered. Frank's considerable weight was nothing to The Smith's strengths. Before Frank could launch his attack, then man simply used the hammer as a lever to send Frank flying again. He crashed through another wall.

As Frank rolled along the family's back yard, he noted a 3'' piece of glass lodged in his thigh from the window he had just crashed through. He focused on it for a second, but the wind then left him as he crashed into some poor kid's swing set. The structure remained standing, but his weight bent the cheap metal support pole badly. He grunted as several ribs broke. Each blow this man dealt was like being hit by a Mack Truck. Frank ought to know, he'd been hit by several in his lifetime. Still, within seconds his body was doing its thing. He gripped the grass to haul himself up even as the backdoor exploded and the mountainous man stepped out, swinging his hammer casually.

"They said you were tough, old man. No kidding. Most men would be dead by now. I do not know if this is a good or bad thing for you." The colossal juggernaut cracked his neck and lowered his frame, building up his energy like a coiling spring. Frank knew another mad sprint was coming and he threw himself to the side. Super strong opponents might have a deadly sprint, but it was usually straight line movement. Behind him, he heard the swing set squeal as it was demolished by the attack. He spun and launched himself at the man.

Smith was just trying to wrestle his hammer from a knot of piping when Frank connected and wrenched the man off his feet. If it had been a matter of brute strengths, Frank would be sorely outmatched. But it was a matter of leverage and Frank used it to spike the hammer wielding maniac onto a corner of the kid's sandbox head first. Frank was atop the man and pounding the head into the wooden corner like a madman until the wood splintered and he was pounding the head against cold dirt. Again his experience said the man's head should turn to mush. Instead, the head stopped his attack mid-strike. The other man was staring at Frank with cold blue eyes.

"Good show old man, but even if you are able to make that body do all that human physiology is capable of... I am stronger than any human!" Then man's hand came up and grasped at Frank's wrists, but the cagey veteran sprang back, grabbed the man's lying hammer, and swung the maul. His swing connected with the man's ribs and the agent felt them give out just a little. The Smith glared and reached for his hammer, but Frank spun away and brought it around again to smash the man's knee. The man buckled and grunted, but the knee did not give the satisfying crunch it should have. Frank didn't stop as he kept going, spinning, hauling back, swinging, and connecting. It was the first time Frank had fought someone who acted just like him. The mad Smith didn't even try to dodge the blows; he just kept trying to grasped the hammer, Frank, or stand. Frank's wounds healed rapidly, but this man seemed immune to being damaged in the first place! Where gaping holes in his skin should have been were just bruises, joints that should have broken were a bit wobbly at best, and ribs that should have been shards were cracked. And the villain just kept coming. Was this what others had felt like fighting him? It was infuriating; but Frank was a survivor of countless battles. He reminded himself that he was war incarnate and that thought kept him calm as he brought the hammer near the man's head. The blow was a direct hit. The man's eyes crossed, his form wobbled, and his considerable size sank just a few inches toward the earth. But then his eyes snapped to focus, a hand shot up and grabbed Frank's wrist, snapped it effortlessly, and swung Frank through the house again.

He was in that strange slow-mo time again. He sailed through the kitchen wall, collected a few more splinters of wood and glass in his form, shot through the kitchen door while miraculously only catching and breaking one ankle on the door's frame, noted a rather comfy looking chair and nice couch as he flew over them, and spotted his weapon in the folds of the couch before his body was crunched up by the family's TV. Frank only had a few precious seconds to catalog his various rapidly healing injuries again and wondered when the last time he had taken so much hurt was. He lurched forward and fell out of the TV onto a rather nice throw rug and then crawled toward his gun. He fell back against it and had just enough time to put a single round into the chamber before he heard the floors in the kitchen creak. He stood, swung around, took the long slow breath necessary to aim his pain wracked form, and pulled the trigger. The man went flying as he doubled over the round exploding in his abdomen.

Frank sighed heavily and slowly limped after the man, reloading the gun as he went. He climbed out the wall, walked to where the man was groaning and trying to stand. Even his superior stamina had problems with an explosive round of this caliber. Frank noted the man's form was only somewhat wounded instead of human spaghetti though. He smiled as he noted he had finally gotten the man to drop his weapon. The nigh-immortal warrior picked up the hammer that had hurt him so much and lifted it over his head. Even if it took a hundred blows, he would crack the bastard's head open like an egg.

"Even a tough summabitch like you's gunna die with no head..."

"I really wish the same was true of you, but our files say otherwise, Mr. Jackson." Frank had a split second to look to the side before his new opponent's bullet thrust its way into his largest neck vein and he collapsed like a puppet with cut strings.

Vincent, for his part, had just been through his own hell. Trapped in a Gordian Knot of a car wreck, Vincent had spent the last several seconds breaking his own bones and tearing his own flesh to get out of the vehicle. The sounds of the fight were obvious and he had watched Frank sail out of and then back into the house as his own form slowly regenerated. Unlike Frank, Vincent had no "stuck in time" bonus, so he suffered an incredible amount of pain as his flesh and bones re-knit themselves. Luckily, the battle gave him time to heal. Once he finished regenerating to the point where he could move, he limped into the backyard, walked calmly up to Agent Jackson, and fired his secret weapon. He then looked at The Smith and raised an eyebrow as he reloaded.

"Are you an asset or a liability, Mr. Smith?" A lifetime of Triad contracts had given Vincent just enough experience to sneak up on the legendary Frank Jackson. Speaking of Mr. Jackson, Vincent knew that a man like him was probably still conscious enough to hear him right now.

"Mister Jackson, allow me to introduce myself; I'm Mister Lee. I would have said hello earlier, but I was detained by a metal straight jacket that used to be the car I was driving. I don't mind of course, it's all part of the job. You might be curious as to what's happening to you, so I'll explain."

"It has come to our attention that our traditional methods fail when it comes to you, Mister Jackson; but we are a determined group. So our boys cooked up a little gift for you: they call it "The Spiker." It's a little bullet with dozens of micro-needles attached to it. As soon as the bullet contacted your blood, it sent those fuckers flying off in every direction. To put it bluntly, your body is now full of syringes, each with enough neurotoxin to vaporize that little brain. And they are programmed to fire off one by one by one by one."

A sadistic smile crept across the assassin's face as he counted to four on his fingers. Frank's body suffered spasm after spasm as his nervous system degenerated and regenerated at an impossible rate.

We know this won't kill you, be we have some plans to take care of that. You had a good run, Frank, but this was going to happen; it always does. Good versus evil, a hero beats a villain and keeps the world safe. But he grows old, weak, frail, or just runs out of luck and a bad guy wins. They spread terror and pain for a while, then they go down and the cycle keeps going on and on and on. You beat The Smith, I beat you, some day a hero will beat me. Kill and be killed, that's how it is with us street rats."

"Ah, but it's different for showmen! We dare not go gently but by tragic accident. We move boldly, even in death!"

The remaining Vincent turned at the sound of a new voice, and found himself facing a man dressed in outdated evening wear.

"Oh, it's you. The magic man. Sorry if I don't seem properly in awe, but I do have a lot on my plate right now. I know you escaped from the testing facility, but honestly you were more of a curiosity than a clear threat. I'm sure you want some big, showy fight with me, but as I said I'm busy and I have extra... so why not?"

If Peter was curious about the last part of Lee's comment, he ceased to be when the man aimed the poison loaded gun at him and fired. As the large, relatively slow bullet sailed through smoke, and Vincent received a blow from behind. He turned with an annoyed look on his face to find the overdressed hero now holding a staff.

"I will grant that's a handy little skill you have, but bringing in Frank Jackson is going to set me up for life. I'm not about to let a gnat like you ruin it!"

Lee leveled his weapon again and made to fire, but didn't as the misplaced Big Apple rogue protector disappeared again. Vincent simply spun around with his gun at the ready and fired for real at the man now standing behind him. Once more, his attack failed as the deadly projectile punched into nothing and the illusion faded away. A razor sharp playing card sliced into the killer's right cheek. He looked in the direction of the attack to lock eyes with his new foe, a look of irritation clear on his features as the wound in his flesh healed up without a trace.

"You would have been dead in seconds, you know. It'd have been so peaceful, so quick, so easy. But no, you have to play this hero thing to the hilt, don't you? Fine, go ahead. Anything you can dish out, I can heal from. After the day you've had, I doubt you've got much fight left in you. So wear yourself out trying to save the day, and I'll just kill you when you're weak and tired. Or you'll last until my friends arrive. Either way, you'll be dead and I'll be gone without even knowing your name."

"Allow me to correct the latter issue first, my good man. My name is Black Magic..."

There was a flourished bow.

"...and I shall accept your challenge. You say you can take all I can offer? We shall see."

Another playing card appeared in a gloved hand and flew through the air as Peter vanished and reappeared, throwing another one which like the first and second did no lasting or even real damage. He repeated his actions twice more, but to no avail. The next two attacks came from the same place this time without vanishing, and were sent by one hand each. Lee just sighed and took the impact, realizing too late that this time Black Magic hadn't used cards; he had seen those were of no use in causing harm, but they did keep his audience distracted while he kept teleporting in search of the bullets meant for him. He had watched Frank's fight from afar and seen the old man stand after heavy damage, so he figured Lee was like the fallen fighter. If these things could stop Frank, they could put Vincent down. He would have been proven right, had the thrown bullet not barely broken the man's skin.

"Real sneaky, kid. Gotta work on that pitch, though," Vincent Lee cackled in delight and fired once more at the shocked Black Magic.

Vargus barely managed to duck the bullet that left a hole in his hat. As he twirled his hat off of his head and caught a glimpse of it, his famous confidence cracked. Just like before, his magic started pouring out of the hole in his armor. He knew he could come back from this again, but he needed time!

But time was not on his side. Vincent smirked and lobbed a incendiary grenade clear over Peter's head. A horrible shadow of a man with a burning hammer grew under the showman's feet.

Vargus' rolled under the hammer, but the white-hot flames still licked his suit. Burning and flanked, a desperate Black Magic dove for Frank and touched the hem of the badass' leather jacket. The pair disappeared in a cloud of smoke and flame. The prestidigitator repeated this twice, hoping he had bought himself and the fallen hero at least a little time. He wasn't deluded enough to think he could keep the man safe from harm in such a hostile place, but he had a thought about how to get some help. If he was right and the old man was an agent, then he would have some way of contacting his organization. With that in mind, Peter started searching until he found an almost microscopic device in one of Frank's ears. The masked crime fighter slipped it into one of his own, and pressed at it hoping to stumble upon how it worked.

"Mayday, mayday. This is Black Magic, to any Gifted heroes, ITSDA, and law enforcement. I found an injured man named Frank Jackson. I believe him to be an ITSDA operative. We are currently hidden, but I do not know the precise location and enemy reinforcements are inbound. Again, this is Black Magic, calling for rescue. If you need to confirm my identity, Mister Jackson arrived by way of a teleporter I fought beside in Central Park. If he is an ITSDA agent, you can call him to confirm my identity, but please use haste! Time is of the essence."

NON CANON BATTLE POST

...And the team springs into action leaping from the lowering cargo ramp.

Brian only needed a moment to assess his own tactical agenda and nodded to a grimacing Whisper. Brian needed his suit and needed his go-kit from his RV. The others sprang into action. Meta's hud tracked each of them as they began to spread out and Scrap strapped himself into the pilot seat. Jill watched impassively for only a moment before strapping herself into monitoring seat.

Brian's combat chute weighed a cool eighty pounds and he felt the weight before he himself leaped from the hold, along with the reluctant Whisper. Within moments the team had cleared the hold.

Whisper called on the radio after they felt a few seconds of freefall, "We're clear, Pull!"

As Brian saw below, Namidian soldiers or police were surrounding his RV, much to his chagrin he saw the breach and they began to pour into the vehicle. When he was off the ground by ten feet or so he hit his buckles and dropped the remaining distance. He absorbed impact by dropping into a roll and came up squirt gun in hand. He had about four shots left in the thing so he hoped he wouldn't need more. His hud showed that there were skirmishes where the eastern side of the interstate had been shut down on either end of the roadway, that was where Vandal and Knight were located. Whisper crept up behind Meta but the two maintained radio silence, just as Scrap flew over top of the vehicle and a score of small spheres dropped from the undercarriage of the ITSDA VTOL craft, the soldiers in police uniforms outside began to fire on the craft as their buddies took refuge. Each of the small aluminum spheres shot into the squad as they sprayed a knockout gas throughout the area.

Meta was close enough to the RV now that he could tap into the systems within it. He began to purge his system, Johnny-5 had already been cut-loose so he had much fewer things to worry about, but Johnny's source code, was still there, uncompiled and would be a rather impressive treasure for any Namidian willing to bring home his blackbox server.

Three of the Namidians went down with the gas, the fourth and fifth fired from inside the door of the RV, taking shots at the craft above, gas masks on their faces now. The sixth man was inside the RV, probably rifling through his gear...a radio signal went off, Meta could detect it, but didn't have the time to break the encryption. Hopefully he wasn't beaming the contents of the server. Brian and Whisper watched as the soldiers began to take clinical shots at any target they could see, and that included Whisper and Meta.

Meta closed his eyes for a moment and his truck vrooomed to life. He had reprogrammed the OnStar module  to respond to his commands and that would come in handy about now, he tapped into the computer control module of the pickup, something he had worked tirelessly on a few months ago. He was glad he had now, for he began to drive the truck attached to the RV forward and backward fast, attempting to send the soldiers within the RV into a maelstrom of snow-globe-like proportions. It worked, they had dropped their guard and weapons to hang on to the vehicle as Brian stood up and began to walk towards the flailing RV door.

Whisper hissed at Brian, "wait for Vandal and Knight!"

"Now's the time Whisper."

Seeing Meta was not stopping, he began to call to Jill and the muscle of the team, "Meta's moving in, we need support..."

Jill called back, "Vandal and Knight are engaging the Namidian forces flanking your position. No backup coming, proceed with Meta, with caution, and don't get yourselves killed."

Meta disabled the interior controls and locked the false freezer, too late, it had been opened. Brian began to analyze the situation and simulated outcomes to the highest probability. He knew the guys inside were probably sufficiently shaken to try and get out now, he raised his squirt gun and slammed the remote controlled vehicle into one of the jeeps surrounding it, sending whoever was inside into a whirlwind of debris and breaking glass, the impact wasn't very great, he didn't have room to do damage, but it would add to the chaos of the situation within and turn confusion into a madhouse.

Meta poked his head into the vehicle and saw a wide-eyed 'Gibson' staring at him, and pulling back for a punch while grabbing at his gun with the other hand. He got a squirt in the face.

Another man, saw 'Gibson' drop, knocked out by Meta's FADEAWAY squirt gun, contact with the skin was all that was needed to nigh-instantly drop a person. Next he saw a burly looking lieutenant push a dislodged cabinet from himself as he brought up his UMP machine pistol. A spray of bullet fire erupted within the vehicle and Brian leaped upon the only other man, still scrambling to recover from the crash. Bullets exploded through the side of the RV just as Whisper turned up the juice on his own Gift. Whisper raised his gun and shot through the exterior of the vehicle, his radar sense allowed him to pinpoint the sound of the gun's spring-loader as it clicked another bullet into the chamber.

Whisper's bullet pinged off of the gun much to the surprise of the hefty looking lieutenant, sparks and tiny lead shrapnel pieces disarming the man instantly, Brian had only a moment to roll aside to uncover and shoot the man's face under his tackle. His arms went limp as he had attempted to get a wrestling hold on Meta.

Brian's gift kicked into full power and time slowed to a crawl around him. His first squirt missed the commanding soldier instead hitting the now lone soldier's armored vest, and he was not slow compared to the size of his bulk as he barreled towards Meta. Lieutenant Marcus's square jaw set and bulged in his cheeks, as Meta adjusted his aim slightly and pulled the trigger once more at the oncoming powerhouse. The liquid jetted out and misted into the man's face as he fell before Meta's mighty FADEAWAY. Meta let out an >oomph<, as the Lieutenant hit him with his full now almost totally inert weight and momentum.

Meta dispassionately said, "there we go, I thought we were going to be in trouble. Nice shot...," Meta had already calculated the possible known gifts this guy Whisper might have, as he pushed the Namidian off of him.

Whisper snorted, "next time you better not just barge in, wait for me to help. I got ears ya know, that's my Gift. Boss, we've secured the vehicle."

Meta nodded, "I see, well you can prep these guys for transport if you like. I've got to get a few things...don't touch the purple liquid, it's a knockout agent."

Whisper began to cuff the men and make a pile of contraband outside the wagon. Meanwhile Meta began to haul a bag of personal effects and a blade-style server out of the RV. Once he had everything he needed, he found a bundle of his Meta-material cloth stuffed into the lieutenant's jacket, "that's mine."
This message was last edited by the player at 23:19, Mon 21 Sept 2015.

As Jill ordered Meta and Whisper leapt from the Cargo ramp even before it'd finished lowering.
Things were moving quickly for Meta- it was almost unreal to think that only a few hours ago he'd discovered a Namidian presence in the small sleepy town, whilst even now he was leaping into a potential battlefield with allies he'd only met minutes ago, out of a plane he'd only just boarded.
Fortunately thinking fast on his feet was one of Meta's many talents, and if the rapidly worsening situation phased him Brian didn't show it.

As Whisper and Meta plunged through the chilling night sky their freefall brought them above Brian's RV at a steep angle, with a sharp snap of captured air Whisper released his parachute and the ITSDA agent rapidly slowed his decent, Meta followed his lead. Moments later a cluster of fist-sized steel spheres shot between the two parachutes with a whistle to scatter themselves around their landing zone and burst into a thick screen of pale chemical gas.

Scraps airborne assault had an immediate effect on the invading soldiers and they immediately shouted in startled confusion, the wind rushing past Meta's ear as he rolled into his landing stopped him from making out whatever they were saying but Whisper picked out that their Squad Leader was shouting orders to bring his men back into line.

"NEWBIE, SECURE THE WINDOWS. YOU! GET A FIRING POINT! BREATHE SHALLOW, THE GAS SHOULD ONLY TAKE A MOMENT TO PASS- THEN WE COUNTER ATTACK!"

Like this, Marcus minimised the damage of the ITSDA's opening volley and regained control of his situation. Whisper, however, wasn't interested in giving them a chance to recover. He called out a request to his team-mate before ducking his parachute into a controlled landing.

"Meta, they're going to bunker down. You didn't build your RV with any clever tricks, by chance?"

Meta had already hit the ground and ditched his heavy parachute, and a smug grin settled on his face as he accessed his RV's computer interface with a remote command.

"As if you had to ask. I have 'clever tricks' to spare."

With a few mental clicks Meta's truck jumped into a life of its own. Without warning it's on-board AC unit revved to full power and sprayed the vehicles interior with the chemical-laced gas from outside, at the same time every mechanical window on the vehicle (including the sunroof) started to wind themselves open. Within seconds the inside of the RV was as inhospitable as the road around it. The soldiers suddenly clearing from the RV's exit were accompanied by the sound of their own coughing and gagging as they tried to find a patch of breathable air.
The rough column of men beat a desperate advance back to their own vehicles. several of the soldiers dropped to their knees and succumbed to exhaustion as the ITSDA's knock-out gas took hold, but those who didn't peppered the air around Meta and Whisper with loose bullets as they tried to place difficult shots through the thick eye-watering smoke.

Meta's tactical mind raced as he analysed the situation with clinical, automatic, genius. At the moment they had the upper hand but the knock-out gas would only take a few more seconds to completely disperse, and once that happened the battlefield would rapidly shift against them; Meta's squirtgun was instantly effective but suffered from a short range, and once the soldiers were able to re-coordinate their numbers and automatic weaponry would make short work of the two gifted. Each passing second made the situation worse for the pair, but Meta struggled to think of a way to end the battle without exposing himself to undue risk.
Whisper tilted his head as though listening to something, before muttering to Brian.

"Only four soldiers are still concious, and two of those aren't going to last much longer. All four are running low on ammunition."

Meta was taken by surprise, a rare thing. "How can you tell?"

"My ears are burning, is all."It was Whispers turn to look smug. Meta shared his grin as the new information gave him the leverage he was looking for.

"All right then! Here's what we're going to do..."



Marcus, Gibson and two wheezing soldiers had taken cover behind one of the military Jeeps that'd borne them down the I-70. They were all that was left of their squad, and Marcus knew from the way that two of his men were spluttering that they were combat incapable. His squad had weathered the initial volley of knock-out gas well, but the shock of the RV turning against them and the undisciplined retreat back to their vehicles had caused most of his men to breath the polluted air deeply and suffer the consequences. Marcus fancied that he was the only one of his squad with the discipline to manage his breath under direct fire- well- him and the new guy- somehow.
Marcus's peripheral vision caught something and he spun his weapon around as his eye glimpsed a figure darting out from behind the smokescreen and towards the abandoned Recreational Vehicle, he jabbed two fingers at his enemy before shouldering his sub-machinegun.

"Eight O'Clock, Greenhorn! Light 'im up!"

Gibson and Marcus both fired tight bursts of lead down the highway, but their target darted back just as their fingers tightened on their triggers- almost as though it had anticipated their attack at the last moment. A few frustrated bullets later and both their weapons jammed with deadmans clicks as they wasted their last bullets.

"Reloa-!"

Marcus's order was interrupted as a second figure vaulted and slid over their Jeeps hood, to shoot him in the face with some kind of water pistol. The squad leader immediately seized up and pitched forward as if he were a puppet with cut strings, the figure adjusted his aim with tight efficiency and fired a second jet of purple liquid at the last soldier standing; Gibson.
Meta's attack fell short, rather than finish reloading his weapon Gibson threw it into the air between himself and the nozzle of Brian's blaster. The liquid rebounded harmlessly against the obstacle and before Brian could squeeze off a second shot the huge soldier had already closed the distance between them with a few threatening steps. A strong backhand hit the side of Meta's weapon and sent it flying from his hands and out of reach whist his other darted forward with surprising speed and viced a single broad hand around the gifted geniuses throat! The whole action was performed in a single martial movement that was as natural to the soldier as breathing. The thuggish mercenary spoke tensely and through gritted teeth, without any pretence of amusement.

"Try any tricks and I will break your neck. Tell your friend to surrender, Immediately. Under authority of the United States Government I am placing you both unde- AUGH!"

Gibson's head seemed to snap back of it's own accord, and the man released his grip to stumble away involuntarily. He regarded Meta with a look of almost drunken surprise before falling into an unconscious heap. A spurt of blood from a burst vessel shot from one of his nostrils.
Meta got his breath back raggedly, and he rubbed the ache out of his neck with a steady hand. He hadn't expected his foe to be so proficient at hand-to-hand combat, but at the same time the soldier hadn't expected Brian to lash out with a TK-Punch. In a roundabout fashion, brain had defeated brawn.



Some minutes later the site was secure. Meta had recovered all his stolen property, and Whisper had restrained their unconscious enemies with zip-ties around their wrists and ankles- the big one that'd tried to strangle Brian was given an extra pair, for good measure.

"The others are moving into position. Ready to go?" Whisper enquired.

"Yeah. Ready."
Brian spoke sourly. Before he'd taken out Gibson the man had said something about working for the US government. That had taken him by surprise, and it cast a thin shadow of doubt over his new ITSDA comrades- the ITSDA were government funded, right? Had this been a friendly fire incident? Had the soldier been trying to use a psychological trick? Was the situation more morally grey than he'd fist suspected? How did Schwartze Augen fit into all this? Questions with no clean answer began to intrude on Meta's active mind, and as a man who was supposed to know everything, it vexed him.
"Where to now?"

Whisper pointed down the I-70.
"That way. The squad was receiving orders from their mission co-ordinator, and I can still hear his radio transmissions. It must be their base of operations."
Whisper tilted his head again, as though eavesdropping on a conversation.
"In fact, I'm sure it's their base. We should leave immediately; whoever's giving the orders sounds pissed off."

---

"Charlie division, Come in, Charlie! Please respond!"
Scraps voice modulator rendered The Commanders voice as panicked and fearful, but behind his transmitter Commander was smiling with amusement in the only small grim way that his features allowed.
"Charlie! We're going communication dark and assuming total loss- re-establish communication immediately! Please! Respond!"

Commander took his thumb off the 'Transmit' trigger of his hacked device and took Scraps voice modulator off from around his neck. All four Namidians burst into unrestrained villainous laughter. Charlie squads encounter had hit various snags, but it'd played it's role to within a hairs breadth of perfection.

"You might have hammed it up a bit, Commander. Do you think they'll fall for it?" Scrap managed, as he wiped a tear from his eye.

Commander's face was still set in it's grim excuse for a smile.
"Let's check."
He pulled the 'Scrapped' tablet open and fired off a quick message. A few moments later a reply appeared onscreen which confirmed that Leviathan was tracking two heat signatures leaving the I-70 on a direct path toward the infiltrated government facility. Commander's grin would have widened, if it could.
"Mission accomplished. In a few minutes this facility's going to be a madhouse."
This message was last edited by the player at 19:16, Sat 26 Sept 2015.

About a minute before the Songbird lowered its cargo bay door, the soldiers dashed toward the RV in two lines of 10, ignoring the police who had just hit the scene.

"Freeze! This is a restricted area; identify yourselves!" said the lead law enforcement officer as he held up and readied his gun without aiming it. The soldiers' gruff-faced leader stepped out of the vehicle, held up his hands, and spoke.

"Sergeant Marcus, Army Special Forces Unit 17," responded the man. The officer noticed the scowl on Marcus' face and the man's impatient twitching; he was about to act.

"We're managing this incident. Secure the area!"

The soldiers, in nearly perfect unison (broken only by Gibson's half-second delay), trained the rifles on the officers. The officers responded in kind, turning the scene into a Mexican standoff.

"We need to verify--"

"There's no time! This vehicle contains dangerous, sensitive material you boys got no experience with. Any move to protect the vehicle is a threat to the security of this country... and we're pretty good at putting those down."

Marcus finally drew his weapon and, with one hand, aimed it squarely at the leader of the police forces' head before he could react.

"So what's it gonna be, friend?"

A whimpering rookie finally snapped, yelped, and fired upon the soldiers aiming at him. Vandal, Knight, Whisper, Glitch, and Meta found themselves parachuting down into a full-on firefight. Police were dropping left and right, men were desperately scrambling to get behind cover, grenades were flying through the air, and stray bursts of gunfire forced Whisper to loudly hiss in pain in order to avoid crying out.

Vandal dove at the ground, drawing much of the soldiers' fire as she cartwheeled forward and sprinted past them. A half-dozen soldiers were knocked off their feet and slapped aside by the massive gust her movement created. The police began to move in.

"Open fire!"

Bullets flied from pistols and bounced off body armor, only scraping and bruising their battle-hardened targets. Knight finally landed a few seconds later, stomping into the middle of the chaos as enormous silver shields grew out of his shoulders.

Glitch, Whisper, and Meta landed together, just in time to see the streams of bullets subtly denting Knight's shields. Meta's HUD highlighted 27 potential threats. One turned to face him and instinctively fired upon the unknown interlopers.

"Get down!" said Meta as he threw himself to the ground. Glitch and Whisper followed their new ally's orders. The duo, followed by Meta, then expertly repositioned themselves soon after so that their targets' fire couldn't follow them.

"Thanks. Get ready," shouted Glitch. Before Glitch could clarify what that meant, Jill Irvine's "Thunderclap" spheres began hitting the ground rapidly. One by one by one, explosions of light and giant cracking sounds rocked the battlefield.

"Look away!" Whisper returned Meta's favor. The young genius managed to shield his eyes the instant before a Thunderclap sphere would have blinded him.

"Ahhhh!" Soldiers cried out in sensory agony.In the midst of it all, Knight held fast and managed to remain standing even as his ears began to bleed.

After nearly a full minute of full-on assault, a signal came over the First Response Team's radios and Meta's headset.

"All clear, team. You've got thirty seconds, move in!"

Whisper, Meta, and Glitch dashed for the RV, stepping over and racing around stunned soldiers and police officers. As they moved, the debilitated militants grabbed at the strange, horrifying sounds that surrounded them and called out for their allies.

"Johnson? Alex?" Meta admitted to himself that the scene was horrifying, but he pressed onward. He had to recapture his RV, or at least destroy it. If the Namidians found out about this, they would learn far too much about him and his weapons. And everyone knows what happens when Namidias manages to predict your moves...

Meta reached the door first. He immediately reached his foot out for a hidden panel near the bottom of the RV. Much to his confusion, the door didn't respond. He began to sweat as he swung the door open wildly. When he saw that the interior was largely untouched, he beckoned the others inside.

While Meta grabbed a screwdriver and removed a communication device from what looked like the RV's stereo, Glitch gasped at the sight of its interior. Gadgets and gizmos, some ITSDA level, others straight out of the science-fiction he read as a child, filled the cramped interior. Whisper, however, merely slammed his hand on the side of the RV.

"Take what's important and get out! We're here to secure them, not die for your truck!"

"He's right. We have to work fast. Jill's only got so much time.

"It's an RV, actually. And while I sympathize with your fear, all of it is important," said Meta as he pressed a button hidden in one of the RV's cabinets that made a panel rise up near the front.

Whisper thrusts his pointer finger out at Meta.

"What do you propose, we rev this baby up?"

"Kind of."

There's a blockade! There's innocents down there, we can't just--"

"I know." Meta took the wheel. Three tiny windows, each showing an infrared view of a car and all the people near, it opened up on his HUD. Next, a radar of the entire field of battle appeared. Meta held his hands out straight in front of his body and two of the cars took off! Police officers desperately dodged out of the way. The cars moved perfectly around them as Meta's computers and pattern-seeking brain instantaneously predicted their next move. After several hundred minute finger waggles and precise hand motions, a path had been cleared in front of the RV. Meta slapped his hands together, turning over his RV's engine. He then backed up two paces, reversing the vehicle until it had just enough space to snake its way around the crater taking up most of the road.

As soon as Meta reversed, Glitch noticed a cluster of bombs covering Knight's armored hide. Worse, he then noticed more bombs being literally magnetically drawn to the first. One of the bomb clusters exploded, cleaving a massive hole in Knight's nearly invincible shield.

"Knight needs us. I'll lay down a diversion." said Glitch.

"No!" said Whisper. <Purple>"We can't rely on tricks. I'll pinpoint 'em, you knock 'em down. Meta here will provide the diversion."

Meta nodded softly in silent agreement as he kept his hands in front of him, then spoke up after he didn't get the response he was expecting.

"Roger! I'm on it."

The third car finally activated, weaving in and around the scattered little groups of soldiers for just long enough to draw their attention without letting them realize it was unmanned. The distraction didn't last long; one soldier managed to hit the back window with a magnetic bomb that attracted 5 others. Forty seconds after the car started moving, its back half was torn to ribbons of twisted metal and the remainder was flipped over and sent flying by sheer explosive force.

Four seconds was all the expert agents needed, however. Glitch emerged from the vehicle about 10 seconds in, moved in on two of the soldiers tossing bombs at the car, and took them down with one fluid combination.

"One of 'em, 8'o clock, two seconds," said Whisper over Glitch's radio. After moving left for two seconds, Glitch jumped over and behind a single soldier. Glitch then grabbed his victim by the neck, closed his mouth tightly, and tossed him to the ground with enough force to knock him out.

"Four of 'em, 11'o clock, five seconds," The battle continued like this, with Whisper acting as spotter and Glitch the "sniper," for several seconds. But Marcus was no one's fool. From across the battlefield, he had noticed his troops falling faster than any police officer could have taken them out. His trained eyes managed to catch fleeting glimpses of an ultra-fluid and stealthy target. Whoever this freak was, he was good. But not good enough. Like Meta, Marcus managed to predict the movement of his opponent. A burst of assault rifle bullets pierced Glitch's side.

"Glitch!" shouted Whisper, revealing his position to the remaining soldiers and police officers.

"Songbird, Glitch is down. I repeat, Glitch is down! EVAC, EVAC!"

"Damn! Alright, confirmed. Rescue Knight and Glitch, then begin your escape. I'll handle the thugs."

"You just fired twenty! How will you--"

"I can do it. Trust me," said an obviously exhausted Jill Irvine.

"Yes, Lieutenant." A concerned, wide-eyed gaze gave way to a steely look of determination. "Throw it into reverse, now!"

Knowing exactly how much room he had left, Meta did exactly that. The RV raced backwards for hundreds of feet, Whisper jumped out the back door and shouted for Knight.

"Knight, shed one and hit the RV!" Knight ran toward the RV's back door, tossing his less damaged shield into Whisper's arms. The experienced agent then raced toward Glitch's last known location, using his ability to monitor the soldiers as they took aim at him. Bursts of gunfire slammed into the shield he carried, each burst coming closer to knocking him off of his feet. Yet Whisper continued to push onward until he came up to his comrade and hoisted him up onto his shoulders.

"I've got you, buddy!"

"You always did," said Glitch through pained groans. Meta, after determining the ideal maneuvers to avoid fire and allow Whisper's escape, threw his RV into reverse once more. Only this time, he made a U-turn in the middle of the road and drove right up to his compatriots before throwing open the back door. This gave Whisper just enough time to board the RV... and Gibson just enough time to throw a magnetic bomb deep inside the vehicle.

"Emergency situation. Moving to intercept." said Knight. With that, Knight grew one last shield out of his back and threw it down on top of the bomb. As the RV raced off down the road and away from the battle, the bomb's magnetic field attracted about a dozen other bombs that flew after it. Luckily, Meta had a solution.

"Whisper, short range EMP, second drawer down," said the mad tinkerer. Whisper flailed around, threw the second drawer nearest him open, and pulled out an EMP rifle as the bombs drew near. Without loading or even aiming it properly, he kicked down the RV's back door and fired the gun. The EMP weapon knocked each and every bomb out of the sky.

As the team escaped the I-80, they noticed 5 enormous Thunderclap spheres knocking everyone on the former battlefield out. Aboard the Songbird, Jill fell to her knees before firing off one last shot, then fell backwards. Scrap quickly closed the plane's cargo bay door and raced back to respond to his CO's medical emergency.

"How is our friend?" asked Knight.

"Stable," responded Whisper. "Therefore, our mission must continue. Brian, we will proceed toward the base's suspected location and begin our attack. Scrap, Jill, and Glitch may be unable to join us for now..."

Whisper stopped talking for a bit. For once, the man seemed a bit choked up.

"But we must end this. Before its too late. Before more of us wind up no better than 'stable.'"

"Aye," said Knight, weakly.

"Understood," said Meta as he redirected his RV in the direction of the hidden government base.

-----------------------------------------

Meanwhile, across town, Vandal's radio had picked up on a weak signal while she was out making sure civilians were out of the hot zone. A man calling himself Black Magic said Agent Jackson was in trouble. It could be a trap, but traps never really bothered Vandal... she was far too fast to get caught up in one of them. She raced toward the signal at unbelievable speed, carefully scanning the road far ahead for civilians in her path and moving far around them. When she finally arrived at the house she tracked the signal to, she leaped through a window on the other side of the building and jumped down to the basement in less than second.

"I ain't no knight in shining armor, but I think I can help. How bad is it?"

About a minute before the Songbird lowered its cargo bay door, the soldiers dashed toward the RV in two lines of 10, ignoring the police who had just hit the scene.

"Freeze! This is a restricted area; identify yourselves!" said the lead law enforcement officer as he held up and readied his gun without aiming it. The soldiers' gruff-faced leader stepped out of the vehicle, held up his hands, and spoke.

"Sergeant Marcus, Army Special Forces Unit 17," responded the man. The officer noticed the scowl on Marcus' face and the man's impatient twitching; he was about to act.

"We're managing this incident. Secure the area!"

The soldiers, in nearly perfect unison (broken only by Gibson's half-second delay), trained the rifles on the officers. The officers responded in kind, turning the scene into a Mexican standoff.

"We need to verify--"

"There's no time! This vehicle contains dangerous, sensitive material you boys got no experience with. Any move to protect the vehicle is a threat to the security of this country... and we're pretty good at putting those down."

Marcus finally drew his weapon and, with one hand, aimed it squarely at the leader of the police forces' head before he could react.

"So what's it gonna be, friend?"

A whimpering rookie finally snapped, yelped, and fired upon the soldiers aiming at him. Vandal, Knight, Whisper, Glitch, and Meta found themselves parachuting down into a full-on firefight. Police were dropping left and right, men were desperately scrambling to get behind cover, grenades were flying through the air, and stray bursts of gunfire forced Whisper to loudly hiss in pain in order to avoid crying out.

Vandal dove at the ground, drawing much of the soldiers' fire as she cartwheeled forward and sprinted past them. A half-dozen soldiers were knocked off their feet and slapped aside by the massive gust her movement created. The police began to move in.

"Open fire!"

Bullets flied from pistols and bounced off body armor, only scraping and bruising their battle-hardened targets. Knight finally landed a few seconds later, stomping into the middle of the chaos as enormous silver shields grew out of his shoulders.

Glitch, Whisper, and Meta landed together, just in time to see the streams of bullets subtly denting Knight's shields. Meta's HUD highlighted 27 potential threats. One turned to face him and instinctively fired upon the unknown interlopers.

"Get down!" said Meta as he threw himself to the ground. Glitch and Whisper followed their new ally's orders. The duo, followed by Meta, then expertly repositioned themselves soon after so that their targets' fire couldn't follow them.

"Thanks. Get ready," shouted Glitch. Before Glitch could clarify what that meant, Jill Irvine's "Thunderclap" spheres began hitting the ground rapidly. One by one by one, explosions of light and giant cracking sounds rocked the battlefield.

"Look away!" Whisper returned Meta's favor. The young genius managed to shield his eyes the instant before a Thunderclap sphere would have blinded him.

"Ahhhh!" Soldiers cried out in sensory agony.In the midst of it all, Knight held fast and managed to remain standing even as his ears began to bleed.

After nearly a full minute of full-on assault, a signal came over the First Response Team's radios and Meta's headset.

"All clear, team. You've got thirty seconds, move in!"

Whisper, Meta, and Glitch dashed for the RV, stepping over and racing around stunned soldiers and police officers. As they moved, the debilitated militants grabbed at the strange, horrifying sounds that surrounded them and called out for their allies.

"Johnson? Alex?" Meta admitted to himself that the scene was horrifying, but he pressed onward. He had to recapture his RV, or at least destroy it. If the Namidians found out about this, they would learn far too much about him and his weapons. And everyone knows what happens when Namidias manages to predict your moves...

Meta reached the door first. He immediately reached his foot out for a hidden panel near the bottom of the RV. Much to his confusion, the door didn't respond. He began to sweat as he swung the door open wildly. When he saw that the interior was largely untouched, he beckoned the others inside.

While Meta grabbed a screwdriver and removed a communication device from what looked like the RV's stereo, Glitch gasped at the sight of its interior. Gadgets and gizmos, some ITSDA level, others straight out of the science-fiction he read as a child, filled the cramped interior. Whisper, however, merely slammed his hand on the side of the RV.

"Take what's important and get out! We're here to secure them, not die for your truck!"

"He's right. We have to work fast. Jill's only got so much time.

"It's an RV, actually. And while I sympathize with your fear, all of it is important," said Meta as he pressed a button hidden in one of the RV's cabinets that made a panel rise up near the front.

Whisper thrusts his pointer finger out at Meta.

"What do you propose, we rev this baby up?"

"Kind of."

There's a blockade! There's innocents down there, we can't just--"

"I know." Meta took the wheel. Three tiny windows, each showing an infrared view of a car and all the people near, it opened up on his HUD. Next, a radar of the entire field of battle appeared. Meta held his hands out straight in front of his body and two of the cars took off! Police officers desperately dodged out of the way. The cars moved perfectly around them as Meta's computers and pattern-seeking brain instantaneously predicted their next move. After several hundred minute finger waggles and precise hand motions, a path had been cleared in front of the RV. Meta slapped his hands together, turning over his RV's engine. He then backed up two paces, reversing the vehicle until it had just enough space to snake its way around the crater taking up most of the road.

As soon as Meta reversed, Glitch noticed a cluster of bombs covering Knight's armored hide. Worse, he then noticed more bombs being literally magnetically drawn to the first. One of the bomb clusters exploded, cleaving a massive hole in Knight's nearly invincible shield.

"Knight needs us. I'll lay down a diversion." said Glitch.

"No!" said Whisper. "We can't rely on tricks. I'll pinpoint 'em, you knock 'em down. Meta here will provide the diversion."

Meta nodded softly in silent agreement as he kept his hands in front of him, then spoke up after he didn't get the response he was expecting.

"Roger! I'm on it."

The third car finally activated, weaving in and around the scattered little groups of soldiers for just long enough to draw their attention without letting them realize it was unmanned. The distraction didn't last long; one soldier managed to hit the back window with a magnetic bomb that attracted 5 others. Forty seconds after the car started moving, its back half was torn to ribbons of twisted metal and the remainder was flipped over and sent flying by sheer explosive force.

Four seconds was all the expert agents needed, however. Glitch emerged from the vehicle about 10 seconds in, moved in on two of the soldiers tossing bombs at the car, and took them down with one fluid combination.

"One of 'em, 8'o clock, two seconds," said Whisper over Glitch's radio. After moving left for two seconds, Glitch jumped over and behind a single soldier. Glitch then grabbed his victim by the neck, closed his mouth tightly, and tossed him to the ground with enough force to knock him out.

"Four of 'em, 11'o clock, five seconds," The battle continued like this, with Whisper acting as spotter and Glitch the "sniper," for several seconds. But Marcus was no one's fool. From across the battlefield, he had noticed his troops falling faster than any police officer could have taken them out. His trained eyes managed to catch fleeting glimpses of an ultra-fluid and stealthy target. Whoever this freak was, he was good. But not good enough. Like Meta, Marcus managed to predict the movement of his opponent. A burst of assault rifle bullets pierced Glitch's side.

"Glitch!" shouted Whisper, revealing his position to the remaining soldiers and police officers.

"Songbird, Glitch is down. I repeat, Glitch is down! EVAC, EVAC!"

"Damn! Alright, confirmed. Rescue Knight and Glitch, then begin your escape. I'll handle the thugs."

"You just fired twenty! How will you--"

"I can do it. Trust me," said an obviously exhausted Jill Irvine.

"Yes, Lieutenant." A concerned, wide-eyed gaze gave way to a steely look of determination. "Throw it into reverse, now!"

Knowing exactly how much room he had left, Meta did exactly that. The RV raced backwards for hundreds of feet, Whisper jumped out the back door and shouted for Knight.

"Knight, shed one and hit the RV!" Knight ran toward the RV's back door, tossing his less damaged shield into Whisper's arms. The experienced agent then raced toward Glitch's last known location, using his ability to monitor the soldiers as they took aim at him. Bursts of gunfire slammed into the shield he carried, each burst coming closer to knocking him off of his feet. Yet Whisper continued to push onward until he came up to his comrade and hoisted him up onto his shoulders.

"I've got you, buddy!"

"You always did," said Glitch through pained groans. Meta, after determining the ideal maneuvers to avoid fire and allow Whisper's escape, threw his RV into reverse once more. Only this time, he made a U-turn in the middle of the road and drove right up to his compatriots before throwing open the back door. This gave Whisper just enough time to board the RV... and Gibson just enough time to throw a magnetic bomb deep inside the vehicle.

"Emergency situation. Moving to intercept." said Knight. With that, Knight grew one last shield out of his back and threw it down on top of the bomb. As the RV raced off down the road and away from the battle, the bomb's magnetic field attracted about a dozen other bombs that flew after it. Luckily, Meta had a solution.

"Whisper, short range EMP, second drawer down," said the mad tinkerer. Whisper flailed around, threw the second drawer nearest him open, and pulled out an EMP rifle as the bombs drew near. Without loading or even aiming it properly, he kicked down the RV's back door and fired the gun. The EMP weapon knocked each and every bomb out of the sky.

As the team escaped the I-70, they noticed 5 enormous Thunderclap spheres knocking everyone on the former battlefield out. Aboard the Songbird, Jill fell to her knees before firing off one last shot, then fell backwards. Scrap quickly closed the plane's cargo bay door and raced back to respond to his CO's medical emergency.

"How is our friend?" asked Knight.

"Stable," responded Whisper. "Therefore, our mission must continue. Brian, we will proceed toward the base's suspected location and begin our attack. Scrap, Jill, and Glitch may be unable to join us for now..."

Whisper stopped talking for a bit. For once, the man seemed a bit choked up.

"But we must end this. Before its too late. Before more of us wind up no better than 'stable.'"

"Aye," said Knight, weakly.

"Understood," said Meta as he redirected his RV in the direction of the hidden government base.

---

"Charlie division, Come in, Charlie! Please respond!"
Scraps voice modulator rendered The Commanders voice as panicked and fearful, but behind his transmitter Commander was smiling with amusement in the only small grim way that his features allowed. "Charlie! We're going communication dark and assuming total loss- re-establish communication immediately! Please! Respond!"

Commander took his thumb off the 'Transmit' trigger of his hacked device and took Scraps voice modulator off from around his neck. All four Namidians burst into unrestrained villainous laughter. Charlie squads encounter had hit various snags, but it'd played it's role to within a hairs breadth of perfection.

"You might have hammed it up a bit, Commander. Do you think they'll fall for it?" Scrap managed, as he wiped a tear from his eye.

Commander's face was still set in it's grim excuse for a smile.
"Let's check."
He pulled the 'Scrapped' tablet open and fired off a quick message. A few moments later a reply appeared onscreen which confirmed that Leviathan was tracking three heat signatures leaving the I-70 on a direct path toward the infiltrated government facility. Commander's grin would have widened, if it could.
"Mission accomplished. In a few minutes this facility's going to be a madhouse."

---

Meanwhile, across town, Vandal's radio had picked up on a weak signal while she was out making sure civilians were out of the hot zone. A man calling himself Black Magic said Agent Jackson was in trouble. It could be a trap, but traps never really bothered Vandal... she was far too fast to get caught up in one of them. She raced toward the signal at unbelievable speed, carefully scanning the road far ahead for civilians in her path and moving far around them. When she finally arrived at the house she tracked the signal to, she leaped through a window on the other side of the building and jumped down to the basement in less than second.

"I ain't no knight in shining armor, but I think I can help. How bad is it?"
This message was last edited by the GM at 01:39, Fri 09 Oct 2015.

"I fear I do not know. He fought valiantly against one opponent, and was then shot with some form of special weapon by a second. Something to do with tiny needles destroying his nervous system repeatedly, I think. The irony in this is when I saw him and the teleporter, I thought he might lead me to help so I followed. Instead, it was I who aided him.

"Lest my manners be forgotten, I am Black Magic. A pleasure to make your acquaintance. I do not wish to tell you what to do, yet I do encourage haste as the two he and I fought are still around in the general vicinity. Also, this entire town is claimed by villainy; after I escaped from some hidden base in a 'borrowed' vehicle, a woman with a baby carriage produced a nasty weapon and attempted to make me resemble Swiss cheese. This was not the end of the attempt to detain me, as an explosion near what I gathered to be the town limits eliminated my conventional means of transport; I had relocated myself briefly before that, so no harm fell upon me. Still, the area was crowded with people I suspect were all foes against me, and as such I have been trapped in this place for some unknown time.

"Oh, wait!"


Black Magic removed his hat, reached inside, and gently removed a bullet which he held out to Vandal.

"The ruffian who downed this poor fellow attempted to do the same to me, yet his attack managed to only perforate my attire as you can see. No doubt the round would have continued through and out the other side if this were a normal accessory, yet as you might be able to tell I am far removed from ordinary."

Commander sat up and stretched his back leasurly. Now that the hard part of his mission had been accomplished he had to strike the fine balance between staying at the facility to oversee first contact with the ITDSA- and leaving before he was at risk of capture himself. In either case he had plenty of time to act, but he couldn't afford to fall into complacency.
He unzipped the duffel bag that formally held Scraps electronic supplies and moved amongst the government's armoury racks for some casual last minute looting.

"Destroyer, keep an eye on the security system- once the ITDSA get close some guards might stop by the armoury, so we need to prewarned to use our cloaks. You also need to tell us once the bases perimeter defences are tripped. 'Nigma, make a plan to escape if the ITDSA lock us in- I have faith that the current plan will hold, but we need at least half a dozen contingency fallbacks. Scrap, work with her and build whatever she needs."

Scrap nodded affirmatively to Commanders request, and Destroyer simply moved to interface herself with the bases security subsystems without any emotion besides indifference. Emily Nigma alone regarded The Commander with a steely glare.

"And you're going to be doing... what? Pray tell."

Commander reaffixed Scraps voice modulator around his neck and held up his phone. Giving it an impudent shake for dramatic effect.

"I'm working hard as well. The actual commanders of this base will want to know what happened to all their guards. I'll improvise an explanation."

Commander stabbed his phones touch screen a few times with his thumb and patched himself into a communication channel with the bases actual command centre. Explaining what'd happened without giving his game away would be simple; simply posing as a technician and explaining that Charlie had acted of their own accord would be enough for the time being- more importantly he'd have to use the opportunity to put the facility on a defensive footing.
Normally the ITDSA and an official body like this would never come to blows, but Commander was sure that the right mixture of paranoia and misinformation would have them at each others throats. The real trick was to make sure that it could never be traced back to Namidian origin, and with luck the whole Gaultown incident would never be reported as anything other than friendly fire and false flags.
There would be loose ends, to be sure, but in the time it'd take for the dust to settle Dieter would have ample time to retreat back into hiding.

Vandal half-smirked at Black Magic's "far from ordinary" remark.

"Yeah, I'd say so..." she said. Pressing the communicator button hidden inside her jacket, she began to speak. Though Magic could tell she was trained to communicate clearly and calmly, it didn't take much to notice the wavering fear that colored her voice.

"Frankie's down; got some venom in his system. Plus I got a guy here with info on the town. We need an agency EVAC, ASAP. "

"On it. We got an EVAC headed your way. ETA: 3 minutes. You hauling the guy on board?"

"Scrap, where's Jill?" said Vandal as she bit at her own thumbnail.

"Lieutenant's down. Unconscious, but stable. Used up too much juice. Will rendevouz with the EVAC and get her out. Once that's done, I'll be the boys' getaway driver. What about you?"

"Me and the new kid'll join the infiltration. I'll knock out their sensors and do some recon. Should help clear the path quick and quiet."

"Can we trust him?" interrupted Whisper. In this moment, Black Magic realized that his current audience was very much wrapped up in their own little worlds, completely ready to disregard and ignore the potential his Gift had to aid them in their quest...

"I don't know. I'll keep the boy under lock and key. Brian, how long 'till you reach the target?"

"Five minutes."

"Steel yourselves, my friends," said Knight as he grew several small, circle-shaped shields and handed them off to each of the remaining agents. The agents began pulling straps from their pants pockets and using them to fashion the shields into lightweight plate armor. "We're heading back into the fray."

As Meta's RV raced down the highway at a blistering speed, Vandal picked Frank Jackson up off the ground and placed him over her shoulders.

"Oh, Frankie boy. You look worse than ever..."

"I have a simple question for you, my dear;"

"How do you..."

"Propose to lock..."

"Me away when..."

"You do not know..."

"Which is the..."

"Real me?"

One by one, another Black Magic stepped into view and took their turn to speak. They were an exact match to the first, all the way down to the hole in their hats. In chorus, they said,

"I recently escaped one prison, I have no desire to be placed in another. Oh, and I apologize that I was remiss in telling you earlier that the bullet I have, this one, was from the same gun as those that hit your friend and it most likely contains whatever was used."

All seven magicians held up one hand, the bullet resting on its base in a gloved hand.
This message had punctuation tweaked by the GM at 11:53, Sat 24 Oct 2015.

Vandal put Frank down ever so gently. Then she, at a mere fraction of her usual speed, ran about a hundred circles around Black Magic over the course of two seconds. As she raced around the copies, she tagged, poked, or flicked the nose of each one.

"I ain't proposing anything, hon." she said, keeping perfect eye contact with the young mage. "Lock and key just means I'll keep an eye on you, make sure you're on the up and up. You won't leave my sight - I'll make sure of that."

Vandal then used her incredible speed to dash at the last Black Magic who spoke, grab the bullet from his hand, and place it inside a small pouch hidden under her jacket. She did this all before Black Magic could even see what happened, much less react.

"Don't worry, buddy. We'll let you help. Just don't try to be a hero," said the wild ITSDA agent. "That's our job."

Vandal's communicator immediately sprung to life without even crackling or "tuning up."

"EVAC will arrive shortly. Meet up with it now and proceed toward the objective."

"I'm going," said a slightly annoyed, but still professional Vandal. She turned to Black Magic and stared at up his hat, looking like some part of her wanted to grab it off his head.

"We're going."

The rogue protector did not seem offended that his illusions were so easily shattered; indeed this had been simply a show of ability. He gave her a deep bow, placing an arm across his middle when he bent.

"Though I am of a mind to repay those who imprisoned me, I fear it would not be my wisest recourse. I have not eaten nor slept in an amount of time unknown to me, and I might become a hindrance in the coming battle. Still, if you require my assistance, I will provide you with the best I am currently capable of."

Dieter sat quietly in his command center and scanned the incident reports. It was hard for anyone to remain calm, but he had his senses slowed and was taking the time he needed to not just see the annotations about explosions, damage sustained, and abilities confirmed but to analyze the affect each report had on the meta, on the plan. For now, things seemed to be on track for the Namidian plan to work.

That had ramifications of its own of course and he sped himself back up once he was done, "Things seem on track. We need to have contingency Sigma-Rho 3-X ready for deployment with resources prepared for plans Epsilon-Green or Sigma-Rho 3-F or 3-T." The remaining Ghouls team leaped into action to prepare his base for the immediate future however the next hour might go. Preparation was what made Schwartze Augen so dangerous.

"It seems that the distraction did its work but we need to reassign certain assets. I need the Redcaps to spread out and cause minor disturbances around town but keep moving. We need to raise the tensions in town. They are to raid and pillage for 27 more minutes then go silent. Stay dispersed though, we may need them if the fecal matter impacts the oscillating wind generating device."

---

Out and about, the redcaps continued to maraud the town in designated areas and targeting certain businesses. This kept a constant stream of calls coming into the local police fro a certain area as well as triggering the other base's security.

---

At another location, Mr. Smith looked at Mr. Lee and then clucked his tongue as he leaned on his hammer. Vincent looked at where the two heroes had been and calmly voiced his report "Target is incapacitated for now. No trace on him though. Magicman interfered." He then looked at Mr. Smith and grinned, "Nice show, muscles. Got anything left?" The Giant looked at the Asian gangster and grinned. He was a monstrous sight. Frank had managed to give the man a beating none had since he became Gifted. His injuries would have killed normal men ten times over, but this man just seemed staggered a bit, "Sure, Nancy. What's the boss need?"

Vincent grinned and shook his head, "New wheels first, and no stealing so we need to find a legitimate source." Vincent pulled out his phone and googled a couple things before turning to orient and walking off through the backyards of Gaultown U.S.A. like he hadn't just been involved in a Gifted fight. The Smith followed behind swinging his hammer.

"Suit yourself, stuffed shirt," said Vandal, a teeny half-giggle escaping her body. "But if I ain't watching ya', you'll need an escort."

At this, Vandal warped upstairs, scanned the building's exterior, and appeared back in front of Magic in a half-second. The magician's trained eye managed to call the instant in which her image was blurred to his attention. This woman was fast, but she couldn't truly disappear; that fact comforted him somehow.

Black Magic began to speak, but Vandal stepped towards him at roughly 50 mph and tenderly placed her finger over his lips. That, of course, still meant that he felt like she slapped him in the face.

"They're here. And our taxi's comin'," whispered the spiteful speedster. "Don't move. I'll make it there, check the area, and come back for you."

A smirk came to her face as she warped upstairs yet again and took a look around.

"Don't worry," she said. "I'll find ya' before they do."

Vandal then immediately slung Frank Jackson over her shoulder and jumped upstairs. She then carefully crept out the back door and down the street before zooming off into the distance.

Approximately one second later, she arrived to find the Songbird aircraft docking on top of a nearby building. An ambulance sat at the foot of the building, protected by a unit of well-armed, combat-ready guards.

"What're they doin'," asked Vandal under her breath. " They might as well fire off a coupl'a flares!"

Leaning against the back of the ambulance is perhaps the only 'normal' looking thing in this scene: a fair-skinned teenage girl in a long white skirt, a dress shirt and a white armband that bears a red cross. Her platinum blonde hair is tied up in a braid. In spite of this crisp, clean and formal attire, she looks like a nervous wreck; her head turns sharply from direction to direction, looking at alleys, down the street and even at rooftops with a panicked alertness in her gold and white eyes as she watches for either signs of danger or the patient she was called to help. One hand is folded tightly across her chest, being a platform on which the other rests so that she can nervously fidget with a small gold cross. Any telepath nearby could hear an internal debate sounding something like this:

Ohhhh God, I hope this goes well.

You specialize in this for a reason. It'll be fine.

But what if it's something drastic? Like a missing limb? I don't know if I could take that!

Stop worrying so much on the 'what if's' and calm down! You were picked for this because you do nothing but heal, so do not make a patient of yourself!

T-that's easy for you to say! You don't even bother with healing people.

Oh, don't you even dare turn this around on me!

Okay! I'm sorry, I'm sorry! That was uncalled for!

Too right, it was, so have some respect.
This message was last edited by the player at 04:53, Sat 31 Oct 2015.

Commander switched his scrutinizing gaze between two items on the military rack indecisively. His fierce eyebrows knitted together in intense thought, and his fingers drummed on the half-full duffel bag full of stolen weapons that rested at his hip.

On one hand he could loot a snub-nosed 'Armatix iP2'; although small in stature the gun could be quick-drawn, and had a plethora of safety features including grip sensors, an electronic magazine, and target identification. All of which appealed to Commanders practical and nonlethal nature.

On the other hand he could loot a .55 calibre 'Smith and Wesson Type Five'. A handgun that could only use custom built ammunition, required two hands to shoot, and could penetrate a tanks armour plating. The weapon appealed to Commanders attraction to overwhelming firepower, and the ability to blow football sized exit wounds in his enemies. His conscience would probably never let him use it on a living thing, but that was hardly the point.

"Destroyer! I need your opinion on something- Dirty harry, Yea or Nay?"
Commander held the two pistols out for his fellow Namidians judgement.
"Nay." Destoyer answered.
"The little one suits you better." E.Nigma mocked.
"The Armatix, for sure. " Scrap agreed.
Commander laughed at them derisively. "Philistines!" He dropped both guns into his carry bag.

The room returned to silence. Although the four Namidians had warmed to each other they still had a job to do, and they returned to the studious task of puppeteering several factions against one another. After several tense minutes of Scraps tinkering, 'Nigma's planning and Commanders misdirections it was the normally mute Destroyer who broke the groups tense silence.

"Heat sensors. Jet detected. Gaultown." she responded with her usual short efficiency.
The other three members of the group crowded around her, and Scrap offered her his laptop to use as a display; a disgusting meld of flesh later and Destoyer was able to transmit what her own 'eye's could see onto the screen. The partially absorbed laptop showed the multi-hued image of an infrared camera as it traced the ITDSA's evac jet over Gaultowns rooftops. Against the bright white of the vehicles thrusters the moving shapes of several figures were just about discernible.

"They're pulling out their wounded, before the final assault." E.Nigma observed. "They want a small team, with no distractions."

Commander pulled out his tablet and fired off a quick message back to his own headquarters, with instructions for it to be routed back to S.A.
[ITDSA are moving. Minor casualties on our end- but planned for. Own status?]
This message was last edited by the player at 00:07, Wed 04 Nov 2015.

The magician bowed mutely, though it was an empty gesture since he had barely started the motion before his newest companion was gone. He remained where he was, ears straining for any new noises that might signal his discovery by the enemy. Peter could have simply teleported to another location, since he figured it would take this woman he'd just met no time at all to locate him again; however, he didn't wish tom give the impression that he was trying to escape, especially since one of the last things she had told him was he would require an escort and disappearing might falsely suggest he was trying to avoid such a fate. So, for now, he simply listened and waited.

(OOC: Magic, if I made Black Magic do anything out of character in this post, you can tell me and I'll alter it.)

Vandal jumped toward the ambulance, kicking the air to slow herself down as she fell. Before she even hit the ground, she began speaking.

"Okay, kids. We got two down. Jill's exhausted and needs care badly, but Frank here's got some kinda mega poison inside 'im. On top of that, I need some eyes on an injured rogue protector I gotta go pick up. Understand?"

As she landed softly beside the vehicle, she carefully placed Frank into the hands of a pair of EMTs. She then immediately took off into the night.

"Better not have moved, magic man," said the ITSDA agent. "I'd hate to see what'd happen if they found you again."

The Reckless Racer appeared before Black Magic once again, wearing a look of concern on her face.

"They're in motion, tons of 'em. Good thing you ain't moved much," Vandal grabbed Black Magic's hand and stared him straight in the eye. "I know you're hurting, kid, but this won't take long!"

Magic felt like he was being dragged along by a fighter jet as the two blasted their way through the city. As they moved, the city around the mage turned into a blur of colors and lights. Even for a master showman used to manipulating people's senses, this was quite disorienting. However, right when his arm felt it was going to be ripped apart and the sensory overload began to overwhelm his conscious mind, they arrived. Black Magic now stood in front of a squadron of rough-looking EMTs and the highest-tech security force money could buy (indeed, their arms looked even more sophisticated than the AGF's).

"Keep 'im close, boys. He ain't hostile, but he's got a coupla' tricks up his sleeve," said Vandal as she gestured toward Magic.

The ITSDA security forces began to march toward the mighty illusionist. The soldier at the front began to speak.

"Alright, buddy. Don't give us any trouble, and this'll go smoothly. We won't even have to use these," said the man, gesturing toward the sturdy-looking handcuffs on his belt.

Black Magic carefully considered his next move...

Black Magic gave a grand smile, yet forwent his usual bow as that might be seen as reaching for a weapon.

"If you believe restraints are required, then I shan't hinder you in your duties. I do hope you will refrain from their use however, as it would I fear cast a cloud over our current relationship. As a show of good faith, if you can provide me with an aerial map of this town, I will attempt to show you where I was formerly being held. Once I do this, I ask for only four things;

"The first is food, any kind will work though I would like a full meal as I have not eaten in some time. The second is a shower, preferably with unlimited hot water. Third, I request a bed to sleep on; it does not have to be grand nor fancy, as I was calling a bare cell floor home recently. Finally, as you wish to give me a babysitter, I want the gentleman who brought the injured man before you to this place. He knows me, after a fashion, and from what I saw getting away from him would be greatly impossible."

Brianna, seeing Vandal arrive and offload Frank and Jill to her fellow EMTs, straightens up, watches as the two are loaded in the ambulance and breathes outwards, steeling herself to the task ahead.

C'mon, Brianna. You can do this...

...break a leg.

That's a poor choi-...you said that on purpose...

Clock's ticking. Start with the poisoned one. Burn his bloodstream clean.

Brianna does her cross like a good christian girl normally does before she climbs into the ambulance and moves towards the back, gently trying to get her fellow physicians to move aside so she can do her work.

"Excuse me. Pardon me...I think I can handle him for now, you all get your equipment ready and help the other one."

As they move aside, she leans over Frank and opens up his shirt just enough to place both hands over his chest. Hanging her head and concentrating momentarily, a thin, golden halo forms over her head, floating glowing gently as her hands light up with a bright, golden light like sunlight. After her powers come into affect, she uses her left hand to take his pulse, open an eyelid so see if his pupils are dilating, etc. Frank, in whatever state of consciousness he's in, begins to feel his breathing becoming easier to perform as the poison in his chest, lungs and heart begins to burn out in the presence of this almost holy light.

Brianna's healing touch works well on the old man, purifying him from the insidious taint he had been subjected to. After the micro-devices were purged from his form, the Agent's nervous system started to remake itself at a rate so rapid that when the healer tried to open his eyes she would find them all ready so. He sat up, gave a stretch as though he had merely been asleep, and looked about him.

"Tiny box, no cheeseburger or beer; I got to tell you, I was grossly misinformed about Valhalla. Thought, I will admit the company's to my liking though. Name's Frank, Frank Jackson. I don't know what you did, but thanks for doing it."

The aged war hero gave the woman a charming grin, or his version of he thought one was anyway.

When Frank abruptly sits up, Brianna pulls her hands to her chest and yelps, staring at him as he introduces himself. For a few moments, she's silent and wide eyed, almost scared as she looks at him.

...well?

Erm...well, what?

Are you going to introduce yourself?

I...um...uh...erm...

*sigh* He is on your side, remember?

Blinking out of some kind of trance, Brianna lifts a hand, gives a little wave and says in a tiny voice:

"Hi."

Urgh...once again, your awkwardness knows no boundries.

Behind their masks, the guards raised their eyebrows at the magic man's unusual demeanor. The apparent unit commander turned to his agents. The troops began to toss incredibly short whispers back and forth at each other. From the few words Black Magic could make out, he knew they were discussing "maps," his cooperation, "Agent S" and "time." The leader sharply turned back to the mage in their midst as one of his agents raced to the front of the vehicle.

"We'll attempt to contact the agent you requested, but this isn't an outpost. We're due out in five and you want more than we got. "

A guard knelt down, pressed a button hidden inside one of his outfit's many pockets, and began to speak.

"Agent S, report. You're needed in Gaultown, gridspot X-14."

The leader marched up to Black Magic, put his arm on the kid's shoulder, and began to speak in an obviously artificial calmer, friendlier tone.

"Tell you what, though. Give us something we don't know now, and we'll make all the arrangements you want."

The guard who was sent to the front of the vehicle returned and handed a small, flat piece of canvas to the leader. The leader unfolded it in front of Black Magic. It was a highly detailed, topographical map of Gaultown divided into 720 squares. Numbers ran along the top of the grid, letters along the side.

"We're here," said the leader, pointing to a spot that was indeed the intersection of the "14" column and the "X" row. "Where's the target area, roughly?"

The ITSDA guards waited for Black Magic's answer, carefully scanning his face for any signs of deception or insecurity. If he wasn't 100% honest and sure of himself, his info could wind up being worse than useless. And so, they kept their eyes locked on the man whose next words could determine the fate of their agents across town...

---------------------------------

About a minute earlier, Knight, Whisper, and Meta were following what Meta termed a trail of "breadcrumbs" - that is, in his terminology, suspiciously highly-encrypted, masked, and hidden signals. The trail, however, was quickly growing cold.

"Forgive me, Brian. But I'd favor a more direct approach. We need reconnaissance, and..."

At that moment, their communicators crackled to life. Jump was being called. Whisper immediately leaned forward and his eyes went blank as he focused entirely on listening in to the conversation.
This message was last edited by the GM at 03:15, Fri 13 Nov 2015.

IT wasn't terribly difficult for Dieter to track the movements of the ITSDA agents. Even the speedster that seemed to all but teleport was predictable. THe massive computer in his base might have helped even more if he had been willing to ramp it up to full power, but the base was on lockdown. It was still pulling from the local grid of course, but it was doing so through several of the safehouses it controlled so as to appear to be only several normal residences and businesses operating at normal usage levels. That was not enough electricity to run the cooling system for the super computer though.

Instead, the human brain was his tool and he simply noted that most movement was between several points already "held" by the agents and a standard scouting pattern. ITSDA was more efficient and quicker than most agencies thanks to its Gifted agents, but it followed the same protocols for the most part. He grinned slowly as he noted a pair of locations as hubs of anomalous activity. Those were going to be locations of unknown quantities for ITSDA's field agents. That could only mean Gifted suspects. Since neither of them were known to him via his communications networks nor being reported on local emergency channels, he had some idea of who they might be. He grinned as he sent a few orders.

---

Even as the lead soldier held out the map to Black Magic, a hail of gunfire and maniacal laughter erupted from the nearby cross-streets. "Sir, we got incoming forces!" From one street a trio of men with Ronald McDonald red hair burst onto the street and began running toward the team each waving a makeshift weapon: a fireaxe, a board with a large nail in it, and a heavy caliber handgun that seemed out of ammo at this point. Even as this threat was being confronted, a white van burst from another street with a crazed man leaning out each of the passenger's window, the sliding door on the side, and the back firing various weapons wildly. Finally, another team of three erupted from a third street with bats, pipes, and a shotgun for weapons.

---

Not far away, where Meta and the team were trying to calm down and get a lock on things, a similar scenario played out as their perimeter was hit by Redcap forces. Two teams of three men each with crude melee weapons and a simple firearm approached from two separate directions and a white van was barreling toward their location spewing wild fire into the streets.

At neither location was to be found the man who led these maniacs. Vincent and the injured Mr. Steel were also moving again with orders.

In reply to Scripts (msg # 102):

Jump was roused from his half-drowsing by the insistent beeping of his ITSDA communicator. He grumbled to himself, patting at his legs absentmindedly before remembering he'd dropped the communicator into a pile of leaves. It took a moment to reorient himself and find the communicator and answer it. There was a slight slur to his speech when he answered, signifying his exhaustion, but his speech was intelleligble. "Jump here." he said, standing up and stretching slowly. All his brief rest had done was show him just how much he needed to sleep for real, but the almost painful edge to his exhaustion was dulled, at least. "There's been a request for you to... guard someone."

Jump frowned. "You woke me up for guard duty?" He said, the confusion barely masking his extreme annoyance.

"Unfortunately, yes. We've got a teleporter here that says you might know him, and you're also best qualified to watch him. We believe it's the man who got involved with your fight in New York earlier."

Jump's head tilted, even though there was nobody that could see the motion, and his shoulders slumped. "Fine. Where?"

After a brief few words, and a picture sent to his phone, Jump grabbed a bit clumsily at the space around him and hoisted himself into that state of mind that let him jump. It really did feel like it took a physical effort to do it, and he noted that things felt slightly different than they did before, but focused on getting where he needed to be.

It took him longer than he was used to, but after a minute or so, there was a twisting sensation, which was also new, if not uncomfortable, and he plopped down, despite his doubt, right where he'd wanted.

Which was unfortunately, as far as his senses could tell, right in the middle of a battlefield. "Friggin fantastic."

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;

"HAULT! 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.

There were a few stray shots that hit squad members, but state of the art body armor dealt with it handily. The skirmish had taken less than a minute, the enemy suffered total loss while each ITSDA fighter sounded off they were OK. An all clear was sent to the ambulance, and the medics turned off lockdown mode so they could leave and make sure the soldiers were alright per procedure. Brianna tried to follow, but was almost pulled back off her feet when Frank's hand grabbed one arm in a vice-like grip.

She thought at first he was scared of being left alone, but when she met his eyes she saw no sign of such. The girl didn't have a high success rate in stressful situations, but she steeled what resolve she had and tried to speak forcefully;

"Sir, you're hurting me. Please let go."

'Please'?! You're trying to intimidate him, and you say 'please?' You're not asking to borrow a cup of sugar, you know.<I/>

<I>I know what I'm doing, after all you catch more flies with honey than...

"No."

Oh, yes, you've got it all under control, don't you?

I'll appeal to his humanity

Out loud, she said;

"Si-Frank, is it OK if I call you Frank? Look, there might be hurt people out there, like you were. Don't you want me to help them like I did you?"

<royalred>"No."

But why? Why won't he let me go?

Um, just a thought here, but have you considered asking him instead of me? Among my talents, mind reading isn't one of them as you know

Brianna felt her face flush hot; she was so used to speaking with her other half, it escaped her mind to ask her question to the person right in front of her who could answer it.

"Ah, OK, you don't want me to help them. Can I ask why?"

"I want them to get aid, which they do from the EMTs."

"Just not from me?"

"Got it in one."

"But I can do it! You're proof!"

There was a sigh from the big man, and for the first time Invictus realized there was softness in his eyes as well as hardness.

"You're right, kid. You saved me, so now I'm saving you. I'm not letting you go not because you can't do your job, but what you'd see in the course of doing it. Take a look at me, a real good look; do you see it? I know what's outside those doors, and the price of that knowledge marks you. If you don't believe me, when this is all over, see if you can't find it in every person on this squad, even the medics. The sight, the smell, every sound burns itself into your brain, a white hot branding iron in your gray matter. No matter what happens in your life after that, how many happy memories you pile on top of it, you can still see the dull glow."

Do something!

What do you need me for? Burn his skin, force I'm to let go

I...I...

You can't, can you? You healed him, he's not attacking innocents, you can't justify it

No, I can't. But you could, just make him let me go help

Do you know why you can't, the real reason; because of who you are. He's right you know, some things alter you regardless of if you want it to or not. You're a wholly sweet and kind person, and you losing those things is why I won't help you get free

While life lessons were being taught in the back of the ambulance, the squad was listening to their sergeant as he briefed them on what would come next; he was interrupted however, by a hole punching clear through his chest; by the look in his shocked eyes, he wasn't aware he was dead when he hit the ground. The others present turned to look in the direction of the shot, and saw a sight that made their collective blood run cold;

There was something coming down the street right toward them, not rushed but at a steady speed nonetheless. 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. Street lights glinted off it's deep crimson coloring as one arm raised, then a plume of flame gave the telltale sign that a rocket had just been launched; it was aimed at the ambulance.

Frank no longer had his communicator due to Black Magic borrowing it in need to rescue them, but the ITSDA comm. channel came in loud and clear;

MISSILE IMBOUND! EVACUATE THE VEHICLE NOW!!

Brianna frozen, her mind not meant to process such information; that was why she had been blessed with Valorum. However, before he took control of the body, Jackson wrapped both arms around the girl in a bull-rush tackle. When his boots met the back edge of the truck, he shoved off as hard as he could. He hit the ground hard, taking the brunt of it with his right shoulder as he pulled Little Sis's more frail body into his own to provide protection. The old soldier turned the momentum into a series of rolls, then strategically placed his own form on top of the healer's. He had managed to get them far away enough from the rocket's target not to take any real damage, but he still felt a weak effort from the shockwave push at him while bits of shrapnel scattered down on his leather coated back and jeans.

There were the sound of assault rifles firing on full auto, the remaining squad members were opening up on this new enemy. He lifted his head up to see something that looked to him it came out of a science-fiction movie, even from his prone position he could see the rounds spark as they bounced harmlessly off the hide of this monstrosity. Then, he 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 a mini-gun fired, not aimed at any particular person or thing, but wildly like a drunk cowhand out on the town in the days of Western yore.
Frank rolled off of his fellow agent as he silently groaned; great, someone had given the blockhead his Holiday gift early... He attempted to find a spot for cover, when he noticed something odd about the squad; they weren't there anymore. Before he could began to wonder about it, there was a sudden displacement of air nearby he was familiar with followed by the touch of a hand. Then, he and Brianna were in someone's backyard surrounded by the other ITSDA members and a stranger dressed in dated evening ware. Jump groaned, wobbled, and sunk to the ground; he looked haggard and beaten, like a wad of gum with all the flavor gone.

"COME OUT COME OUT, WHERE EVER YOU ARE!"

From the sound of it, the teleporter had managed to get them all away from harm but not by much. As the former cop might have expected, the troopers were keeping it together and following protocol; assess equipment, check for injuries, establish radio contact with other allied forces.

"Any ITSDA units respond, this is Assault Team Bravo. We are facing an unknown threat and have taken casualities, 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 get's 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. 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 shyness and call to them to stop.

"Wait! I...that is I...I'll do it. It'll do less harm to him in the long run, get the same result, and you can save that for later just in case."

The words were slow to start, but then they poured out in a rush. The girl wasn't fully sure if she went silent because she was finished, or simply ran out of air in her lungs. The pair she was talking to looked at each other, nodded, and motioned for her to proceed. She made her way to his side, knelt down as she pushed some sweat soaked strands of hair out of his eyes, grasped her cross as before, and allowed her energies to flow into him as she had Frank. He goal then had been to burn out the poison that crippled him, whereas now the gentle ebb eased its way into exhausted muscles. She went slowly, not wanting to accidently shock his system, after a few minutes it seemed to be working.

Valorum?

Yes?

You could stop that whatever it is, right?

I can't say I've faced such as that before, but as it's clearly manmade I'm sure I could

Then, uh, why don't you? You've thrown yourself into battle before, what's different now?

Because Angel, we can't be both of us at once. What you did for that boy, I can't do. Look around you, there are several warriors and an old war horse to lead them. But they need you, because even their medics are soldiers in all honesty

Oh...

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 cloths 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 chiseling 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 to himself, 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 totaled. 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, Peter took his time studying the map. 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, 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..."
This message was last edited by the GM at 13:44, Fri 20 Nov 2015.

Vincent was just looking over their handywork with a wide smile. With so much information in the wind, an landmark as obvious as a crater in the street caused by wildly fired AP rockets was not to be overlooked. Luckily, SA had more than a few gadgets at their disposal. A simple tarp had be thrown over it then an electric current sent through to cause it to go rigid. They had then anchored it to the ground and activated the cameoline systems. It would not pass close inspection, but satellite feed and quick fly-overs would not spot it.

A solid thud announced that The Smith had arrived in the exoframe that had been loaned to him. As injured as even he was, the frame would bring him back into the fight. This one was just the prototype, but it served well enough. Vincent didn't trust the brute in the advanced suit, but it took someone with decidedly superhuman strength to work the things. he glanced at its crimson color and hoped to, someday, meet its original pilot.

It registered on him as he looked that the weapon systems were online and trained on him. he had a split-second to frown before his head popped like a balloon. The Smith then chuckled darkly and tromped off to play in the city. No evacuating the city for him or this suit.

---

In his bunker, Dieter noted the absconded suit and a micro-frown crossed his face as he pondered what to do. He could send forces to recover it, but that was a waste. Too, it was outside the limited range of the remote deactivation. He gave orders then focused on the firefight elsewhere. He needed to concentrate on his task of leading ITSDA to the wrong target. If they had the hacker or the escapee, then they had some information. However, if his smokescreen was good enough, eh should be able to misdirect that information since it should be hazy.

Just in case,certain information, projects, and assets were being secured or destroyed and the base made ready to fend off an assault.

---

At the ambulance, the squad of highly trained soldiers were on alert and not surprised even for a second as the Redcaps erupted screaming from the sidestreets. The first two, fireaxe and nail=board, fell to a set of precision shots. The soldiers noted that even though the double tap center mass and one to the head had all hit their marks, each target stumbled a half-dozen more steps before falling. Their chemically addled brains were attached to chemically fortified and strengthened bodies. They also noted that though the men were running, they were running fast. These people appeared to be what ITSDA referred to as Gifted-Charged. Normal people receiving a superhuman boost from a gifted ability.

The third one of that team had a second to note his fellows falling before it took a big step, wound his arm, and made to throw his empty .45 at the closest soldier. His arm spontaneously manifested a large hole and the makeshift thrown weapon fell to the ground. The maniac kept charging as the sergeant unleashed two more rounds from his sidearm center mass. The maniac stumbled and staggered the last few steps and swung limply at the man who ahd killed him seconds earlier. His body finally caught up to his brain and he fell. The sergeant noted that even the feather weight hit had been quite solid. "'Don't let them make contact, lads!" "Roger, three more inbound at 3 o'clock. Bogey at 9."

Expertly, the team maneuvered to focus on the three charging from another street and the van barreling toward them. then high speed and unreliable nature of fully automatic fire made the man firing from the van a non-threat, but the van itself and the men getting in close were serious problems. "Alpha, Lima: tires. Rest, take down the strike team."

Two men detached and knelt to take aim at the van while the other five targeted the three on foot. In seconds, the three were down. First the two with crude melee weapons then the man with the shotgun, who staggered then managed a last shot before collapsing. The buckshot had little impact on the team's armor, but a stray pellet found a chink and a man was shedding blood from a wound below his left eye. At the same time, crack fire from the two aimers had the van's tires blow out and the speeding thing shook, tilted, then toppled and skidded to within five feet of the team. There was a pregnant pause as the soldiers all trained weapons on the van. They opened fire as one man leaped out of the broken window on the top and another kicked out the van's windshield. The one atop took eight rounds center mass while the one crawling took several rounds to his cranium.

A pause again and then the team relaxed a fraction. Then one who had been shot eight times suddenly lurched to life and grabbed a soldier's ankle in an iron grip. The man cried out and fell as his ankle was pulverized. His squad mates each put another round into the man who let a death rattle loose then went still.

Inside the ambulance, the medical team and the two gifted agents waited as the sound of gunfire rattled. the experienced Agent Jackson knew better than to put his still recovering frame in the way. ITSDA teams were experts and throwing in unknowns, even friendlies, was inadvisable. He was experienced enough to trust men for whom he had been the one to design the training program anyway; well, the original training program had been his about five iterations ago. Slowly, the world calmed down, "Sergeant, assessment?"

"Threat neutralized, Agent Jackson. All cl... ahhhhh!!!" The voice trailed off into pain as an explosion rocked the area. The downed van suddenly exploded as a rocket hit it. The squad was scattered widely and out of formation as a hulking, crimson monolith of a machine stalked into the square. It opened up with a hail of fire from its left arm which seemed to sport a gattling canon. It then pointed it right arm at the ambulance and fired. The rocket struck the thing and it erupted into flames, but no burning bodies emerged. The pilot, an enraged and gleeful Smith looked around and noted only the body of the sergeant and one other.

In a nearby yard, Vandal breathed heavy. Doing so much had winded even that speedster. Even then, there were a few more survivors in the yard than she could account for until she noticed Jump nearby in a heap. Already, one of the medics he had rescued from the ambulance was looking over him as everyone looked a bit startled to be alive. The first to act was Frank, "Right, well, that was certainly educational. Someone get Jump active. I'll apologize to him later for it. Vandal, nice to see you. Everyone, equipment check, STAT!" He barked the order in a voice that trained soldiers reacted to on instinct. The remaining six soldiers ran their hands over their equipment and gave rote calls on ammo, explosives, and gear. One noted his ankle was broken and a medic moved to him with a liquid cast and painkiller. The orders had the effect of getting the team moving and acting. They did not even question the orders; Frank Jackson was famous and revered. So were Vandal and Jump. Frank noted the gifted medic who had helped him was bowed over Jump and the boy seemed to be moving again, if sluggish. "Vandal, recon. Lass, how's Jump? You, magician, what can you do?" Frank was tallying his assets and forming a plan.

Vandal disappeared and the girl looked up and smiled, "He's operative. There's no replacement, even from me, for real rest and downtime though. He's going to be in rough shape inside 24 hours." The magician smiled and made a flourish then stopped at Frank's no-nonsense frown, "Ah, well, easiest way to say it is that I do real magic."

Frank frowned then grunted and recalled the lad mentioning teleportation. Just then Vandal returned looking a shade whiter than normal, "Jesus, Serg. It's a walking tank out there. but..." Frank grinned as she went on and he recalled soemthign from his vast stores of history. It was risky and damned foolish, but it might work.

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 cloths 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 chiseling 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 to himself, 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 totaled. The escape of both targets Frank Jackson and Black Magic has been affected. Status of Smith unknown..." A burst of static contained a response and orders. Vincent took out his weapon and waited for the ITSDA agents and team to leave. Far above, in relative safety, Black Magic poured over the map and struggled. The last hour had been frantic, adrenaline fueled action and his memories were fuzzy. he was looking for landmarks his addled memories contained and he finally picked out a pair of large areas that seemed about right. But the aerial view and topographical stuff was not lining up to his memories perfectly. ITSDA took his information for what it was.

"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..."

E'Nigma bit her lower lip anxiously as she looked over the reports that were bouncing to her from the the government facility's scouting suite and The Commanders own strategic networks. The ITSDA were engaged in combat with several Namidains and had augmented their strength with yet more agents; worse, it seemed likely that they had made contact with the escaped prisoner and the hacker that had sparked this situation. With a disappointed scowl she assimilated the feed of information and came to one inevitable conclusion:

"Our deception is going to fail. There are too many inconsistencies. It's time that we discussed alternative plans."

The announcement drew the attention of the other three Villains in the room. They detached themselves from whatever individual preparations they were making and gathered around the datapad that 'Nigma had been using as her planner. The air thickened with tension.

"Our agents on the ground have engaged the ITSDA directly- so it's been confirmed that Namidians are active in Gaultown."

"In other words, our cover is already blown." Commander stated the obvious fact.
A few hours ago the only loose end had been a single escaped prisoner, and it was plausible that that he could be convinced that the Namidian's who'd interrogated him were misidentified government agents- but now that the ITSDA had physically identified and fought multiple Namidian's there was no longer any chance that they could conceal their presence.

"Not unless Scrap has a convenient gadget to wipe the memories of every ITSDA agent on the field. Or unless you can convince them that they only ran into five or six Namidians in this backwoods town by pure chance." 'Nigma confirmed. Both of her suggestions were far beyond the realm of possibility, and carried more sarcastic than strategic weight.

"I don't have anything like that." Scrap answered. "I'm an engineer, not a magician."
The roll of 'Nigma's eyes indicated that she didn't think much of Scraps particular brand of gifted-assisted 'engineering'. Like her sarcasm, the absent minded tinkerer missed the expression.
"-Doesn't what you've said mean that we've already failed, though? What can we do now?"

"Plan B." 'Nigma answered instantly. "We kill every witness, and hack into whatever records the ITSDA have of this operation. Scorch the earth and leave no loose ends."
She described her plan with a cooley efficient voice. Evidently thinking nothing of either the monumental difficulty the task posed, or the morally extreme execution.
"All convenient options have been exhausted. This is the only course of action we have left that has even a remote chance of success-"

"Absolutely. Not." Commander interrupted. "We're not killing anyone. Think up another strategy."

'Nigma groaned audibly with impatient frustration. This was the primary reason why she'd come to see The Commander as a flawed tactician- he had a stubborn streak when it came to ethics and morality that constantly came into conflict with his actions, and his psychological flaws forced him to take needless risks and compromise his objectives more often than not.
It was a weakness he seemed to be aware of, yet had been unable (or perhaps unwilling) to overcome.
Nonetheless, the way she saw it her plan really was the only remaining option the team had of concealing Dieters base. The only other alternatives were to evacuate; and do so wouldn't be a victory, rather it would just be cutting their losses short.
"If you have an alternate strategy I'd like to hear it- but I won't follow a fools plan just to satisfy your conscience."
She lay her cards flat on the table. She'd been ordered to follow Commanders orders, but if he failed to realize their situation and put his weaknesses aside, she doubted that Shwartz Augen would mind her taking over his Leadership for the sake of the mission.

Destroyer chimed in.
"'Don't care either way. Killing works."

Scraps joined her.
"I have to agree with 'Nigma on this one, big guy. If you can't think of a better option, we should go with 'Nigmas plan."

The Commander stood up from the table and regarded the three other Namidians with a furious scowl. Not the usual look of irritation that his face seemed to wear naturally, but a genuine and deep expression of bristling fury.
"Eliminating all witnesses means we'd have to clear out this base as well as the ITSDA. As well as anyone in Gaultown who's not on Dieters payroll... about three hundred to four hundred lives, as a rough estimate."
He ran a gloved hand under his peaked commissars hat, and rasped it through the stubble of his shaved head in an unconscious gesture of intense thought.
"Absolutely not. I won't allow it- not to mention that the plan's odds of success are abysmal- There has GOT to be another solution."
Nigma, Scrap and Destroyer watched as The Commander started pacing the room with restless energy and tried in vain to rack his brain for a magic solution to all their problems. Beads of sweat started to form on his forehead as the realization that there wasn't a winning move began to slowly dawn on him.

"Brett..." Scraps voice cut in, cautiously. "We don't have all day. It's obvious that we only have one real ch-"
"San Francisco!" Commander suddenly shouted, and he punctuated his statement by slamming his fist on the table. As though the words had somehow given him an epiphany. "What happened to the ITSDA after they were cleaning up Namidian operations there?!"
"I- Pardon?" Scraps shifted mental gears as The Commander shouted his non-sequitur.
"You remember that Namidian who conquered the city a few years ago? After his liutenent turned on him the ITSDA had to mop up his hangers-on."
"I don't remember that." Scraps confessed.
"I do." 'Nigma confirmed. "Apartment blocks and storage lockups were exploding all over the city for months whist the ITSDA were rooting out his safehouses."
Commander snapped his fingers.
"Exactly. The ITSDA know Namidians are in the area- so rather than divert attention onto this facility as a smokescreen we flag it as a namidian base; and then self destruct it. Once the base is destroyed they'll assume that we've left the area, and they'll be no evidence remaining to indicate otherwise. All loose ends tied, and it follows all our established behaviors."
Commander took a seat, leaned back in it, and thumped his combat boots onto their shared table with a self satisfied smirk.
"Good plan." 'Nigma admitted. "Except that this facility doesn't have a self-destruct sequence. Unlike Namidians, most people don't rig their buildings to explode with a big red button."
If the biting sarcasm in 'Nigmas tone irritated Commander he didn't show it.
"I can handle destroying the building, that isn't the issue. The issue is that we only have one shot to make this work- if the ITSDA realize that this isn't a Namidian facility, or don't take the bait, or continue to pry further, we'll have used our last card."
He brought up his tablet and relayed a message to his headquarters, and back through Dieters network indirectly.

[Plan is failing due to blown cover. New directive; destroy government facility and fake Namidian extraction. Require Namidian mercenaries to extract by east/south easterly direction and to activate the drone's fire controls. New orders acceptable y/n?]

With a dramatic finger stab he sent off his orders.
Inwardly he prayed that his gamble would pay off. The ITSDA's agents of justice had successfully shrugged off every threat and obstufication that'd been thrown at them thus far, and had come back for more- if the battlefield continued to develop in the way it had he really would have to resort to a mass extermination. It wasn't an idea that he relished, but at the end of the day he still had an objective to accomplish- and if there was one thing that he found as intolerable as wanton violence, it was defeat.

Before the Redcaps had even finished arriving on the scene, the ITSDA unit was in motion.

"Attempted attack - surround the ambulance, gunners and I will proceed to flank, moving clockwise. Rocket team, prepare to fire if the armor gets close. Magic man, stay within the perimeter. Vandal, I trust you're going to link up with our crew in J-10."

"Yes, sir!"

Vandal nodded and ran off before the man even finished his speech. Black Magic, beaten down as he was, didn't like the idea of staying put while a battle was raging all around him. Still, he knew that protecting the ambulance was paramount, so he did as he was told.

Each guard's movements were completely synchronized with his comrades' as they encircled the ambulance, forming an perfectly-spaced wall of steel-willed soldiers. Two sub-machine gunners and the unit's leader opened fire on the Redcaps, killing the one with the nail-board instantly as bullets were drilled through his board and into his heart.

The red-headed lunatic with the fire-axe began laughing and swinging wildly as he raced toward the assault team.

"Hehahahaha! At least you went down swingin'; Jack!"

"Stand clear," said a voice over the ITSDA's radio communicators. The assault team jumped back, giving a sniper on a roof near the ambulance just enough time to plant a bullet in the cap's already Swiss-cheese like brain.

"One more down," said the Captain. "One more left."

In the midst of all this, Jump appeared on the scene. Reacting far too quickly, one of the soldiers near the ambulance (who had extensive experience fighting Gifted Namidians) opened up on the new target. Three holes were punched into Jump's arm, chest, and leg before Black Magic turned the remaining bullets into harmless clouds of dust. The super-powered agent cried out in pain while he teleported into a nearby alleyway.

"Hold your fire," shouted the ambulance team's leader. "That's Agent Jump!"


As Jump was kneeling down, trying to get a hold on his injuries and the situation, a Redcap was passing his position. Jump used what little energy he had left to limp behind a dumpster, and, at first, the Redcap didn't notice him. Then his radio came on.

"Agent Jump, what's your status? Agent Jump, report!"

The Redcap's "dose" did something unusual to their hearing. It doubled its strength while wildly decreasing its clarity. So the "Capper" heard a fuzzy, static-esque mumbling emerge from behind...the...dumpster.

"Come out, come out, wherever you are--" said the Capper, approaching exactly where his prey was whilst scraping a metal pipe along the ground. Thanks both to his enemy's idiocy and his own spatial awareness, Jump knew exactly where his attacker was standing and that the man had no backup. The bleeding ITSDA agent instantly teleported behind the maniac, slinging his uninjured arm under his enemy's own and disarming him.

"Get awww-ff!" screamed the Redcap as he struggled to break free of Jump's hold, swinging his weapon as far back as he could.

"I've got a prisoner and I'm coming back. Don't shoot me this time!" said Jump. Though his voice was weak and weary, his tone was as calm as any agent's could ever hope to be in battle.

"Roger. Medics and guard are ready and waiting."

Jump and his hostage appeared back in the middle of the circle. The Redcap was still struggling, but smiling with an insanely wide grin. Jump's grip began to weaken, and the maniac thrust the pipe he was wielding into a guard's leg.

"Ugh!"

"Another great blackout. I got you bastards now! Haraaa--"

The instant the Redcap snaked his way out of Jump's grasp, a medic was upon him. The healer shoved a huge needle into the vein on the very arm that just broke free, causing the criminal to fall to the ground and become a broken, unconscious heap of a man.

"I told you not to let those things in the house--" said the medic, following up his lame joke with a dry chuckle.

Hearing the screams outside the ambulance, Brianna began to rush outside the doors, only to have her path blocked by Frank Jackson's arm.

"I know you ain't a soldier, girly. But you are an ITSDA agent..." A look of curiosity appeared on the young girl's face. "And we move in cover."

"Okay, but don't hold me back! I need to help, now!"

Frank smiled earnestly. The distressed young medic's face was full of the defiant, angry, naive determination that defined youth in Jackson's eyes. He gladly kicked down the ambulance's door, took aim at a machine gun-wielding Redcap the ambulance defender's were exchanging fire with, and took him out with one shot!

"Frank's on the scene, make way." said the snarky medic from earlier.

"Damn right you better make way," said the eternal soldier. He then moved to the edge of the circle, scanning the area for more Redcaps. Brianna carefully ran up to Jump, holding the young man who could barely stand upright in her arms.

"It's gonna be okay, sir. Don't try and move."

The skin surrounding the bullet wounds in Jump's hide began to glow with a pale yellow light and slowly stitched themselves back together. The exhausted, yet relieved agent muttered "thank you" under his breath, then turned to face his hostage.

"Can you sober him up?" asked Jump. Brianna nodded and didn't hesitate for even a second. She knelt down next to her alleged enemy and placed her hands over his chest. Within seconds, the golden glow had returned, although it looked more like fire when it touched the madman's skin.

The unconscious Redcap started hacking his lungs out, then slowly began to wake up with the most monstrous headache he ever had in his life. Luckily, that cleared up quickly too.

"Ugh... hello, beautiful--

Like an overprotective father figure come to his daughter's "rescue," Frank stuck a gun in the criminal's face. Two of the guards followed his lead.

"Hello," responded Frank. "You move, their trigger fingers get a little twitchy. Capiche?"

The slightly hungover Redcap swallowed hard and slowly nodded.

Meanwhile, the assault team had just finished moping up the second wave of Redcaps and began moving toward the van. The van had been driving in circles, taking potshots at the ambulance, the assault team, and anyone who looked fun to shoot at. The assault team exchanged signals, knelt down, waited, and took aim at the Cappers foolishly sticking their heads out of the van's windows. The strung-out psychos fired upon the guards, but the unit leader and his men didn't even flinch as bullets whizzed past their heads and ricocheted off the brick walls behind them. Finally, they each fired two shots. Five of the six hit, killing all of the men in the back of the van.

"Yaaaaaah!" The van's desperate driver careened toward the ambulance, racing toward it at a speed that even the agent's guns couldn't match. The circle of guards surrounding the ambulance refused to break. They just kept firing and firing at the van in what, to some, would have appeared to be the highest stakes game of "Chicken" ever. But their fire didn't kill the madman; he simply ducked behind the dashboard and pressed down on the gas pedal with his whole body as glass rained down upon him. While he hid, he used one of his arms to steer the thing. But his movements were imprecise and the van swerved as if it was being driven by an obvious drunk.

The rocket team fired an RPG at the van, but the vehicle coincidentally swerved out of the way in the nick of time!

"Ahhhh!" The captured Redcap started screaming as the headlights of his ally's van blinded him.

"Jump, inside it!" shouted Frank Jackson. Immediately, Jump knew exactly what he meant. Jump teleported inside the van, landing the passenger seat next to a startled Redcap. The Redcap lunged for him, but Jump shoved him down into the driver's seat.

"Stay down! They'll kill you!"

"And I'll kill them! We're even! Heeeehhhaaee!"

The Redcap spit in Jump's face, letting him break free and slash the agent's face to ribbons. Jump didn't lose focus; he let himself fall down to a prone position, kicked the Redcap into the van's door, then mashed him up against it with his elbow. Using the mere seconds he had left, he slammed his foot down on the brake.

He was too late! There was less than a second left before impact. Right when the van was going to hit the circle protecting the ambulance, Black Magic dashed out in front of the vehicle and wrapped his cape around his whole body. Brianna and the soldiers gasped in horror as the van hit the magician head-on.

Black Magic's body seemed to absorb the entire blow, and he was knocked backward at unbelievable speed. Slamming through walls, windows, and entire buildings, the mage ultimately hit the ground several blocks away. When he hit the ground, his wild flight became a roll. The roll began to lose momentum, slowly but surely, as Magic's body barreled down the street at seemingly supersonic speed. Eventually, a bruised Black Magic stood up. Out of habit, he gave the "OK" sign and smiled, forgetting that he was too far away to be seen by the ITSDA.

"Friendly is down, I repeat. Friendly is down. Codename: Black Magic."

Frank Jackson reloaded his gun as, inside the van, Jump worked on handcuffing his second prisoner.

"No! Maybe I can still save him!" said Brianna, her cheeks hot with anger and fear.

The ITSDA's radios burst to life without a single crackle of static.

"I dare say you're jumping the gun a bit, my friend! Though that is to be expected after the last performance..."

The ITSDA agents, even Jump's accidental attacker, cheered in excitement.

"Not bad, you son-of-a-bitch. I knew you'd pull through!" said Frank Jackson as he grinned from ear to ear and readied his weapon.

"Great work, kid. Now come on back. We've got more work to do," said the unit's captain.

"You're a very demanding audience, you know. Though if it's encore you want, an encore you shall have!"

"Yeah, yeah..." said the captain. You could almost hear him rolling his eyes.

Across town (specifically, in the region that the ITSDA designated J-10), Vandal, Meta, Knight, and Whisper had had a far easier fight against the Redcaps. Vandal stood above the Redcaps she had downed in less than a minute (with Whisper's spotting help) and playfully blew on her fists to cool them off.

"Smith, Lee. Draw them to the base," said Dieter to his two lieutenants, who were just a block away by this point. The criminal mastermind held his head in his hands as he considered several dozen of the possible outcomes that could occur now that he had given that order. Seconds ago, he had concluded that The Commander's new plan was well worth carrying out. However, there was one caveat he had to take into consideration before he would let the grunts complete the operation: he had to learn all he could about the ITSDA's Gifted recruits during the battle. The monitoring satellites would help with that, but how would he draw them all to the battle? He could send the entire team he and The Commander had gathered to the location. It would be a great risk, but knowledge was, indeed, power...

Dieter opened up communications with the Gifted team. Soon, his empire would reclaim Gaultown and learn everything they needed to know about the ITSDA's most dangerous footmen...
This message was last edited by the GM at 04:28, Sat 05 Dec 2015.

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.