Alex walked up the steps to her alcove and took a deep breath before opening her backdoor.  In the whole world there was one person who hated what she did most, Alex's mother.  Understandable, but when a person is trying to stop a armed robbery, it doesn't help when someone is trying to get you to wear protective gear.  Alex loved her mother.  But she felt like her mother worried to much about a person who could become intangible.

Alex locked the door behind her as she gave a sigh of relief.  "Alex?  Is that you?" asked a concerned voice from the other room.

"Yes it's me mom," replied Alex as she walked into the room the other voice came from.

Her mother sat on the couch with a pillow gripped tightly between her arms and a remote in hand.  Her brown eyes meet with Alex's and she could see worry drain from their irises.  "Thank God you're okay," smiled her mother.  Her face then panned back over to the TV screen as the local news continued to report about the recent events at an office building. Her mothers eyes grew concerned again, "Was that you?" she said in a more stern voice.

Alex answered, "Yah, so what?  I was just doing what I do every night." she lied.  Alex turned around and crossed her arms, "I was just stopping a robbery."

The room fell silent.  The gig was already up.  Alex turned around and saw her mother with a scowl on her face.  Alex huffed "Come'on Mom.  I made it back okay..."

Her mother continued to stare.

Alex frowned "...Don't look at me like that..."

Her mother lightened up her stare and said "I don't like when you lie to me.  You may be invisible to everyone else, but I can still read you like an open book."  Her voice gain a caring tone as she continued, "I am so glad you're okay, but could just be straight with me.  It already stressful enough knowing you're out there fighting.  The least you can do for me is to be honest."  Her mother paused looking at the report on TV again, "They said there were shooting and explosions.  Your not hurt, are you?"  Her mother then got up from her seat and approached her daughter.

Alex walked away from her mother, "I'm fine, nothing I can't sleep off."  She fixed her eyes at the ground and opened up to her mother, "But, other people got hurt.  Killed."  Alex went silent before continuing, "I could have saved them."

Her mother found Alex's arm and rubbed it.  "I'm sure you did your best." she said in her loving tone.   Her mother sighed "Now, why don't you go take a shower.  I'll go warm up your dinner."

At that her mother left her side and walked into the kitchen.  Alex let a small smile wipe her face as she made her way for her bedroom.  It was nice knowing, even if her mother didn't like what she did, she still had faith in her ability to do her best.  But Alex's night was not so relaxing as she kept reminding herself of tomorrow.  She would have to go meet the Crimson Lady, and she was not looking forward to it.

Lady Scarlett sat in her big, comfy office chair and logged into a website to check a message board her cellphone had prompted her to. She found a message indicating a go order and checked the time reference then typed a group text message into her phone Update, Order 101: Green Light. 01600053120329999-23.

The message lit up cellphone screens all across Chicago and all hell broke loose in the city.

---

Deckard looked down at his wrist and saw the text message scroll across the screen then held up two fingers and moved his hand in a circle then pointed to the door. As one, the four Ghouls of Team Annie Lennox burst from a van parked in front Wintrust Bank and moved on the financial institution. The lead pair burst through the glass doors and shot the pair of rent-a-cop security guards with a smart pair of bursts then moved toward the counter, the second pair moved in and took positions clear of cameras, line of sight from the street, and with good points of view over the bank floor. The last through locked the door behind him as the first pair moved on the tellers. One moved straight to the door and pointed her gun at the teller, "Hands off the button ma'am." The other moved toward the offices. Within a minute, they had the bank tied up tightly and began to liberate of its various liquid resources.

Deckard kept an eye on the timer on his wrist. They had two more banks to hit today and each one was planned to a T, in and out in under four minutes thirty-two. He used his subvocal mic to send an okay message to the sniper on the opposite rooftop.

---

Across town, Squad Lemmings, still recovering, burst from a similar van and moved with the same anatomical precision into The Chicago Diamond and Jewelry Exchange to make an equally ruthless and violent robbery of that location. They were not subtle and used explosives and advanced weaponry to move through security designed to stop almost anything: almost. Another sniper operated in distant support of them as well.

---

There were three more targets on the list of places to hit: Tribune Tower, Holy Name Cathedral, and Advocate Lutheran General Hospital. Of these, Lady Crimson had chosen as her target for the afternoon Advocate General. The reason was to cause chaos and panic, nothing more. She had her rendezvous that night though so she had to make this quick. Even as she was approaching the ER doors, her phone rang and she paused to answer, "Sir? Yes, Sir, the package is secure at Burnham Harbors as discussed previously. Yes, sir, the plan is in action. Yes, sir, 12 hour protocol is in place. Agreed. Squad Lemmings and Squad Annie Lennox are at their assignment. Squad Link is operating in support capacity. Roger. I won't let you d..." But the call had ended before she could utter the useless assurance. Dieter knew that she would do what she was told and knew the consequences if she did not.

Cimmeria  entered the Holy Name Cathedral, it was empty save for the the choir of nuns rehearsing their chosen hymnals for the upcoming service. The women's voices were angelic, filling the impossibly high arched ceilings of the church with music that brought strong emotion into all that heard it. All except Cimmeria, her face remained locked in its emotionless mask, her violet eyes seemed vacant of a soul.

The singing women paid Cimmeria no mind, as she lifted AT4 she carried had been carry at her side. She ignored the soreness she felt knitted in her side and fired. The hot explosion of back blast caught fire to the pews behind her, making her a dark silhouette against the burning flames. The shell Skipped past the nuns, causing them to rush for the exits, their heavenly music silenced and replaced by hysteria. Cimmeria dropped the launcher and continued proceeding towards the front of the cathedral. The shell exploded in a giant cloud of fire and debris, pieces of wood, ceramic, and plaster arcing through the air before rain down among the pews. She was not 100% percent yet, but she felt well enough to take part in drawing out ITSDA. Cimmeria was outfitted with a pair of M9 pistols holstered on her person, a tanto knife sheathed in each boot and the determination to bring the building to the ground if need be.
This message was last edited by the player at 18:46, Sun 31 May 2015.

It was impossible to tell at first, but it became clear that someone was walking through the hole Cimmeria had applied to one of the church walls. As they took step after step, the curtains of thick smoke that obscured them fell away one by one reveling a growing number of details; they were humanoid and tall by human standards, with broad shoulders that were connected to thick arms which matched the legs below. It would be easy to guess this figure was wearing ITSDA battle armor, but then the truth was revealed; the man's form was made of only his own flesh and bone covered by clothing. Not even a vest clung to his chest, and although he has armed with two hand guns in holsters plus a vintage K-Bar in a sheath on his belt, his hands currently held a hotdog that he was actively taking a bite out of as he entered. The stranger swallowed, belched, and smiled at the villain as though the pair were in a bar and not a partly demolished place of worship.

"Whoa, somebody's got some issues. What is it, did daddy not hug you enough as a kid? Or maybe too much? If you're one of those chicks outta tha' Bible, I remember two tha' Army preacher used ta' talk about and since you don't seem ta be no virgin ta' me, you must be lost cause Babalon ain't around these parts. Or, is it just your time of tha month?"

There were no sirens, no flashing lights, no sound of helicopter blades overhead; this stranger had walked into a hostile situation through a massive smoking hole without backup or armor, and instead of protecting himself he seemed more interested in finishing lunch. It looked as though he had known she would attack this place, and was simply awaiting an invitation;

But looks can be deceiving. Frank had been sent to Chicago to find some ghostly Gifted for the ITSDA, but he had been taking his sweet time about it and had been in town for a time enjoying himself while charging his expense account. He had decided to have a Chicago dog, not in some fancy tourist trap but from a cart with a vendor who had been doing it for years. Said cart happened to be on a street corner close to the church, so his involvement here was blind luck.

When morning rolled around, Alex was still in bed sleeping off the bad day.  It wasn't until her mother had shook her awake, did she finally get up.  "Alex you need to get up!  Somethings happening." said her mother in a quivering tone.

Alex jolted upright and looked at her mother.  "Wh-What?" asked Alex as she swung her feet off the bed and stood up.  As she did so the pain in her side returned, the blow from the crimson lady had formed a good bruise.

"Come look," replied her mother.  She led Alex into the living room were the news was playing on the TV.

"Reports of multiple break-in's and robbers flooded in only moments ago.  Three criminal events occurred within moments of each other.  As of now, the CPD is asking people in the area to evacuate, as the police move in to try and contain these events.  We now go to Dave Rowe who is live at..."

Alex watched in horror as she saw a jewelry store being robbed with accuracy of trained men.  Maybe what happened last night was leading up to all this.  Perhaps those men from the night before were involved.  Whatever was going on, she need to help.  Alex rushed over to the door and pulled it open, she needed to do something now before people got hurt again.

"Alex!"

She turned around to see her mothers concerned face. "Please be careful," said her mother.

Alex smiled "I will."  With that she flew out the door and headed towards the nearest disturbance, which just so happened to be the Holy Name Cathedral.

Eric was currently enjoying a day strolling down the street when a buzz in his head alerted him to something of interest. He concentrated on a phone call being held a few feet away and overheard the individuals talking about all these break ins going on. He quickly tapped into the local network and found the news story. He kept looking for anything interesting and there it was. A single individual striding into a hole made in the side of a church. A few moments later he had the name of the church and began to make his way there. At the same time he was tapping into camera feeds from news cameras and people who just had their cellphones out. ahh thank god for modern technology he thought to himself. He noticed the local authorities headed towards the scene and quickly tapped into their radio feed. Proceed with caution possible Gifted incursion. Suggest recon to comfirm. Eric smiled to himself. He needed to get there. Especially if there was gifted. If the AGF showed up he could easily deal with them.

Eric continued on his way when he received an email. Only a very select few knew how to contact him. HE opened it and read it carefully before smiling again. He concentrated as he walked and soon the police lines were filled with the reports of freak car accidents, people losing control of their vehicles on the street he was walking on. He made sure to act like the regular public and seemed shocked. He continued to tap into the road light systems and turned every single light to green. Which caused even more chaos and panic as more traffic accidents happened.

He made fire alarms go off at the local school systems and hospitals while causing emergency alarms to go off on many local businesses. He made sure no cameras were looking at him as he made his way through the crowds towards the church. Today was finally getting interesting.
This message was last edited by the player at 07:14, Mon 01 June 2015.

Moments after his cell phone lit up, an Irish, 20-something man with an ugly mullet and a full leather ensemble strode into the lobby of the Tribune Building. He never looked up from his phone as he entered the building, but the messenger bag slung over his shoulder caught the eye of security.

The man was known as Ash, and it would soon be clear why. He stopped in his tracks, snapped and pointed at a mohawked man in a suit standing in front of a security officer's desk, then pulled a handful of pollen from his bag. Two security officers stood up.

"Excuse me, sir!" said the closer officer as he walked toward Ash. As soon as the officer passed Zenith, the man with the mohawk, he spit at the officer's feet. Upon hitting him, Zenith's spit instantly transformed into a green nerve gas that sent the officer into coughing spasms.

"Ladies and gentlemen, have I got news for you!" said Ash with a smile before he blew the pollen out of his hand. Zenith dashed over to him, the second officer took aim, but it was too late. The pollen exploded into flames! People retreated deeper into the tower, stopped and rolled, and called for backup, but the flames just kept spreading from dust particle to dust particle.

After less than a minute, the flames had engulfed two thirds of the tower's floors. Satisfied, the Gifted duo calmly stepped out the door.

"Ashes to ashes, dust to dust," said Ash. A childish little giggle left his lips.

"You have no patience, lad." responded Zenith. "Were it not for your hastiness, I could've transformed the attack into a hostage situation..."

"I hate those, boss," said Ash as he pulled out a cigarette and lit it with one of the ashes flying off of the building behind them. A fire alarm rung out; the authorities would be here soon. "Too much standing around, waiting to get shot."

"We are Gifted, my boy. We need not fear death; who can touch us?"

"Namidias," responded Ash, coldly.

"True, but why would he want to...?"

The pair heard a fire engine approach them as they spoke. In response to the noise, Zenith cut open his hand with his one long fingernail, ran to a nearby street, and slapped his hand on the ground. It left a huge, brown, bloody print in the center of the road.

"A liquid chemical with properties similar to napalm. My own invention, I might add," the eloquent criminal stopped speaking for a bit and turned to his partner. "They'll never know what hit 'em."

Never being a woman of conversation, Cimmerian granted the old man with her trademark greeting. In one fluid motion she drew one of her M9 pistols and fired. The man's hotdog exploded in his hand, pieces of bread, meat, and condiments splattering a crossed his shirt and completely covering his hand.

"Why is it that you men insist of running your mouths? You look to be picking the pretty girl. If you wanted my number all you had to do was ask?"

Much of the cathedral was bathed in flames now, only the first few rows of pews had been sparred by the  all consuming fire.  The past three days Cimmeria had trained with Team Bannanas, showing them what she showed few. They knew how her portals worked almost as well as she. The team waited for her now within one of her secret rooms, ignorant to the happenings outside the white walls that contained them.
This message was last edited by the player at 23:55, Mon 01 June 2015.

Frank calmly wiped the gunk off his hand, pulled out a pack of cigarettes along with a battered lighter marked with the symbol for the US Army, lit a smoke and put the items away again; he seemed fully unaware that there was a gun trained on him. After he took a draw and exhaled, he smiled at the killer.

"You're dressed in black and blowing up a church, I just figured your number was six six six. By the way, not to be a pain about it but could you give me ten bucks for the dog? Pricy I know, but it was one of those thick all beef ones loaded with topping on good bread and not some summer picnic family reunion cheap crap. I'm not in a rush or anything if you don't have it on you, I could just swing by when you get off work. What time you leave the street corner?""

Something was wrong with this picture; many people either taught themselves or were taught by someone to hide their emotions so that they appeared to be calm when in truth they weren't. However, from the look in his eye, that wasn't what this old geezer was doing; he was standing in a room full of flame, in front of a very skilled and armed enemy, splattered with the remains of his lunch that was shot out of his hand, and there wasn't a whisper of fear or worry swirling around in the gray that looked up Cimmeria.

As Alex arrived at the Holy Name Church she stopped in her tracks when she saw the whole cathedral ablaze.  The windows shattered and thick black smoke rolled into the cloudless sky.  Sirens could be heard all over the city, from the south loop to the north.  This day was going to shit, all chaos broke loose.  With all the disasters around the city no units had been spared here.  She had to stop the fire.

Alex rushed over the the nearest fire hydrant shoot a blast of energy at it.  The hydrant exploded and water shot out of it like a geyser. Next, she created a field of energy and placed it above the water at an angle.  The water bounced of the energy and spewed over the burning church.  It wasn't as good as a hose but it was the best she could do with what she had.  She kept this up until the burning died down.

Maire watched forlornly as months of careful work, of the most delicate teasing of threads in the pattern to loosen the knots in this city, was being destroyed. Slowly, but steadily. Burglaries, murders, rapes, fires. There didn't need to be very many to tear apart this tapestry, and there was more than enough. She'd already removed several burglars from the pattern, but their influence on it was minimal, and made little difference to the damage being wrought. There were others, here, in this city, disrupting things to a degree that she'd only ever seen Gifted do. Gifted, as she'd noticed in her long years, seemed to affect the pattern far more heavily than any Normal ever could. They should be working to preserve it, not destroying it.

She stepped slowly out of a small alley, her shoes leaving prints of blood on the ground. There was a barely visible puddle of blood, spreading slowly in the darkness of that alley, and a hand was visible behind a pair of trashcans. She wiped her hands off on her coat, thin streaks of the red stuff seemingly repelled by the cloth as it fell directly to the ground. She glanced down the sidewalk and saw a man staring at her, his eyes confused and fear ridden, before he turned and ran away. She ignored him. He was nothing but a bystander, and her work had terrified him. His pattern was veritably shaking itself to death. A fire-engine passed by, screaming loudly, and turned around a corner. She looked up, glancing over the building as much as she could and seeing the Tribune Building burning, smoke pouring off of it into the sky. Her head quirked to the side, and she began walking towards it slowly.

As she turned the corner, far down the road, the firetruck exploded. There was a pressure wave headed right for her, but she ignored it. It passed right over her as she picked up her pace, barely even ruffling her hair. She was approaching cautiously, if still quickly, and her gaze was carefully combing the street. Even so, she barely noticed the two men standing a small distance from the burning fire-truck in time to slip into another alley. She crouched, hummed a few small notes, and stepped back out, keeping her tune up. It sounded almost sepulchrous, in its low melancholy notes, and where she stepped the ground appeared to freeze over for an instant before thawing out. This was a song she liked to call, "The Milky Eye." She sucked the energy out of many of the patterns around her, usually resulting in a cooling, and redirected it into a thin field that surrounded her and deflected attention. It was easy to see her, but if nobody was looking for her, their attention shifted to something around her, like the shattered window or the burning tree, or the dying firemen.

She shifted herself to be directly parallel to the men and ducked behind a well placed vehicle, keeping her eye carefully on them. Engaging in combat with men she didn't know the combat style of was dangerous, and would likely be disastrous and, at the very best, result in her death. So she began examining them, keeping her tune up. She wasn't subvocalising, since that took too much effort, but even if the men did here her music over the roaring flames and screams, she was scattering it off various things around her on purpose. Even a man with fantastic hearing would think the sound was coming from several different locations along the street. Gifted, though, especially ones with enhanced senses, could possibly determine her general location. That still gave her plenty of room to maneuver out of the way in the case of violent actions.

LAdy Crimson put her phone away and shifted the two satchels that hung to her waist as she moved through the sliding doors and into the Er entryway. She scanned the room casually for a second as people began to register the woman in the fiery red armor and armed to the teeth.

She tilted her head at the people and heaved a sigh, people just don't panic like they used to... She drew the pair of Glock 19s she kept at her hips and leveled them at the duty nurse as she stood to get a better look at the new weirdo in her ER and released a pair of 3-round bursts which knocked her back. Obligingly, the people began to panic and Crimson smiled as she put the pistols back and walked past the reception desk into the treatment area and toward the ER rooms. She walked along a hallway and opened doors long enough to toss grenades into each. Each detonated like a powderkeg and sowed yet more confusion. She finally arrived at a bank of elevators and turned to survey the chaos even as she pushed the call button.

She pulled her 19s again and took a few potshots until the doors dinged and opened. She hit the B3 floor and ejected the clips to be replaced with extended mags as she hummed and checked in on her teams. Hello, Ma'am. Squad Annie Lennox has finished at the first location and is en route to target two. Squad Lemmings is one minute out from finish." Crimson considered it and then responded, When Lemmings is finished, redirect them to Soldier Field and make sure they have A LOT of explosives. The command was accepted even as the doors dinged again and she stepped out into the basement area and was surrounded by the hum of machines. She grinned and holstered the pistols to pull one of the satchels off her torso and open the flap. She turned the dial to fifteen minutes then did the same with its twin and tossed the pair of satchel bombs in under the hospital generators before steppeing back into the elevators and hitting floor 9.

The elevator was playing "The Girl from Ipanema" and Crimson hummed along as it rose out of the ground to the administrative floors, CPD is in chaos from the hack on the city networks, but they are prioritizing the hospital. ETa 5 minutes. Crimson nodded and walked out into the admin floor and followed a series of directions she had memorized until she arrived at a door labeled "servors." She shot the lock and then tossed a pair of grenades in and then moved toward the stairs. That elevator music was still stuck in her had though and she found herself humming and bouncing a bit as she walked. Her head tilted from side to side in time to the music even as she quickdrew the .45 revolver she kept in the small of her back and shot a doctor in the back, "Tall and tan and something something, the girl from ipanema s-uh-omething..." Each something accompanied a shot and dead staff as she strolled until she kicked open the stairwell door just in time to hear a similar noise floor below and the sound of combat boots. She grinned.

She stepped to the railing and saw CPD SWAT coming up so she dropped a pair of grenades over the side then ducked back as they blew. She hear shouting and felt her blood stir as she approached then hopped the railing and dropped like a stone amongst the cops. She didn't even grunt as the impact, her super-strong frame taking it in stride as she grabbed a cop by his vest and threw him against a wall, then drew her revolver and put a shot into his buddy before punching through the visor of the third and sending shards of his nose into his cranium. She stepped back and leveled the pistol at four and five and put them down with quick shots to the head before cracking the gun open and reloading it even as the men breathed their last. One of their comms buzzed and she reached down to pull the bud from his ear and listen for a second as someone demanded the man check in, "Sorry, Sergeant... Oliver was it? He won't be answering anyone ever again."

She tossed the bud away as someone on the other end began cursing her and made for the door the men had just come through and ended up near the main entrance to the hospital. She peeked around a corner at the heaps of cops out there and grinned. Chicago was a villains playground today, that was for damned sure. She clicked her comms over to network wide broadcast, "This is Lady Crimson, hospital shut down. Who is turning off the power?"

Gates was continuing to make his was towards the church when in his mind a call was coming through. He answered after first making sure no cameras were on him and then ducking down an alleyway and coming out a block near the Church. "Hello....Substation? Understood. Do we have any assets near Holy Name Cathedral? He asked as he saw water being bent in midair to cover some fire. After a confirmation he spoke again. "Understood will adress substation then proceed to Cathedral for support." With that he hung up the phone and started making his way down the street away from the cathedral. A few blocks away he found the substation and a few cars that were trying to escape the chaos from earlier. He concentrated on two large trucks and after gaining control of the computers inside them sent them careening into the substation. A few moments later power had gone out throughout the city and since all the substations had been hit no backups would bring it back. Bombs..such wonderful little inventions. He nodded as he made his way back to the church making sure to keep his emotions in check. He began to study the wonderful little waterspout as it seemed to move this way and that seemingly on its own...
This message was last edited by the player at 10:29, Wed 03 June 2015.

At Commander's headquarters operations were in full swing, and the Villain himself was sat at his usual station;  at the very heart of his compound, surrounded by toiling minons and information covered screens.
One of his technicians looked up from an alert on his console and called out a report to the room in general. "'Green light' keyword has pinged... confirmed. Operation #101 is GO!"
The room suddenly took on a tense air, They'd been forewarned of the order for some time and although not everyone in The Commanders employment knew the full implications of 'Order 101' it was generally believed that it'd mark a vital stage in Namidias's endgame... whatever that was.
"Who do we have in the area? Put a list on the main screen." Commander replied automatically. He tapped a button on his armrest and the bank of monitors reset to show several channels of live news footage along one of it's halves and a scrolling list of personnel superimposed over a map of central Chicago on the other. Brett drummed his fingers impatiently as he waited for either display to give him the tactical inspiration he'd need to commit himself to a plan.

One of the news channels caught his attention and he enlarged the window to take priority, as it filled to eclipse it's neighbouring channels it's volume raised proportionally and the reporters voice echoed throughout the room with appropriate ominosity.
-"Reports of multiple break-in's and robbers flooded in only moments ago.  Three criminal events occurred within moments of each other.  As of now, the CPD is asking people in the area to evacuate, as the police move in to try and contain these events.  We now go to Dave Rowe who is live at"-
As the reporter spoke the screen flitted between three static images of Tribune Tower; which was gushing torrents of fire, Advocate Lutheran General Hospital; which was surrounded by an astounding number of police cars, and The Holy Name Cathedral; which had plenty of either.
Commanders vision pulled away from the impressive destruction on display and scanned eyes over his list of available operatives; he had two units of five agents within immediate range, a helicopter squad of ten soldiers that could be moved into position within three minutes, and a number of getaway drivers. A large bulk of his force had been moved to surround Chicago in preparation for a raid on the Federal Reserve building hidden within the cites skyline, but a brief glance at the news banks told him that he'd lost initiative and that someone else had already started reliving the Windy City of it's wealth.

"Move squads IL-1-0C, IL-3-RR and IL-6-NB into the city limits. No orders yet, but I need them ready to act." he said cautiously as he considered the news footage for a while longer, still looking for his golden opportunity.
Without warning every news channel operating out of Illinois crashed and the half the monitors illuminating the room plunged into darkness. Commander's technicians scrambled and began yelling rushed reports to each other as they attempted to understand the situation. A smile crept it's way into Commanders features as he mentally digested the new development.
"Chicago's been cut off the powergrid, somehow. Switch to our backup HF communication system and get a drone in the air- we won't be able to rely on our usual systems for this mission."
Commander had found the edge he'd been looking for. Although the electronic disturbance and mass attacks on the city all served to make his own job difficult he couldn't help but appreciate how efficiently the Namidians had acted in carrying out order #101. Even anticipating the attack Commander was still rushed to put his forces into play, and for the citizens or defenders of Chicago the attack must have seemed nothing short of apocalyptic.

"I've made up my mind; contact the away teams and have them converge on the James R. Thompson Center." He leaned back in his chair and his predatory expression relaxed into a mere smirk as he began to think and rethink his options. "With the power down it'll be difficult for anyone to communicate at all, and the CPD and Military will already be stretched thin. With confusion on our side we may as well help ourselves to a few hostages- what's the black market price for a Governor, these days?"

---

Minutes later Squad IL-1-0C, also known as 'The ZeroComets', finally re-established communication to their Headquarters- they'd been given the order to suit up and get airborne before the unexpected loss of their Chigao transmitter had knocked out most of their advanced systems.

The ZeroComets were The Commanders favoured heavy-response team; and were notorious for their hardhitting heavy weaponry and blisteringly fast airdrop assaults. The unstable men and women that made up the unit were currently armed with an even mixture of automatic shotguns, airburst grenade launchers, and brutal taser-batons. They were lead by a skinheaded adrenalin junkie who only went by the name 'Smokes' who'd look more at home picking a fight in an unlicensed dive bar rather than within any kind of military unit, the ten irregulars that he lead were each almost as bad. They rode in a battlescarred 'AVX JMR-MPS' that'd earned favour with the unit not just for it's nimble speed, but also because it could effortlessly unleash enough firepower to chew a bus in half and spit out the pips.

Their pilot had struggled to tune the helicopters delicate HF modulator to a setting that'd let them resume communications whilst avoiding the worst of the low-tech interference that'd flooded the airwaves since Gates had blacked out the city. The outmoded radio suddenly squawked into life with static feedback and a clear voice could be heard chanting a cryptic number combination over the other side, Smokes snatched the radio handset out of his pilots hand, spat a return confirmation code onto the same frequency and waited for the operators reply -moments later he pushed the communicator back and stood to deliver his mission briefing:
" 'S order One-oh-ONE, lads an' lassies! " he said, practically vibrating with feverous excitement and speaking in a slurred 'Low British' accent, " As ye' know, everythin' electronic's just up an' knackered. Th' C'mmand'r want's us t' use th' distract'n t' take some heads. 'e says t' take anyon' who looks import'nt as a hostage. "
Smokes strode over to the side panel of his 'chopper and wrenched the access door open. Thin air immediately poured into the helicopters belly and Smokes laughed fearlessly as the pressure difference almost pushed him outside, he reached out a hand to steady himself by attaching the belt of his armour to one of the 'copters three mechanised pulleys.
He raised his voice to be heard over the violent winds now gushing into the cabin " AFT'R THA', WE'RE T' CIRCLE TH' CITY AN' FIND MORE TARGETS. IT'S GONNA' BE A MESS DOWN THER', AN HE'S GIVN' TH' ALL CLEAR T' GO NUTS. " The Comets cheered at that.
The hard-edged shock troopers of the ZeroComets were chosen from the most undisciplined and unstable of Commander's men, and since most didn't share The Commander's compulsion to keep bystanders out of their line of fire they were generally only called into action for particularly chaotic and unpredictable missions- such as the present moment.

---

The helicopter blazed it's way under the city's skyline and carelessly veered between the inner-city skyscrapers, it banked sharply on it's side as the pilot shot the aircraft around Washington Street corner and brought it into view of the circular steel-and-glass building that served as the centre of Illinosis's political power. The 'chopper levelled itself out and it's dual rotor buzzed into a frantic whine as it began climbing to a higher altitude and came to a halt at the squat buildings 16th floor, from the open door of his ride Smokes could see into the semi-mirrored windows of the building; the interior was packed to the walls with frightened looking well-to-do's who'd retreated inside to escape from the chaos that'd spilled into streets, a few of them pressed against the window and squinted at him- perhaps they were wondering if the military had flown in to evacuate them.
Smokes levelled his grenade launcher at the window and immediately ended any such misconceptions. The first shot he fired impacted against the reinforced glass of the building and blew it inwards with an almighty burst of displaced air and shrapnel glass, His second shot bounced through the ruined window and stunned everyone inside with an explosive flash of magnesium. The helicopter pivoted midair to expose it's rear ramp to the blown-in window and shunted backwards into the damaged building; the moment the distanced had been closed The ZeroComets leapt from their cargo ramp, over 200ft of empty air, and landed with a heavy crunch as their tactical boots ground the remains of the glass window into office carpet.

The squad immediately fanned out and began subduing their prey. One of the ZeroComets, a rough woman sporting a cut lip and a full-face tattoo, roughly grabbed the suit nearest to her and pinned him to the ground- she jammed the barrel of her pistol deeply into his temple.
"WHO THE HELL ARE YOU?!" she screamed into his ear. The terrified victim took a moment too long to answer as he stuttered over a sentence, she shot the ground by his ear to reinforce her demand. *BLAMN!*
"AH! I'm George Sawman- Chairman of-" *BLAMN!* She fired her gun at the floor again, this time to shut him up.
"Get in the 'chopper! NOW!" She hauled him back to his feet and shoved him towards the breach, where he was caught by another one of the invaders and would promptly be tied down and dragged into the transport. The trigger happy Tattoo'd Lady rounded her pistol on the next person closest to her and repeated her system.
"WHO THE HELL ARE YOU?!" the smart yet brightly dressed young woman she'd levelled her weapon at replied immediately as she ran her mouth in obvious fear, "M-miss Brown- I-i'm the assistant of-" *BLAMN!* Her pistol fired again, this time discharging a lethal round into the assistants neck. She didn't have time to waste shepherding low value targets such as the late 'Miss Brown' and she immediatly faced the next richest looking person in the room and brought him to the ground with a snapkick to the stomach.
"WHO THE HELL ARE YOU?!"

As all this was going on the Helicopter pilot kept careful control over his flightstick with one hand, and used the other to transmit a message across a broad bandwidth that he knew the other Namidian's within Chicago would be able to receive:
"Asset Zero C reporting in on behalf of 'The Commander'. Operating within Washington Street. Searching for potential resistance- Over."
With the simple confirmation message sent the pilot cut hsi broadcast, although The Commander had shoehorned his own agenda into the mix 'Order #101' was primarily a command simply to sow chaos and disharmony- it would be a shame to finish their mission and leave without at least firing the JMR-MPS's stock of missiles at someone.
This message was last edited by the player at 00:20, Thu 04 June 2015.

The Tribune Building's smoke turned a sickly pale, yellowish color as the inferno consumed the newspaper printers inside the building. Ash fidgeted with antsy delight.

"The 21st Century's hit the papers pretty hard, eh?"

Suddenly, the lights of Chicago went down all at once. Divorced of its millions of artificial lights, the city looked almost, but not quite, tranquil. There was peace in this, Zenith knew. It's unfortunate, then, that the modern world never let this sort of peace run wild. Perhaps Namidias would let it run wild in the world to come...

"Excellent," said Zenith. A thin, wistful smile slowly took hold of his face. Ash stared at his boss in exaggerated confusion and frustration.

"You expected this?! No way man, lights off, bedtime? I would've liked to know!" Ash turned his back on his boss and threw his hands up into the air.

"I had no plan for this," said Zenith. "I just think it's excellent."

"Whatever, boss. You're just wasted.."

"Not yet," said Zenith. He then titled his head, licked the roof of his mouth, and transformed a small portion of his blood to a low-level Amphetamine. His head darted from side and side as everything besides the sounds around him faded away.

"Ash, there's a helicopter not far from here. We may need to prepare ourselves for a more serious endeavor." Zenith's ears perked up at a new sound he heard; it was some sort of low, tuneful humming. But it wasn't normal, Zenith wasn't even sure it was human! Could it be a hallucination? No, it was too coherent, too sensible, and too direct. It was coming from that alley!

He threw his closed fist up and backward into an L shape, then flung his pointer finger toward the alley. Ash nodded, smirked, and transformed the thin layer of smoke infiltrating the alley into a cloud of fire. In seconds, the cloud congealed into a massive, floating blaze and flowed down the alley as if it were a wave.

"Nothing, boss. You really are high," said Ash.

"No, no. I heard someone or something. It's here, it's here. It has to be. Just give me time, and prepare yourself."

Ash shook his head, then psychically transformed part of the smoke flowing through the top of a neighboring skyscraper into fire. That perfectly-formed blaze sliced through the edge of the skyscraper, hurling it to the ground with incredible force.

CRRRASH! 

The debris, and the crater it formed, blocked off one of the roads leading toward the Tribune Building.Ash repeated the action twice more. Now, with three directions of attack blocked off, the duo would not get surrounded. Instead, they would be able to funnel their enemies down a long, long tunnel of death. Ash chuckled at his own thoughts; "The Tunnel of Death" sounded like the name of a great roller coaster.

Zenith, meanwhile, hadn't found the source of his frustration. Each time he focused on an area, it turned out that he was just hearing an echo bouncing off something in his field of view. He realized, however, that there were only so many things the sound could echo off of. One by one, he would eliminate the wrong answers until he found the right one.

Zenith's communicator turned on. His focus broken, the businessman flushed the amphetamines out of his blood before they could have any side effects on him. The caller, whose voice was partially drowned out by the roaring of a helicopter's engine, asked about any potential resistance.

"That's what I was trying to find out, before you decided to intrude on my thoughts!" Zenith frowned for a bit, slowly ran his hand through his mohawk, then picked up the communicator again.

"I apologize for that. There is someone here, I think, or something... obviously, I cannot, as of yet, confirm whether or not it is a threat. I will keep you updated."
This message was last edited by the GM at 02:48, Thu 04 June 2015.

Bard smiled widely, and changed her tune. This was fun, and these men were enjoyable. One of them didn't, quite, conflict with the pattern in truth, but he was off just enough to warrant, at the very least, intervention on her part. The other was unstable and destructive, and he so obviously disrupted the patterns around him that even without her sight, she doubted this man would ever come across as natural. Her new tune was louder, and she focused briefly before cinching a pattern around the air surrounding her that amplified it a hundred-fold, and began to loop it. She gathered her song into a thin orb in her hand, glowing faint gold and green, and tossed it high into the air where it exploded in a brilliant shower of sparks. Everywhere the sparks touched began vibrating, and soon it sounded as if the very street were singing along with her. The song took on more malevolent tones quickly, and the very air seemed to darken. The fires dimmed, even though they burned just as high, and windowpanes up and down the street shattered, sending glass sprinkling onto the hard pavement below. Even the tinkling seemed to have a place in the song though.

The temperature dropped quickly, and such a rapid change caused thin tendrils of mist to creep around various objects. The firetruck began sputtering before it went out, and the only illumination was the dimmed light from the burning tribune building, which appeared to be unaffected by any of the going-ons in the street. Her song heightened volatile emotions, rapidly. Since neither of these men appeared to be in complete control of their emotions anyways, she felt that it might make things more interesting. Maybe even... strain their relationship. She spun a note of discord into her song, and one of paranoia. Even the roaring of the flames in the tribune building seemed to be joining in in the chorus, their deep rumbling and various cracks and pops taking on an undertone to the higher notes.

She gracefully slid down the street, adding more notes into the song until some of the complexities of the music even gave her pause. Discord and paranoia, fear and anger. Confusion and distraction. Everything had its place in this melody, and she joined her own, singing the highest notes and leaving the lower ones to the patterns she'd established already. It was a danger, participating in the music herself. Now there would be a more discernible focus, unless she remained cautious. One of the men had appeared to be focusing on the various places she'd been bouncing her music off of, and she was running out of space to do that to a well enough degree. So she raised the volume slightly, threw off minor dynamics in her surrounding space, and... voila her voice came out nearly 30 feet away. It sounded wrong, so she modulated for a few moments before she approached a more appreciable sound. It was far from the best she could manage, but safety was paramount. She took caution and wove a thin pattern that, if she had to stop singing suddenly, would sustain the music for at least 15 seconds without her direct participation. After that, the song would start faltering before fading altogether. 15 seconds should be more than enough time to withdraw, however, in the case of her being discovered.

Ghost did her best to put out the fire.  She managed to put out any large raging areas but left a couple of smaller smolders.  After all she could only do so much with what she had.  While she was finishing up she noticed a slim man next to her.  The white haired man seemed to be examining her improvising.  Alex knew he couldn't see her but that didn't stop it from being weird.

When she finally got the last large patch of fire under control, she let her energy go.  The water that was being funneled at the church now shot straight up into the air.  Alex frowned, it wasn't her intention to add to the problems but there was no way she could fix the broken hydrant.  She could feel the cold water hit her on its way back down.  She was done here.  Alex nodded to herself, moving onto the next are where someone was needed.

Alex moved her way into the city, following Michigan Street.  As she made her way for the chaos in the loop, she saw swarms of people out on the streets.  Each one in their own world, trying to escape the hell Chicago had become.  From blocks away she could see the ruins of the  Tribune Tower.  Flames licked the Tower and the neighboring building were toppled over on the ground, covering the street.  This day was getting worse and worse.

"You're fucking with me, man. There ain't shit there," said Ash. He made a strangling motion with his hands and then dismissively waved his hand at Zenith.

"Hold your tongue, Ash! I need focus," said Zenith, placing special emphasis on the word "need." The noise, the noise! It was getting so chaotic, so scattered, and yet so focused. It was like a coordinated, many-pronged attack on his psyche! But where was his attacker?

Zenith gasped as glass windows exploded all around him. This wasn't happening! Ash, on the other hand, glared at the Tribune Building, didn't even hear the glass. The building, the fire, and the screaming people inside were all laughing at him. They knew he was this big, crazy badass, but they didn't care. They laughter poured out of the building and directly into his ears; they wanted him to hear them!

"You think you know me? You think I'm a joke?! Well here's a joke for ya'" shouted Ash at the top of his lungs. He then held out his hand and rapidly transformed the smoke surrounding the building into a huge sheet of thick, yet contained flames. Strangely enough, this fire drew all the oxygen out of the Tribune Building. When it cleared, the charred and decimated skyscraper was no longer on fire.

"You can't fight fire with fire," said Ash in a mocking, infantile tone.

"Calm down, now!" screamed Zenith. His eyes were wide with rage. He cupped his ear with his hand again, trying to focus his hearing.

Ash picked his head up slowly at the sound of his boss's voice. His eyes were partially closed and his mouth was rapidly twisting itself into a different shapes as he marched toward a distracted Zenith. Every time it became a flashing of his teeth, it would warp into a sadistic grin. Then the grin would morph into a frown, the frown would change to a gasp, and the whole process would start over.

"You're always ruining my fun, Zen! What's wrong with you?"

"Nothing's wrong with me," shouted Zenith as he jumped back. "I'm just trying to put myself to good use, make a respectable living! I've got my Gift, I'll use it! 'Fun' doesn't matter, child. Your life does; so start living it!"

Ash scoffed and lit his boss' hair on fire, turning the older man's mohawk into a jet of flame. In response, Zenith flooded his body with adrenaline and rammed his protege. Before he even knew what hit him, Ash was lying on the pavement while dozens of fists were hammering into him.

Seeing a trail of blood run down his associate's nose, Zenith hopped off of Ash. He stood beside his new enemy and took up a boxing stance.

"I'm nothing if not a good sport, Ash. Let's do this like gentlemen."

"No," retorted Ash. With one hand, he flung his messenger back at Zenith's face. When it hit him, Ash burned a hole through the front of the bag. Thousands of pollen particles flew out from the hole as the bag drifted toward the ground. And the moment they flew through the hole, they were lit on fire.

Zenith reeled back and yelped as hundreds of miniature fireballs flew past him, each one effortlessly peeling off a layer of his skin. He regained focus just long enough to roll out of the way as a fire literally erupted beneath his backside.

"Die, die, die, die!"

"We cannot do this," said Zenith. "We'll ruin everything."

"Who cares?" said Ash. A single tear slid reluctantly down his cheek as he chuckled. The air surrounding him caught fire. "There's nothing to ruin!"

"What?"

"There's no point to this! Don't you see? He wants us to die for him!"

"I've told you before, Ash. We need not fear death! And this oper--"

"Well, you do," said Ash with a smirk as he stared at something behind Zenith. Zenith spun around to face the trap, only to find nothing but a strange hum coming from behind him.

As Zenith spun around, Ash hurled some loose gravel up into the air. He ignited it just in time for his boss to turn back around.

"Ahhhh!"

Gripping his face in agony, Zenith carelessly tossed himself to the ground. Ash pumped his fist at his victory, only to become distracted by the song too.

"Oh crap, boss," said the younger man, as if nothing had transpired between them. "I think you're right..."

Ash lit up all the areas from which he heard the song originate.

"Come out, come out. We've got a special for ya.' Two pricks for the price of one!"
This message was last edited by the GM at 03:53, Fri 05 June 2015.

In reply to Scripts (msg # 27):

(Non-canon Battle Post)

The music faded into the background, only the occasional note finding its way into a high enough volume to be heard across the street. A womans voice spoke, its tone lilting and lyrical, from the thin air over Zeniths collapsed form. "But look at this poor spectacle, a fight between friends." It cooed, and then it spoke from Ash's other side. "You should relax, and subsume to your guilt." It whispered directly into his ear. By Zenith, the voice was whispering quietly as well, too quietly for Ash to hear but enough for Zenith. "You're in so much pain. I'm so sorry." It whispered. "If you just relax and let the pain wash over you..."

Bard was nursing a burnt leg. One of Ash's explosions had been dangerously close, and she'd barely gotten out of the way of losing half her side. Even with enhancing her regeneration, the burn was bad enough to necessitate at least an hour of recovery, so she was focusing on eliminating the two men. She ignored her pain, and cupped her hand, whispering quietly into it. She focused her power into several words, intoning them at just the right frequencies to react with the mens patterns.

In the street, Ash screamed and threw a blaze of fire away from Zenith, his voice completely incoherent. Something at least remotely similar to screaming bloody murder was coming out. The voice in his ear gasped. "That hurt!" it whispered in an appalled tone, as soon as Ash's fire touched the dead Firetruck. He grinned madly and began laughing, throwing more fire at the truck. There was a faint screaming, almost imperceptable, that faded from Ash's perception quickly and he laughed some more. "I got you!" He shouted. He turned around and- he was sitting on the sidewalk of the street, in front of the now dead Tribune building, with Zenith lying next to him. He looked around in confusion, not remembering even moving here.

Bard smiled grimly. His emotions were so awry that manipulation was almost too easy for her.  She stood up carefully, placing as little weight as she could manage on her burnt leg, and stepping from behind the car. Her shoes squelched as she stepped onto the street, the sound echoing off of the buildings, but she hummed a loud note, and Ash's gaze turned to her but his eyes were unfocused and he was grinning like a mad-man. She reached into her pocket and pulled out a thin knife, flicking it open. Ash continued to just stare at her, even as she held it out in preparation to slit his throat.

Zenith surged upwards, the adrenaline in his system masking the pain. His hand reached out and grabbed their foes, a woman's, arm. Her eyes flicked to him immediately and the knife in her hand came around quickly, far too quickly, but Zenith lifted his hand. The blade was shoved through his palm, and he noted quickly that if he hadn't put his hand there, that blade would have hit his heart. The woman did something, her arm slipping out of his grasp like a wet bar of soap, and stepped back, her mouth opening. He couldn't hear anything, the pumping of his blood in his ears masking the sound too well, but he could feel a vibrating in his bones. Her gaze flicked to Ash, and he cast a quick glance there as well. He seemed to be coming out of it, and when he looked back at the woman she had backed up another few steps. He noted the limp in her right leg, and the burned section of that spread down almost  the entire thing. He pulled the knife out of his hand, and altered some of his blood into a substance chemically similar to sulphuric acid, throwing it at the woman. She avoided most of it, but splatter of the stuff landed on her arm and her singing abruptly stopped as she gasped in pain and tried wiping the stuff off.

Bard restrained the urge to scream. The mans blood burned hotter than any fire she'd ever experienced, and wiping it off only spread it to her other hand, which was now burning as well. She watched in dawning, muted, horror as her flesh reddened and split, blood seeping out and mixing with whatever it was this man had changed his blood into. If this got into her bloodstream... she prioritized her tactical needs and focused on the pattern of the man's blood, releasing a short, quick note of dissonance. It evaporated off almost immediately, but its damage had been done and the pain was clouding her focus. Her lapse of attention on the both of them ended when Zenith stepped directly up to her and shoved her own knife directly into the spot on her arm that had been hit with his blood. Having a keen sense of what should and shouldn't be in her own body, the toxin flooding her system was noticed immediately, and she subvocalised anotehr note of dissonance as her hand on the opposite arm flew out and struck the man in the sternum. There was a flash of pain which she shoved deep into her unconscious, but the man stumbled back, his breath lost. She gathered a pattern in her hand, and tossed it behind the man, a small explosion of sparks and then a debilitating scream escaping it.

Ash, who had just been regaining focus, stiffened and fell backwards, spasming as his eyes rolled into the back of his head, and small trickles of blood slid out of his ears and nose, but Zenith was too far away to be affected quite as much. He was using dangerous amounts of adrenaline at this point, and that pain that that scream seemed to be rousing even all the way to his bones was hard to ignore, but he stepped forwards once more and attempted to hit the woman directly with more of his altered blood. She deftly slid underneath him and lifted him completely off his feet. He heard a small moan, but right before Bard's leg collapsed from the strain she threw Zenith into the epicenter of the scream. The pain over-rode his adrenaline, and he collapsed, but whatever blood he was leaking was lost in what he already had spilling out of his torn apart skin.

Bard fell to the ground, her leg completely useless now. The burned tissue had ripped, the stress she'd put on it too great for the unhealed tissue, and she was no bleeding far too profusely. At this rate, she would be dead within the hour. She pulled the knife out of her harm and looked at it, closing her eyes and gathering her courage. She sang, a high, cutting note, and the blade began vibrating almost imperceptibly. THe silver metal began steaming before it turned just slightly red, and Maire turned her gaze and placed it on her leg, a scream actually erupting from her throat this time. The debilitation would only last a few more seconds. She needed to hurry. The blade made its way down the broken skin, sealing it back up with black and bubbling tissue, and Maire stood, her scream dying out in time with the one that was keeping Ash and Zenith out of consciousness. She hummed a deep note, and ran down the street, disappearing from view moments before Ash woke.

Bard snickered a little at the manchild's pitiful excuse for a joke; her snicker echoed between the buildings and created an odd break in her endless song. Ash gritted his teeth and thrust his hand toward whenever he heard that monster's echoing, taunting laughter! If anyone was watching, he would have looked to all the world like a lunatic desperately trying to catch a bug in his palm. Each time he thrust his hand out, the air around his target erupted into a thin, quickly dissipating sheet of flame.

"Where are you," demanded the burning man. The song started up again. It was a harmonious, yet dangerous thing; not at all aggressive, but very ominous. It pressed down upon Ash, filling him with dread and making him feel trapped. Death was coming, death was coming; the pain he caused had finally caught up with him!

"Yaaaaaaahhhh!" screamed Ash as he swung his hands back and forth like recoiling machine guns, filling all the air around him with white-hot fireballs. His hundreds of flames came and went like fireflies on a summer night, and still the song carried on. The low, peaceful hum he heard soon became a crowd of millions humming in serene unity. Worse, the wind flowing about "played" the ruins of Chicago like massive flutes.

Ash cried out in frustration and agony. The dead were speaking, they were singing. It's not over, they sang in his mind. Our songs still play. Ash built a wall of fire around himself and held his breath to keep from choking on his own smoke.

Though we be gone, we're heard to-day. Tears gave way to inelegant sobbing from the murderous, cackling supervillain.

"I'm sorry!" said Ash. "I had no choice! I'm sorry!"

Ash had never felt guilty about killing people; nobody suffered after they died, and most people would be forgotten in a flash. But, for far too long, a parasitic fear had been growing in his psyche: that fear was, of course, that he was wrong. He feared that most people were good enough to be remembered, that the people he killed mattered, and that he didn't deserve to be forgiven. And somehow the songstress knew this and played a song that  ripped his brain apart.

Clenching his fist hard enough for his fingernails to draw blood, Ash howled up at the sky. His outburst itself seemed to erupt into an enormous mushroom cloud that cut entire skyscrapers in half and sent cars flying miles down the road. As soon as she had heard the scream, Bard ducked behind a dumpster. There she held a loud, defiant note that let her skin suffer no more than singe despite being bathed in flame. She stood up in the burnt rags that were once her clothes. Her eyes fluttered with delight and she smiled widely.

"I have won," sung Maire, loud enough for Ash to hear. "The harmony has come." 

Ash flung his arms out in all directions as Bard danced toward him. While smiling and singing as though she had never known fear or sadness, she bounced out of the way of each of his attacks moments before he even knew he was going to throw them.

The criminal fell back on his oldest defense mechanism, joking around.

"Okay, Miss Cleo, predict this!" Ash built a cage of flame around his enemy, but she simply rolled through the bars before they could collapse around her.

"No no no no no!" said Ash under his breath. Bard tilted her head in mock curiosity and stared directly into the disruptive boy's eyes.

"Why do you resist?" she asked. "You know it's useless."

Ash fell to the ground and pathetically backed away from his assailant on hands and knees.

"You lived a long, wrong life," said the Bard. "Full of agony and strife. Let it end, let it end, and all the hearts your burnt will mend."

And just like that, the once mighty Ash curled up into a ball and began to fantasize about living just one more day...

Bard took the time to increase her song's tension. When she hit that one final note, she would end her song with an abrupt stab to the dragon boy's heart. Suddenly, she sensed a horrible degradation of the patterns behind her. When she turned to face these patterns, she noticed all the familiar shapes, motions, and patterns melting into a chaotic, incoherent mess. The lines that formed the Earth's web curled themselves into loop-de-loops and tangled, hairlike messes. The whirling clouds that were her song's sounds turned to concrete and crumbled before she even heard them. The heartbeats of all those left alive became dying rodent squeaks. And finally, the flames of Chicago flashed a million different colors before disappearing and leaving massive holes in her vision. For the first time ever, she was truly being blinded. For the first time in years, she was truly afraid.

A green pyramid, roughly the size of a human head, emerged in front of her. She scrambled back in fright, but a handful of mercury-colored liquid blades burst from the pyramid's nearest tip. Before she could react, the blades poured themselves through the pores of her skin and turned her face to metal.

Back in reality, a badly scarred Zenith (whose mohawk had been burnt off) finished blowing a thin line of multicolored smoke into a frozen Bard's face. He then carelessly pushed the young woman to the ground.

"I sincerely hope you prepared for your trip, love."

The criminal mastermind stepped over his victim and leaned down in front of his treacherous young ward. He spoke to him softly.

"Everything's alright, Ash," said Zenith. "We've won the day."

"You're lying! Liar, liar, pants on--"

Zenith instinctively brushed the seat of his pants.

"Did you really think--" asked Ash. "Motherfucker, I'm better than that!" A sad laugh that entirely failed to conceal his whimpering escaped his lips.

"Indeed you are, son," said Zenith. "And that's why we trust you... That's why he trusts you."

Ash wiped the pathetic tears off of his own cheeks. Yeah, yeah, that's right. Namidias knew they would win, he was crazy to ever let that woman get to him! She didn't stand a chance, no one did! And no one ever would again! They were Ash and Zenith, Chicago's Foulest; you were afraid of them, they weren't afraid of you.

Zenith held out his hand and Ash grabbed it. The two stood up and Zenith radioed the Namidian Wave for backup.

"Phase One complete. Where are we needed?"
This message was last edited by the GM at 03:24, Wed 10 June 2015.

Cimmeria decided to make this old geezer pay for his mouth, and with a slight adjustment to her wrist sent a bullet into his left shoulder. There was barely any movement from the impact with his flesh, the stranger didn't even grunt from the pain; instead he gave her a smile with the right corner of his upper lip curled like some dime a dozen Elvis impersonator and took a step toward the assassin. She fired again, this round sinking deep into his left leg, but the biker simply took another step closer. The killer kept her outward cold and detached appearance, yet inside she was growing ever more worried. She abandoned her first idea of torturing her pray, and shot him in his right lung; still he came, not hurried but a casual pace that was unnerving his would be murderer. Deftly, she emptied the last twelve rounds in her gun, placing a bullet in his forehead, one eye each, heart, and the rest she attempted to out and out shred him with; he finally fell in a heap to the ground as water from somewhere began surging through a window frame and turning some of the flames she had created to steam.

Cimmeria thought the old man a fool for walking toward her as he had, some misplaced attempt to play a mind game and make her doubt herself probably. She turned from the corpse, looking for something else to trash in here in hopes of getting the ITSDA's attention. It was then she heard something, what sounded to her like some smallish piece of metal dropping to the hard floor of the church. There it was again, and a third time, until it sounded like some odd version of rain. The killer thought it came possibly from behind her, and turned to see the dead body pull itself up from the ground; as she watched, the holes she had made pulled themselves closed within seconds until not even a slight scar remained. When the eyes reformed, the stranger said,

"Peekaboo, I see you."

The woman reached for her other gun, but the big man closed in fast this time. He left his own weapons resting on his belt and instead favored throwing a fist at Cimmeria's head; she blocked it out of reflex by throwing up an arm, but staggered backward from the blow; this a-hole wasn't just punching, he was throwing haymakers with all his strength and weight behind each blow. She barely had time to recover before he landed a second into her block, she had to use both arms to stand against the attack he rained down upon her and even then she was being forced back toward a spot where the water from nowhere hadn't touched and fire awaited her. At the risk of falling over backwards, the killer tried for a snap kick to the other's side; it was like hitting a brick wall and seemed to have about as much effect. She was highly trained at her craft, and as such was loath to do her next action, but as she saw no other choice launched another kick this time right between his legs; the smiling foe simply blocked it his left leg.

"Really? You're going to go with that old chestnut? Allow me let you in on a couple of things; the first is that by the age of three every girl knows that cheap shot, and by four every boy can block it..."

Again he threw a punch into her double block, but this one was far weaker. Before Cimmeria had time to wonder why, he followed up with a sharp jab to her left breast; the pain forced some of the breath from her lungs as he resumed talking,

"...and second, a girl has two sweet spots to a man's one."

Two more jabs came in fast, both of which were blocked but the surprise kick to the woman's solar plexus was missed; the assassin felt her breath rush out of her lungs and her muscles lock up for several seconds before they would be able to once more draw air. Her current tactic wasn't working, she was going to have to try something else. Cimmeria ran backward as close to the flames as she was willing to go, then rolled to the left behind some pews that were burnt but still mostly intact thanks to the deluge from minutes before. She crawled on her hands and knees, opening portals as she went. From each, a member of the squad she had for backup popped up with weapon at the ready; at the sight of the first, the Greaser drew for the first time one of his own guns and fired. There was a sound much like if someone had put an old M-80 firecracker into a melon, then a thud. These noises were repeated each time a new fighter sprang up, and when Cimmeria had worked her way across and down the group of pews she was using for cover she lifted herself up quickly to see the state of things before ducking down again; all of her men were dead, each and everyone was missing their head. Damn it! This a-hole must be using exploding rounds, and instead of a surprise attack turning the tables, her table got smaller.

The Wave member was by no means foolish nor stupid, and though she had pride she could squelch it to enact a retreat if she needed to; however, she wasn't willing to do that just yet. Yes this man was good, with some talents to his name, but then again she fit the same bill. He kept her off balance the first time by changing up what he was doing each time so she couldn't predict and prepare for it, she'd return the favor. There was something she could do that she felt strongly he couldn't, and it wasn't a tactic she fell to commonly so it wasn't well known about her just in case the reason this guy had bested her so far was because he had some sort of insight on her. This was a big place, the kind where sound echoed and the assassin used that to her advantage when she spoke,

"So big man, what's your name? I need to know so I can carve it on your tombstone."

"Frank Jackson, Cimmeria. Pleased to finally meet you in person."

"So you know who I am, huh? That and the fact you're a Gifted, I'm going to guess you're ITSDA."

"When I feel like it, I am."

"You're good, I'll give you that. What are you, a Senior Agent or combat instructor for them?"

"Hah! Hardly. Well, I guess you could say at my age, you could say I'm a senior anything. But to that group, I'm only one of them when it suits the powers that be."

<deepblue>"Nobody's born being able to fight like you, so what is it? Grow up on some mean streets? Military? Some kind of special police unit? Or are you just a quick study, and picked up stuff fast from the ITSDA?"</deepblue>

"All of the above, except that last one."

Cimmeria had kept the man talking so she could work her way closer, and finally she was in a position to execute her plan; she leapt up from a crouch and sprinted toward Frank, pulling back a fist like she was going to swing at him; he turned and saw her, left arm coming up in a reflex to block. That was what she'd been waiting for, and opened her hand to wrap it around black leather. She saw the confusion in his eyes, then shock and extreme pain and she forced open a small portal under her palm. There was a smack of something hitting the ground, and she allowed herself a very slight and brief smile of satisfaction as she looked upon the stump that had seconds before been whole. That same hand grabbed his throat and pulled him closer while her left latched onto his remaining wrist.

"You should never mess with people you don't fully understand, Mr. Jackson. Overconfidence kills many people, and your name will soon grace that list. You can heal bullet holes, but what about your arm? Don't worry about it, for in a moment your neck will follow suit and you'll share the fate of John the Baptist. Fitting, given where we are I think. If this were a hit, I'd just have you dead on the floor right now. But you've caused me pain, came close to threatening my reputation, took out all of my men in less time than it takes someone to buy a newspaper. So, I want you to look me in the eye, Mr. Jackson. I want you to see it coming, know you are powerless to stop it. I'm not as strong as you, but if you try to force your gun hand even an inch toward me I will treat it just like your arm. I know you can fight, but I can block with my legs same as you some your power house kicks will do you no good. I want you to know you have failed, know Death will take you, I want to see it etched upon your face."

Frank did meet her eyes, but in his there was a look of defiance and his smile never faltered. He didn't try to pull his gun down toward his would be killer, but instead pulled the trigger in rapid secession until the pin clicked in an empty sound. Cimmeria looked confused, then bits of stone fell to bounce off one shoulder. She thought to look up, and noticed the pair had been standing under a large and ornate light fixture. Chucks of the ceiling were cracked, and more lines were spreading. Realization struck her at the same time as a loud noise sounded and she let go of her prey to jump free and save herself just in time. As soon as her iron grip was gone, Frank shoved himself backward. There was an impressive crash, and the killer looked to see the old fighter crawling toward the fixture as best he could. Before she could figure out what he was doing and stand, he had his arm out of the wreckage. Then, he held the end to the stub. As she watched, the fingers began to twitch and she knew his body was making itself whole once more. However, it had to take longer to reattach a limb than recover from a bullet hole, And he probably had to hold it in place for even seconds before the bond would be strong enough to allow it to keep it on its own. That meant both arms were out of service in that window of opportunity, and she knew for sure she could rip him apart. She could still win this fight, but she had to act fast. To that end, she ran toward the wreck in the floor, leapt over it, and bull rushed him with both hands out to grab and separate anything they could touch.

Frank saw her coming, and let loose a flying crescent kick. His legs were longer than her reach, and she went crashing into the remains of some pews. She knew her injured side had felt the impact, but mental training and adrenalin kept the pain from her mind as she got back to her feet; Frank had closed in, and caught her under her chin that sent her back again. Once more she quickly moved into a standing position, and this time managed to block the incoming kick although as with his punches the sheer strength and force pushed her back. She tried to grab a leg, but every time she snatched at one her opponent pulled short on his kick. Every time one foot touched to ground, immediately the other came flying in. By this means, the two worked their way onto the dais to the right side of the alter. The old man let go of his arm, placed both hands onto said alter, and delivered a double kick to Cimmeria that slammed her into the baptismal fount and crumpled her to the floor.

It was over, she knew that; this fight went to Jackson. Yet every fight she lost she learned from, and by this practice not many did she fail at anymore. There would be another time, another place, she would see to that. She would think on this man, his fighting style, his tactics. She would not be caught wanting again, and his remains would be dumped in a hole like so many before him by her hand. For now though, she needed to rest and heal, and plan. She looked at her foe with her trademark stone face, and touched the floor to open a portal beneath to safety. As she sank from view, she saw the big man run toward and jump over her. She thought he had meant to attack her again, but abandoned the thought when she started to disappear and he didn't want to get sucked into where he didn't know. She doubted her reasoning though when she heard him grunt as though straining his muscles, and seconds after the entered one of her rooms to fall to rest on the floor, the marble font came through the portal after her. She tried to move out of the way, but sheering pain in both her legs told her she was too late...

Smokes stood over the edge of the shattered entrance he'd created and peered down into the street surrounding the James R. Thompson Centre, from here he could see an ominous black APC shunt its way through the civilian vehicles that'd been left abandoned on the chaotic streets.
"TIME T' HUSTLE! Y' KNOW TH' PLAN, SO G'T GONE!" he shopped his hand to indicate the street and his soldered rushed to follow their orders.
The squad had planned their manoeuvres in advance, and even with their communication difficulties preventing The Commander from glaring over their shoulder they all knew what was expected of them; Smokes and three of his soldiers used the mechanised winches onboard their transport to load their six chosen hostages, this would fill the helicopter to it's limit and so the remaining six troopers would have to fight their way to the ground floor and rendezvous with Unit IL-3-RR.
Unit IL-3-RR was one of Commander mechanised divisions, and although the 'Rough Riders's conventional and professional tactics meshed poorly with the ZeroComets aggressive and adrenalin fuelled style they had agreed to cooperate in this one case. While the remaining Comets fought their way down the building they would collect additional hostages to load into the RoughRider APC and both vehicles would then complete a circuit of the city to assist any other Namidian forces before beating a retreat to offload their cargo. With both the 'Comets helicopter and the 'Riders custom VBCI-pattern APC loaded to the seams with hostages neither unit felt that they'd be at any risk of retaliation.

Both units moved out to commence the median phase of their operation.

---

Eight thousand feet above the ground the clouds hovering over the dark shell of Chicago bulged outwards and burst to reveal the featureless dapple-grey hull of an unmanned "Predator D" drone, it's 30 meter wingspan swooped down to level out at a lower altitude and reduced it's speed to a sedate 250 miles per hour. A streamlined hatch along it's belly pulled back to reveal a bulbous bank of rounded cameras and rack of assorted missiles...

"Cloud cover cleared. 'Megalodon' is now in surveillance mode." A technician reported, back at Commanders Headquarters. "On screen."- Commander commanded.
With the systems feeding his virtual tactical map rendered unreliable Commander had decided to deploy one of his new toys. From the sky his drone would be able to give a birds eye view of the city, and Commander could manually fill out the gaps in his knowledge.
"Status of my ground forces?" he enquired, and the technicians manning the desks infront of him rapidly checked their systems and made the relevant calls:

The satellite view of the drone jerkily shifted to look down upon a Chicago street and the camera refocused to examine a black APC that thundered down Randolph Street, as he watched an armoured police van collided with the vehicle in an attempt to stop it and was promptly pushed over. The APC disgorged a handful of men who moved to pick through the wreckage and even as The Commander watched one of the injured peacekeepers was dragged from the husk of his van, sprayed in the face with Capsin, and piled screaming into the back of the APC before it reloaded and returned to it's destructive route. "IL-3-RR is in phase two. On schedule. Zero casualties." the technician reported dryly.

"Good." -Commander keyed out a few alterations to his map- "What about IL-6-NB? The 'Numbered Brethren'?"
"Still getting into position, sir."
"Right... And the ZeroComets?"

The camera pulled back like the eye of god and the drone yawed slightly to re-align with a different street, a second later the camera's PoV plunged down to gaze at a trail of Carnage making it's way down Wacker Drive. The drone could clearly see futuristic multi-rotor of the ZeroComets shot it's way down the riverside street with the doorside machine-guns on either side firing carelessly at whatever target's they could. The glass of the skyscrapers by it's sides exploded outwards like a wake of razors as the rounds found their mark.
Commander stared at the display with an unreadable expression- his technician broke the silence;
"ZeroComets are in Phase Two, and are responding to a potential situation. On schedule."
"Casualties?"
"Uh... estimates are still being tallied."
The helicopter pivoted into the air to face the sky, threatened to roll over, then twisted into a suicide turn that brought it  a few feet above the roads surface where shot down the corner bridge of Michigan Avenue at fifty miles per hour.
"Jesus Christ." Commander swore.

---

The interior of the multi-role helicopter was a mix of emotions, Hostages screamed bloody murder, Soldiers hooted in unbridled delight and the pilot's uninterested lack of expression served as a contrast between the two. Smokes slapped the back of his chair.
"AH' TOLD Y'H WE COULD MAKE THA' CORN'R!" Smokes returned to his machine gun and held the trigger for a moment to rake bullets across the beautiful stonework of a Gothic building that'd somehow offended him. He came to a sudden realization that he'd been shooting at his destination, the Tribune Tower, and slapped his pilot again upside the head.
"PUT 'S DOWN! WE'RE HERE!"

The helicopters rear rotors pivoted forwards and slowed the aircraft to an almost instant stop with a roar of air, it yawed along the corner of the building and it's occupants were given a long view of the destruction that Ashes flames had caused. Smokes could see two distinctive figures standing by a totalled fire-engine and he decided that they must be the Namidian's who'd radioed in a few moments ago. Strictly speaking the duo had only claimed the possibility of a threat, and it looked as though they might have arrived a moment too late- but that hardly mattered to the Soldiers. The ZeroComets didn't get invited to violence, they actively sought it out, and where convenient; created it.

Hovering a dozen feet off the ground the helicopter eased towards Ash and Zenith, and with it's guns quiet and it's rotor maintaining an idle altitude the vehicle quietened to only a moderately deafening background noise. The side door was thrown open and Smokes winched down from to face the two men firsthand.
"THIS YH'R WORK?!" he said, jerking a thumb to the firetruck. "FUC'IN' FINE JOB!- 'AH LIKE HOW Y'H BURN'T IT, S' IRON'C."
He cast his eyes around. There was obvious violence and destruction all around, but when he'd flown in the street looked deserted, burned out, empty. Not a combat situation. He lowered his voice to a threatening hiss.
"So uh', lads. We gotta' call." he shifted his eyes around, suspiciously. "Where's th' fire?"

Bard snickered a little at the manchild's pitiful excuse for a joke; her snicker echoed between the buildings and created an odd break in her endless song. Ash gritted his teeth and thrust his hand toward whenever he heard that monster's echoing, taunting laughter! If anyone was watching, he would have looked to the entire world like a lunatic desperately trying to catch a bug in his palm. Each time he thrust his hand out, the air around his target erupted into a thin, quickly dissipating sheet of flame.

"Where are you," demanded the burning man. The song started up again. It was a harmonious, yet dangerous thing; not at all aggressive, but very ominous. It pressed down upon Ash, filling him with dread and making him feel trapped. Death was coming, death was coming; the pain he caused had finally caught up with him!

"Yaaaaaaahhhh!" screamed Ash as he swung his hands back and forth like recoiling machine guns, filling all the air around him with white-hot fireballs. His hundreds of flames came and went like fireflies on a summer night, and still the song carried on. The low, peaceful hum he heard soon became a crowd of millions humming in serene unity. Worse, the wind flowing about "played" the ruins of Chicago like massive flutes.

Ash cried out in frustration and agony. The dead were speaking, they were singing. It's not over, they sang in his mind. Our songs still play. Ash built a wall of fire around himself and held his breath to keep from choking on his own smoke.

Though we be gone, we're heard to-day. Tears gave way to inelegant sobbing from the murderous, cackling supervillain.

"I'm sorry!" said Ash. "I had no choice! I'm sorry!"
Ash had never felt guilty about killing people; nobody suffered after they died, and most people would be forgotten in a flash. But, for far too long, a parasitic fear had been growing in his psyche: that fear was, of course, that he was wrong. He feared that most people were good enough to be remembered, that the people he killed mattered, and that he didn't deserve to be forgiven. And somehow the songstress knew this and played a song that ripped his brain apart.

Clenching his fist hard enough for his fingernails to draw blood, Ash howled up at the sky. His outburst itself seemed to erupt into an enormous mushroom cloud that cut entire skyscrapers in half and sent cars flying miles down the road. As soon as she had heard the scream, Bard ducked behind a dumpster. There she held a loud, defiant note that let her skin suffer no more than singe despite being bathed in flame. She stood up in the burnt rags that were once her clothes. Her eyes fluttered with delight and she smiled widely.

"I have won," sung Maire, loud enough for Ash to hear. "The harmony has come." 

Ash flung his arms out in all directions as Bard danced toward him. While smiling and singing as though she had never known fear or sadness, she bounced out of the way of each of his attacks moments before he even knew he was going to throw them.
The criminal fell back on his oldest defense mechanism, joking around.

"Okay, Miss Cleo, predict this!" Ash built a cage of flame around his enemy, but she simply rolled through the bars before they could collapse around her.

"No no no no no!" said Ash under his breath. Bard tilted her head in mock curiosity and stared directly into the disruptive boy's eyes.

"Why do you resist?" she asked. "You know it's useless."

Ash fell to the ground and pathetically backed away from his assailant on hands and knees.

"You lived a long, wrong life," said the Bard. "Full of agony and strife. Let it end, let it end, and all the hearts your burnt will mend."

And just like that, the once mighty Ash curled up into a ball and began to fantasize about living just one more day...

Bard took the time to increase her song's tension. When she hit that one final note, she would end her song with an abrupt stab to the dragon boy's heart. Suddenly, she sensed a horrible degradation of the patterns behind her. When she turned to face these patterns, she noticed all the familiar shapes, motions, and patterns melting into a chaotic, incoherent mess. The lines that formed the Earth's web curled themselves into loop-de-loops and tangled, hairlike messes. The whirling clouds that were her song's sounds turned to concrete and crumbled before she even heard them. The heartbeats of all those left alive became dying rodent squeaks. And finally, the flames of Chicago flashed a million different colors before disappearing and leaving massive holes in her vision. For the first time ever, she was truly being blinded. For the first time in years, she was truly afraid.

A green pyramid, roughly the size of a human head, emerged in front of her. She scrambled back in fright, but a handful of mercury-colored liquid blades burst from the pyramid's nearest tip. Before she could react, the blades poured themselves through the pores of her skin and turned her face to metal. Maire’s world burst open like the rotting corpse of a pre-teen girl’s princess themed birthday party. Pinks and acid greens and warlock purples exploded like fireworks and rippled in the blankness of her blindness. Someone in the know might have compared it to a screen saver, swirling colors of light and patterns. Her senses were desperately trying to make sense of the world and being overwhelmed with pure, raw sensory data. She did the only thing she could as a reflex.

Back in reality, a badly scarred Zenith (whose mohawk had been burnt off) finished blowing a thin line of multicolored smoke into a frozen Bard's face. He then carelessly pushed the young woman to the ground. HE noted even as she fell with a beatific smile on her face, that she was humming something.

"I sincerely hope you prepared for your trip, love."

The criminal mastermind stepped over his victim and leaned down in front of his treacherous young ward. He spoke to him softly.

"Everything's alright, Ash," said Zenith. "We've won the day."

"You're lying! Liar, liar, pants on--"

Zenith instinctively brushed the seat of his pants.

"Did you really think--" asked Ash. "Motherfucker, I'm better than that!" A sad laugh that entirely failed to conceal his whimpering escaped his lips.

"Indeed you are, son," said Zenith. "And that's why we trust you... That's why he trusts you."

Ash wiped the pathetic tears off of his own cheeks. Yeah, yeah, that's right. Namidias knew they would win, he was crazy to ever let that woman get to him! She didn't stand a chance, no one did! And no one ever would again! They were Ash and Zenith, Chicago's Foulest; you were afraid of them, they weren't afraid of you.
Zenith held out his hand and Ash grabbed for it only to miss as his vision swam. Zenith frowned as his own world blurred and swam as well and then snapped his vision back to the blithely humming woman.

In her reflex to protect herself, Bard had started a hum which synched with the effects of Zenith’s drug and then broadcast them. Purely as a defense against danger, Bard was suffusing an entire area with the aural version of Zenith’s powder. Ash and Zenith’s vision danced and then exploded even as Zenith mouthed something that was supposed to sound like, Phase One Complete… but came out as ”face un compeesh.” He felt an overwhelming sense of friendship and fondness for Ash suddenly and collapsed on the ground to throw a hug around his protégé. For his part, Ash was weeping uncontrollably as something latched onto the patterns of their heightened emotions and amplified them beyond reason. Even hoped up on drugs and blind, Bard’s instinctive defensive attacks were having nearly as bad an effect on the two villains as her directed attacks had.

Just then, the ZeroComets chipper hoved into view and the team’s on-board FOF system registered the presence of two Namidians as well as an unknown third party. The side door was thrown open and Smokes winched down from to face the two men firsthand. "THIS YH'R WORK?!" he said, jerking a thumb to the firetruck. "FUK'IN' FINE JOB!- 'AH LIKE HOW Y'H BURN'T IT, S'IRON'C."

He cast his eyes around. There was obvious violence and destruction all around, but when he'd flown in the street looked deserted, burned out, empty. Not a combat situation. He lowered his voice to a threatening hiss as he scanned the trio. One was laying on the ground frozen while the two Namidians were stumbling drunk and spouting love for one another.

"So uh', lads. We gotta' call…" he shifted his eyes around, suspiciously. "Th’ Fuk’s this scrum?” He eyed the situation and then grunted and opened up with his weapon at the woman. Bard screamed as a bullet tore through her leg but gave her a moment of barest chance as reality snapped to attention for a second. She gathered a pattern in her hand, and tossed it behind the man, a small explosion of sparks and then a debilitating scream escaping it.

Ash, who had just been regaining focus, stiffened and fell backwards, spasming as his eyes rolled into the back of his head, and small trickles of blood slid out of his ears and nose, but Zenith was too coordinated away to be affected quite as much.  He had registered what was happening and had been altering some skin cells to act as an antidote for his own state even as the scream erupted. The trick took a few seconds though.

Bard convulsed on the ground, her leg sending near crippling pain into her mind which she shunted into her subconscious. The bullet had torn a deep furrow through it and she was now bleeding far too profusely. At this rate, she would be dead within the hour. She pulled a knife out and looked at it, closing her eyes and gathering her courage. She sang, a high, cutting note, and the blade began vibrating almost imperceptibly. The silver metal began steaming before it turned just slightly red, and Maire turned her gaze and placed it on her leg, a scream actually erupting from her throat this time. The debilitation would only last a few more seconds. She needed to hurry. The blade made its way down the broken skin, sealing it back up with black and bubbling tissue, and Maire stood, her scream dying out in time with the one that was keeping the foes off their games. She hummed a deep note, and ran down the street, disappearing from view moments before Zenith regained control. Ash was still smiling blissfully on the ground and muttering something.

Reflexively, he altered the blood flowing in his ears. It was imperfect at the moment, but the sound effects were greatly diminished even as he eyed the chopper hovering nearby. The men inside were covering their ears and screaming in pain. He suddenly looked around the area in panic and saw no signs of his recently defeated foe.

Air rushed past Daniel in a defending storm as he hurtled through the sky like a crimson cannonball, a long scarf trailed behind him and his bright red and white clothing made him conspicuous against the blue Illinois sky. His mask overlayed a horizon guide onto his vision and the heavy protective plates of his armour extended and contracted subtly as he corrected his course with a clench of a gloved fist. The shifting panels brought air under him and as he felt his speed reduce toward terminal velocity he kicked a blastwave out from his feet and returned to full speed as the displaced air pushed past him. The thickly tree'd and grid-set buildings of Chicago's semi-suburban Des Plaines district lurched past him alarmingly fast, and Daniel kept his eyes locked on the streets below as he kept distant pace with a white-and-blue-striped CPD patrol vehicle.

Flight was dangerous, but not a new trick for him, and he felt his thoughts drift back to the series of events that'd brought him here; Less than an hour ago Chicago had reported a colossal surge in superhuman instigated crime, and the ITSDA were naturally notified. Phoenix Crimson was airborne and hurtling across the Illinois state border when the media had managed to setup shop and broadcast their early reports, he'd brought the channels up on his visor but something'd knocked his news reports offline before he'd had a chance to decide where he was most needed.
Without a running source of information he'd decided to tail the first police vehicle he could find, and as the squad car pulled up outside the entrance to Advocate Lutheran General Hospital Daniel knew he'd made the right decision. The entire drop-off strip was locked up with police vehicles and panicked civilians were fleeing from any exit to the Hospital that wasn't the front door, clearly he'd found the trouble he'd been looking for.

He pulled up from his horizontal flying position and extended all the panels of his armour, the sudden air resistance sent his velocity plummeting and he felt the drag of gravity begin to pull him back down to earth. With a thought power crackled around his body as he prepared to make his dramatic entrance.

---

The peacekeepers that were entrenched behind their semicircle of police vehicles surrounding the entrance to Advocate Lutheran General Hospital was in a state of repressed panic; scant moments ago they had received word that a psychopath had entered the building and opened fire on doctors, nurses and patients alike. Explosions had rumbled across the open air surrounding the building and the responding SWAT and Police forces were forced to conclude that Lady Crimson had detonated devices inside several of the hospital's Emergency Rooms.

Chicago was far from undefended, but the simultaneous attacks from the Namidian's forces had stretched them well past their tolerance. With helpless and handicapped civilians at stake the forces of justice had quickly moved as many of the forces that they could spare into position around the Hospital, the electronic blackout had come at the worst possible time and had crippled their ability to take action: Without leadership the police forces had no choice but to hastily strategize among themselves, and opinion was split on whether rushing the building was the best course of action, or whether it would endanger the lives of the invalids still trapped inside.
Most galling of all was that the fact that the first wave of policemen to enter the building had been completely wiped out by a single adversary, and she'd used the last moments before the electronic blackout to mock the men still waiting outside.
With no time to spare, no means to organise, and no concrete knowledge of the threat they were up against the dozens of highly trained law enforcers were rendered practically inert- and every moment that they wasted was more time that the rest of the chaos that'd hit their city could spread unchecked.

Two heavy-set men dressed in the classic blue and grey of the CPD crouched behind the hood of their Police Interceptor, they were both clutching their special issue Springfield pistols in white-knuckled fists. The older of the two men wore the three silver chevrons denoted him as a Police Sergeant, whereas the younger of the two was unranked and held a handset that was attached to their cars PA megaphone by a coiled cord.
"Backup won't get here in time, Sarge. There's only one of her and twenty of us, we should end this now." - The younger officers impatience wasn't a sign of inexperience, but rather he knew that other incidents exactly like this one were happening all throughout his home city and was loath to sit back and do nothing.
"That's what she wants." The older man said, with a disapproving shake of his head. "She took out Ollie's unit in seconds, and she'll slice through us just the same. At least this way she won't be able to escape as easily." The Sergeants face hardened as he committed to his decision. "We're staying here. We're waiting for her for make a mistake -and we're waiting for more men."
He wasn't happy about the decision he'd had to make, but the harsh reality of the situation was that the CPD couldn't be everywhere they needed to be, and that he had to do what little he could with what little he had left. Throwing his men's lives away on idiot heroism wouldn't achieve a damn thing.

The tense stalemate was broken by a screaming whistle of air and a cacophonous explosion behind the police line, the blast sent a wall of air buffeting past the peacekeepers and the men who weren't completely focused on the hospitals entrance snapped their vision around to the impact as they wondered whether or not they'd somehow come under mortar fire.
Their eyes found a brightly-clad white and crimson figure standing in a foot wide crater that'd been knocked out of the roads asphalt as he landed. Before any of the stunned policemen could react to say or do anything the masked man thumbed a switch on his armours chestplate, brushed a long streaming red scarf off his shoulder to billow out impressively behind him, and gave the Police Sergeant a quick salute and a reassuring smile as he strode over to him in a few quick steps.
"Phoenix Crimson. I'd like to be of service."

The officer by the Sergeants side levelled his gun to the interlopers head and very deliberately set the guns cock with a loud click. "Hands where I can see them! Get on the ground!"
The figure looked down the barrel of the gun, his mask hid his eyes but the officer could see the man's blonde eyebrows knit together in indignation. "Don't you know who I am?!"
The Officer was about to respond that he didn't particularly care before he was interrupted-
"Phoenix Crimson. Glad you could make it." The Sergeant gently pushed the barrel of the younger officers gun away from Phoenix's face. "Keep your eye's pointed forward, Officer. This one's on our side." The younger officer wasn't cleared to know this, but the Sergeant had been half informed and half warned that the increasing threat of superhuman 'incidents' might bring the CPD into conflict with a classified branch of government sanctioned superhumans. Details of this organisation were disturbingly vague and tied behind miles of red tape, but given his lack of options the Sergeant was willing to take a risk on the stranger.
Phoenix's smile widened, and he knelt behind the cover of the squad vehicle to meet his eye level. "Thank you... Now, what kind of mess are we all in?"

---

A moment later Lady Crimson would be able to see her similarly-coloured Phoenix counterpart step into plain view atop the bonnet of the Police Interceptor, he raised a handset to his mouth and his voice blared out from the vehicles PA system to address her directly.
"VILLAIN!" he began. "YOU'VE CAUSED MUCH SUFFERING THIS DAY! YOU HAVE ONE CHANCE TO SURRENDER WILLINGLY TO THE CHICAGO POLICE DEPARTMENT. TAKE IT! OR I'LL HAVE NO CHOICE BUT TO ADMINISTER JUSTICE MYSELF!"
He struck a pose, this time standing noble and upright with his finger pointed directly at Lady Crimsons cover.
"EVEN IF THE LAW CAN FORGIVE YOUR PETTY CRIMES, I -PHOENIX CRIMSON- CANNOT! SURRENDER NOW AND RENOUNCE YOUR EVIL WAYS!"
He clenched his fist and pulled it to his chest. At the same moment a tower of fire shot from the ground behind him to cast his silhouette over Lady Crimsons position.

Several of the police officers exchanged sceptical glances.
This message was last edited by the player at 23:49, Thu 18 June 2015.

Vivianne, for that was how she still thought of herself, let her eyes widen a bit at the brazen pronouncement; she was slowly coming to think of herself more and more as Lady Crimson now that she was in the field again though. She took a moment to scan the reports coming in of Namidian progress across town. Radio silence at the church but news agencies were reporting it of shortwave radios, the Tribune building was burning, the hospital was out of action for now, and her two teams had robber several million dollars in cash and jewels to be funneled into the Wave's infrastructure. Dieter had to be pretty happy about it and this was just Phase One.

"Laura, activate Phase Three and assign resources as necessary. Reroute Squads Lemmings and Annie Lennox to the hospital though and get me a dossier on that costumed buffoon out there, kay?"

A quick affirmative was her only answer followed shortly by her two ghoul teams checking in. She shifted slightly and did a count of her arsenal. Two White Phosphorus grenades, three more He grenades, and an infrared smoke grenade. She also had to flashbang packs. 22 more rounds for the revolver and 3 more clips each for the TMPs. She clucked her tongue, "Squad Lemmings and Annie Lennox, deploy destroyer protocol." Lemmings would be bringing a M249 LMG while Annie Lennox would deploy a M72 LAW with three rockets to one soldier in each squad. She grinned as she thought of what type of battleground she would make of the hospital. She pulled up the blueprints on his visor even as her comms fired as Laura made a cross channel announcement, All parties, Phase One satisfied; Phase Three is go. Firebug and Tastetester are to divert to Soldier Field; IL-1-0C, a juicy bit of information for you; the mayor is held up at Chicago City Hall and a prime target, heavy police resistance. Cimmeria, check in and reroute to the East Foreman Drive police building to neutralize. GITS, we need eyes on the church."

Even as she listened, Lady Crimson watched as the small file that Schwartze Augen had on Phoenix Crimson played and her lips smirked. Rating 5 personal combat with a Rating 4 mobility score? Average in other categories. Notes about ego and showboating. She flexed her muscles and activated her own external comm systems, ""Much suffering" and "evil ways" don't even begin to tell the story. The city will burn, hero, now come and get me." She bolted back into the hostipal to use its corridors and rooms to play her favorite game even as Laura readied herself behind the scenes and her soldiers moved toward her location.