Mutant Ascension [IC]

[Clashus]

The paramedic, assuming that part of Ace's statement was directed at him, was satisfied with Ace's offer for help, but there wasn't much that an average Joe do in a situation like this, even if Joe was a mutant. "Thanks, but we can handle this. We're professionals."

One of the paramedics at the ambulance helicopter received a call. He picked it up. "Hello?... Who are you? How did you get this number?... Ah, I see. All right, I'll tell him." He hung up and turned to Ace. "There's a group of people who'd like to commend you for your efforts. If you're interested, we're authorized to take you there after we drop off this guy over here."

Tarmo had struggled to respond, but as he was loaded onto the helicopter, he spoke up. "Children... is young mutants passed by here... is okay, all is well, perhaps..." With that, Tarmo passed out. The paramedics were quick to resuscitate him before offering Ace a chance to ride inside the helicopter.

After all, he had been through Ace was actually quite obliged to take a free ride in the helicopter, he could see no harm in doing it. "Hey, thanks for the free ride, you must get some wonderful views up hear." He climbed into the open helicopter and took his seat as Tarmo passed out, luckily the professional's took care of it.

[Altito Asmoro]

The aftermath in the street
Shauna Marks (aka "Lady Lang")



Turning to look at the man, whose eyes were wider than typical and whose dark, curly short hair hung back over his head, she frowned. Did she hear him right? Trying to take a few deep breaths, Shauna dared to say to the man, "Mister. These men" (meaning the three escaped mutants) "have been kept like laboratory rats for years in a secret government operation for being like you. A mutant. And when they get out, and the MISC agency promises that they can go with the Center, then MISC goes back on their word. Furthermore, all I was doing was driving my car. You guys were the ones who shot at us! Maybe you should get all the facts first." As she was talking, she wanted everyone who heard her - every agent, every mutant, even people who might be passing by innocently on the street, to start feeling disgusted at the actions of the MISC. She wanted MISC agents to feel so disgusted that they began to question their personal career choices. And she definitely wanted this wealthy, powerful person to not join forces with MISC.

Feeling a little better, she continued. "You think the Center is dangerous? The Center is the group that is looking out for you when everyone else in this society is turning against us."

She felt even more drained and exhausted then before. Her deep breathing continued, and she was fighting to hold back all her tears.

Giovanni Serrano

He sighed to himself. Perhaps he shouldn't have been so frank about his own opinion with the Center. Regardless, he has his own reasons why he did that. "Miss, I've been living for the last 700 years, and if you think this is my first rodeo with this so-called Center, you've been mistaken," he wasn't angry, but he delivered a glare to her as the argument heated up.

"This Center wasn't the first group that mutants formed for mutants to lived on their own. This had been the whatever versions of the previous ones. I've met the Native Americans who formed their own Center-like group only to fled to Canada once they realized they couldn't handle the threats. There were those in Europe who've been trying like you all, freeing the mutants and helped them on their own feet, but ended up aligned themselves with the Germans during World War 2 and slaughtered innocents. Of course, they did more than the government, but still..." he contemplated.

"But they generally been better off without government oversights. At the very least they won't be corrupted with the ideas of government and ideological traditions. Sure, MISC is good, but I'm pretty sure MISC is slight worse than Center. I'm going to make sure that this conflict ends well. Probably."

His right hand gripped on the military rifle on his right hand.

[Bycrest]

Tristan looked on as he watched the two friends break out in tears. He could handle bomb threats, psychos, and dragon-people, but crying was one of the few things he couldn't handle. He lowered his gun and stepped back into the circle, glad at least that the situation had deviated to the more peaceful route. While one of the college mutants in the back raised his hand to protest, he knew better than to interrupt the adults. He turned to the young mutants. "It's good to see you three again."

"I wish I could say the same," retorted 12, the last remnants of his rebellion making one final push. Tristan chose to ignore the comment and focused on the other folks in the circle. "Don't worry about paying for the car, Keith. With the millions of dollars of damage caused, I'm fairly certain that we... I... can fit Shauna's car in with all the expenses. Bureaucracy is an amazing thing."

Speaking of expenses and compensation, it was at this moment that the dragon-man plopped down into the middle of the group. Tristan's instinct kicked in again, and he lifted his pistol.

"I will not stand by and let the crime against me go unpunished. Someone is paying for the life of my patron and the damages to my bar, even if it has to be in blood." Max declared as he looked around at everyone present, his eyes locking on 38. If looks could kill, 38 would have been erased from existence right were he stood. He continued looking around and said to no one in particular, "So are we going to do this the easy way, or the hard way?"

38 had felt the humility of getting caught, but now the true weight of his crimes began to set in. He shuffled his shoes, uncomfortable with the gaze given by the bartender. "Look, I'm sorry-"

"The person responsible is going to jail," interrupted Tristan, calmly nodding to 38 to tell him that he would take charge. "I know you're upset, but justice is served. Brand new roads are a given, of course. I'm sorry for your loss, but I'm certain we can find new loyal customers. How about a government-sponsored advertisement campaign? I'm sure that that would work."

38 was hesitant at first to join Tristan. He looked around, finding no support from his friends but somehow a calmness that everything was settled. He slowly walked around the perimeter of the circle, avoiding the gaze of his plaintiff, to the side of Tristan. Somehow, even though he knew that Tristan didn't have any powers, he would protect him. Perhaps that did make him a father figure to him. 38 pondered at this new revelation, just distracted enough to separate himself from the situation for a moment.

Tristan lowered his pistol but maintained his stance, watching the other gentleman approach in a car, with a noticeably different rifle than the one he was lent. "Don't forget the damage you caused to our helicopter. We can let that slide, but don't push us. That helicopter is probably worth about as much as your bar." He turned on his radio. "All right, Sevenson, we're going to need to wrap things up. Get everyone back to the hotel." He turned back to the rest of the group. "I'm certain there're a lot of new faces here who would be just as interested in us as we are of them."


"Yessir," Sevenson responded. For the past few minutes, the MISC left behind were working hard to mollify the situation, calming patrons and the few terrified passers-by left in the area. Sevenson sent two helicopters in the air with the express purpose of collecting eyewitnesses and participants. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed a couple, one hovering over the other. While they didn't act like eyewitnesses, at least one (probably both) of them was clearly a mutant. After sending out the helicopters, he walked over to the two. "Hello. My name is William Sevenson. I'm with the Mutant Intelligence and Security Corps. You didn't see what happened at the bar, perchance? At any rate, we'd love to have a word with the both of you back at our headquarters. I'm sure you have a lot of questions, and we're here to help." He finished with a smile.


One of the helicopters lowered next to TJ's rooftop. It was filled to the brim with eyewitnesses, with room for only one more. One of the agents shouted out from the helicopter after it made landing. "Hey, you're the mutant who helped with the problem, right? You did a lot of good today! I believe you left a bag with us!"

He tossed TJ's pack over to her. While she could fly, she probably wanted a break. "We'd like to have a word with you! Don't worry; you're not in trouble! Hop aboard?"


The paramedic, assuming that part of Ace's statement was directed at him, was satisfied with Ace's offer for help, but there wasn't much that an average Joe do in a situation like this, even if Joe was a mutant. "Thanks, but we can handle this. We're professionals."

One of the paramedics at the ambulance helicopter received a call. He picked it up. "Hello?... Who are you? How did you get this number?... Ah, I see. All right, I'll tell him." He hung up and turned to Ace. "There's a group of people who'd like to commend you for your efforts. If you're interested, we're authorized to take you there after we drop off this guy over here."

Tarmo had struggled to respond, but as he was loaded onto the helicopter, he spoke up. "Children... is young mutants passed by here... is okay, all is well, perhaps..." With that, Tarmo passed out. The paramedics were quick to resuscitate him before offering Ace a chance to ride inside the helicopter.

Max consider what Tristan said, while he didn't like the fact that MISC was getting in his way, he did like the thought of a big government check. At the same time though, it felt like he was dishonoring his dead patron by not getting revenge for her. Max thought it over and eventually came to a decision. He walked towards Tristan and 38, not showing if he was hostile or not. As soon as he closed the gap between himself and MISC agent, he stared him down. Seeing the conviction and determination to keep the mutants safe, Max backed off. He turned walked closer to 38, "You're lucky you weren't born when I was, or else you would probably be hanging right now or worse, weren't to many decent folk back them." After saying that, Max punched 38 with a right hook and knocked him back. "That's the least I'm owed after everything you did."

Max turned around and walked back to where he landed, before he flew off he turned his head to look back at Tristan. "I'll be expecting you down at my bar soon Suit, we'll have to discuss the terms of my compensation for all this. And if you bail on me, then you'll find how irritable I can be." With his business done, Max spread his wings and flew off back in the direction of his bar, he had a lot of cleaning up to do.

[NewLakotah]

Kw'eh T'soh Dai/Keith Dai (Red Wolf)
Los Angeles


Kw'eh smiled back, softly. He replaced the carton of cigarettes back into his pocket, flexing his hands, their stability returning back to mostly normal now, his composure nearly regained entirely. He knew that Shauna was a strong person, so seeing her like this was a bit of a surprise, but also he knew how much this had truly effected her, this being an unknown and unwanted side effect of her powers. Something, he was sure, he had not seen before.

"There's no need for that. I know. I probably shoulda warned ya, that I was an emotional wreck." He laughs softly. He was about to continue, when Shauna appeared to catch something in the conversation next to her that set her off. He hadn't really been listening. But it he knew it was directed at the Center. Even though, he had just fought the Center, though, granted, he wasn't really opposed to them at all, he still felt that the threats were a bit harsh at this point. He was, still, an ally, or affiliate, or whatever, of MISC, but he wasn't sold on them either. He did, however, appreciate the passion and fire behind Shauna, she was motivated, he gave her that much for sure.

He listened with growing tension as Giovanni spoke, who the hell was this guy? He brought up Natives. He was Native, living in Canada, living the good life for years outside of the control of the Whites, until that fell through. He had fought in World War II as well. He didn't know about the Mutants, or whatever, then either. He saw Giovanni's hand tighten around the grip of his rifle. He tosses down his own cigarette, and drops his hand down slowly to the hilts of his pistol and tomahawk, which is fastened in on his back. He turns to him. Taking a step forward.

"What the hell do you know about natives, pale-face?" He didn't really know why he led with that. Maybe the anger hadn't really subsided. He takes another step forward. "When did you step foot into the New World? I don't exactly remember any mutants fleeing into Canada, that were Indian at least, not in my days. I fought in the War as well. A lot of them, actually. You might have been around the block a few hundred years more than I have, but that don't make you better than me. Or smarter, or wiser. Cause, if that were true, you would know the danger of trusting the government just as much as the Center, if not worse. Hell, that's what World War II was about. And don't even get me started on why the hell I even fought in World War I. If there is one thing that I've learned thus far... Its that power corrupts. Especially when not earned. And what is good anyways, Giovanni?" He wasn't sure exactly why he felt as disgusted as he did, or why he was getting angry. He didn't necessarily even disagree with his point. Maybe it was because it was aimed at a friend. Something Kw'eh never could let pass, no matter what it was about. Maybe partially, even, it was also the feeling of anger and rage that still hadn't subsided yet. He didn't feel anger, or rage, really. He wasn't sure, but he saw that Giovanni had gotten angrier and angrier, and he had no idea who or what he was. Only that he seemed to be getting angry and Shauna, and for no reason either. He made sure that his hand rested, casually, on the end of his two weapons.

[Altito Asmoro]

Kw'eh T'soh Dai/Keith Dai (Red Wolf)
Los Angeles


"What the hell do you know about natives, pale-face?" He didn't really know why he led with that. Maybe the anger hadn't really subsided. He takes another step forward. "When did you step foot into the New World? I don't exactly remember any mutants fleeing into Canada, that were Indian at least, not in my days. I fought in the War as well. A lot of them, actually. You might have been around the block a few hundred years more than I have, but that don't make you better than me. Or smarter, or wiser. Cause, if that were true, you would know the danger of trusting the government just as much as the Center, if not worse. Hell, that's what World War II was about. And don't even get me started on why the hell I even fought in World War I. If there is one thing that I've learned thus far... Its that power corrupts. Especially when not earned. And what is good anyways, Giovanni?" He wasn't sure exactly why he felt as disgusted as he did, or why he was getting angry. He didn't necessarily even disagree with his point. Maybe it was because it was aimed at a friend. Something Kw'eh never could let pass, no matter what it was about. Maybe partially, even, it was also the feeling of anger and rage that still hadn't subsided yet. He didn't feel anger, or rage, really. He wasn't sure, but he saw that Giovanni had gotten angrier and angrier, and he had no idea who or what he was. Only that he seemed to be getting angry and Shauna, and for no reason either. He made sure that his hand rested, casually, on the end of his two weapons.

Giovanni Serrano

Great, he made everyone angry with his stupid mouth. "Alright, I'm sorry. Maybe we let this go slightly more off," and he looked to Shauna. "Alright, I can see why you are disgusted with MISC, and it seems you're right on that one. However, if I want to aid Center, I will not stand by as you hurt the innocents. Whether they are civilians knowing nothing, or mutants who are harmless, I don't give a damn. You don't kill or hurt them, you only hurt those who you deemed as threat, and I'll join."

"Hell, I'll provide anything for you. Free."

[Talchyon]

Tensions in the street
Shauna Marks (aka "Lady Lang")

Giovanni Serrano

Great, he made everyone angry with his stupid mouth. "Alright, I'm sorry. Maybe we let this go slightly more off," and he looked to Shauna. "Alright, I can see why you are disgusted with MISC, and it seems you're right on that one. However, if I want to aid Center, I will not stand by as you hurt the innocents. Whether they are civilians knowing nothing, or mutants who are harmless, I don't give a damn. You don't kill or hurt them, you only hurt those who you deemed as threat, and I'll join."

"Hell, I'll provide anything for you. Free."

Noticing Keith tense up and move his hands to his guns, Shauna breathed heavily, and put her hand on his arm. To stay any more bloodshed.

To Giovanni, she responded, "I don't want to hurt innocents, either. That's why I helped save people at the airport, both times. And whether you join the Center or not, that's up to you. Tarmo may have some thoughts on that." Tarmo - where was he? Shauna thought she saw him a block away, being put in a rescue helicopter. Oh no... Tarmo, are you going to be ok?

Her emotions already frazzled, she took some deep breaths that would hopefully make her more steady.

[Zjaum]

Tristan, out of stress, phased out as the mutants began talking to one another. Something about funding (that was easy: taxes), something about compensation (also easy), something about natives...

He snapped out of his trance, remembering his place and time. The helicopter blades of the transports helped him remember the scene and his place. He rubbed his eyes and began talking above the helicopter whirr. "All right, I think we've reached agreement! We can finish talking back at the hotel!"

38 shuffled his feet to the helicopter. He didn't want to leave his friends and considered holding a grudge against them for abandoning him. No, he retorted to himself. I deserve this.


The conference room was much more crowded than before. Old and new mutants now shared the same room. To the side, a number of agents were scurrying back and forth trying to identify the new mutants, with limited success. To the back of the room were a score of savvy reporters and news networks who'd been tipped off and (reluctantly) let in by the agents. A few of them tried to pass off as mutants before they were notified of free entry.

Tristan approached the podium, much more formal at the end of the day than when he started. Technically, this wasn't a press conference; it was a debriefing. Usually, he would've waited a week before letting the press in. That said, the bumbling agents left behind ignorantly let in a reporter, and everything fell apart from there. His primary audience were the mutants directly before him, and he addressed them in kind. He couldn't help himself, however, from sounding infinitely more formal.

"All right, good evening, everyone," Tristan began. Innocent start enough. "For those of you who are new to us, my name is Tristan Spinner. I'm in charge of the Mutant Intelligence and Security Corps, MISC for short. We've been, and I guess continue to be, the foremost experts on individuals with mutant powers." He sighed before continuing. "It's been a interesting past few hours. First off, I'd like to congratulate everyone on successfully apprehending three mutants, with only two casualties. I know that sounds foreboding, but very few missions go that successfully." Probably shouldn't mention the tens of millions of dollars of property damage.

"I'd also like to welcome all the new mutants, and our friends [kind of] from the Center. You all helped out, and we're in your debt. We'll be contacting the rest of you as to how we can work together on getting the rest of your facilities up to snuff as to how you house the new mutants. Oh, also, I talked to Tarmo; he's doing all right. He took a little beating, but he'll be fine. We're also in his debt [kind of] for saving the rest of us from a violent helicopter crash. We actually managed to salvage the main helicopter and install some brand new rotary blades... so that's a thing."

"While I personally would love to answer any questions you all have, we're still figuring out how secret some secrets are, so please contact the Corps with any questions you might have. Also, for any mutants here, we've partnered up with the hotel management to give any of you a place to stay for an indefinite time. You can chat with other mutants, and Uncle Sam will foot the bill. All right, is that good?"

Every hand in the back of the room shot up, but the mutants were too knowledgeable or shy to pipe up. "All right, until then, I hope to see you around the hotel." Tristan promptly left the room.


Tristan's company car parked in the "one hour" section of the White Memorial Medical Center. He'd just finished negotiating with Max and Sasha. After a number of deals favorable to Max, the bar started gathering with patrons, and he was scheduled to come back next week to further discuss things. As if he didn't have enough to do on his plate.

Tristan was directed to the room keeping Tarmo. A doctor intercepted him as he entered the room. "He's fine right now. We did all we can, and- we think- he's back to his regular state. We have no clue for certain; we've never worked on a system like his before, and the government in Estonia was very skittish when we asked it about his health records."

Tristan thanked the doctor before asking if he could be alone with Tarmo. The doctor agreed and closed the door behind him after Tristan entered. The room was stripped of all metal and electric devices, save the makeshift machine that had supplied Tarmo with electricity. Tarmo had laid on his back staring at the ceiling for the past half-hour, but hearing Tristan's voice got his attention. Tarmo sat up and addressed Tristan frankly: "What of mutants?"

Tristan replied: "We handed two of them over to your custody, but one of them had to come back with us."

Tarmo didn't even care at this point. He was too tired to care. "Is fine."

Tristan was surprised at this point, considering his previous adverseness. His face grew more serious by an order of magnitude. "Don't get in my way again, Tarmo."

Tarmo paused. "It depends on what you do."

"Look, I'm trying to do my fucking job. I know you understand that; you used to work for the government, well, a government, yourself."

"You can always make more roads, Tristan. You made thousands in the past. You cannot make mutants like him."

"Tarmo, he killed somebody!"

Both men paused at this comment. After a minute, Tarmo replied. "He killed someone?"

Tristan's hand met his face. "Damn, I never told you. They killed a bar patron just before we got there. An eyewitness told the police, who informed me as I approached the scene. I should have told you... warned you... something."

Tarmo's face was filled with regret. "I acted with haste. Am sorry."

"And I just made you look like a fucking terrorist! My gosh!" Tristan slammed his open palm against the wall before continuing. "Look, I'm sorry. I can drop charges. You saved us from a helicopter accident; it's the least I can do."

The two stared at each other for another minute. Tarmo again responded. "I will try not get in your way, best I can. Anything else?"

"Yes, actually. Sorry; I don't have your number, so I couldn't contact you. We want to send you specifications for housing mutants of their caliber. It shouldn't be anything much, but we don't have your email either."

Tarmo happily shared his contact info with Tristan, and the two left on amiable relations. Each was reasonably suspicious of the other, but at least they left as friends. Tarmo leaned back into his bed. He was getting too old for this shit.


Chapter 3: Guilt and Innocence

Mutants didn't need to set the world on fire to fill Tristan's itinerary. Between setting up press conferences, talking to inquisitive politicians, advising other branches of MISC nationwide with how to deal with their problems, and a heavenly host of paperwork, Tristan's job was annoying. When he was approached with field work on the 30th of December, he took the case as a relief from all the other work he had to do. "What is it?"

"You wanted to know where Safe Haven was?"

"Wait, you all found it?"

"Yes. Here is directions there, as well as a number of photos in the area. It's a small house in Palmdale."

"All right, call Suzuki and everyone else at the hotel interested in the project."

"Actually, 6 was interested in helping out this time."

"Really? He'd probably be a big help. Wait, isn't Palmdale in..."


Tarmo was hunched over his desk like a psychopath. There were bills that needed paying and regulations that needed adhering to, but Tarmo's work and a number of interested donors had agreed to help pitch in. That help was greatly appreciated, and his advertisement and news coverage had proved to help, at least a little. Then there were the scummy donors. Their offers all started the same way: "Hi there! We're from XXXXXXXXX Solutions. We're really excited about the community you've built. We'd love to support your group. In exchange, we'd like to test a few new mutant-friendly products on willing volunteers! We'd pay you handsom-" at which point Tarmo deleted the email. As a rule, he mass deleted any email involving the words "experiment," but most emails were more savvy than that, and his work was cut out for him.

Not that he was anti-corporation, of course. There were a number of perfectly reasonable offers and hire requests that he willingly accepted and scheduled. There was an institute who needed an electromagnet that could change at a whim for a small project it was working on. Tarmo marked it down on his calendar for mid-January. Nick and a couple other new mutants volunteered to lend their services as well, and the Center (better name pending) was making ends meet, even in its first few days of operation. Financial independence was a beautiful thing, and while the Center wasn't quite there just yet, it was going to be there soon. Hm, this was a good gig...

67 knocked on the door. "All right; I took the liberty and set up those signs that you wanted Nick to put out. Is that okay?"

"Okay, but please do not do again, thank," Tarmo sternly warned. While it was good that 67 wanted to help out, he had strict guidelines from MISC that he had to follow. He was loath to overstep any of those boundaries, and better safe than sorry. He sent 67 away to play on his own and dialed the real estate where Shauna worked. "Hello? Hi, this is Tarmo... Yes, the Tarmo. Look, there is a job that I have for Shauna. Could I loan her from you?... Yes? Good. Could I talk with her now?... Thank."

He reached Shauna's message machine. "Hello, Shauna, is Tarmo. Listen, there is art institute called Art Institute who wants you to go on tour." He started reading off the email. "They heard about your magical voice at the airport and wanted to see if you'd be willing to go on a national tour with them to welcome in the new year." He started skimming. "You will accompany guy named Braco, whose will stare at people while you read poetry to them. Anyway, I talk to real estate owners; they are okay with this. Will last a week, and pay is good. I can take care of young brother. Okay?"

Tarmo hung up and immediately heard the phone ring. Huh, what a coincidence. The phone stated that the number was from Tristan Spinner. Tarmo picked it up and put it on speaker. "Hello?"


"Yes, hey, this is Tristan."

He sat on the table again with the gathered assortment of mutants. His face was grinning as wide as it could go. "We're passing through town. Would you mind if we stop by your place?"

[Altito Asmoro]

Tarmo was hunched over his desk like a psychopath. There were bills that needed paying and regulations that needed adhering to, but Tarmo's work and a number of interested donors had agreed to help pitch in. That help was greatly appreciated, and his advertisement and news coverage had proved to help, at least a little. Then there were the scummy donors. Their offers all started the same way: "Hi there! We're from XXXXXXXXX Solutions. We're really excited about the community you've built. We'd love to support your group. In exchange, we'd like to test a few new mutant-friendly products on willing volunteers! We'd pay you handsom-" at which point Tarmo deleted the email. As a rule, he mass deleted any email involving the words "experiment," but most emails were more savvy than that, and his work was cut out for him.

Not that he was anti-corporation, of course. There were a number of perfectly reasonable offers and hire requests that he willingly accepted and scheduled. There was an institute who needed an electromagnet that could change at a whim for a small project it was working on. Tarmo marked it down on his calendar for mid-January. Nick and a couple other new mutants volunteered to lend their services as well, and the Center (better name pending) was making ends meet, even in its first few days of operation. Financial independence was a beautiful thing, and while the Center wasn't quite there just yet, it was going to be there soon. Hm, this was a good gig...

Giovanni Serrano

"John, bring me the current financial situation of our...life," said Gio to John, who brought it to him immediately. "Right, so far so good. Our investments in Italy work well. So with the United States one, why do you ask?"

"I'm going to do something about it. It is related to the mutant, yes. MISC has a lot of money, Center's not, and Shauna convinced me. I'll just leave a message. Through email."

To : Tarmo and the Center (good name, eh?)
From : Giovanni Serrano

Hi, Mr. Tarmo. I believed you know me as the person who shot the tires of Shauna's car the first time. Shauna convinced me about something that I'm going to, so here goes nothing. We haven't introduced formally, my name is Giovanni Serrano and I'm a mutant as well. Let just say I'm an immortal like Keith.

I want to put up sponsorship. Well, more like a financial aid, though. No big requirements to get this money, just sent me your bank account's number and I'll send through the funds. Just one thing. Don't hurt innocents. I don't give a damn they are civilians or mutants, don't hurt anyone innocents. Or kill anyone like those three mutants who killed a bar patron yesterday. Also, if you need a place for the base of the Center, I can give you a place.

I think that's that. And answer, just send me the answer.

Sincerely yours,
Serrano.

[Talchyon]

Her apartment
Shauna Marks (aka "Lady Lang")

Chapter 3: Guilt and Innocence

Mutants didn't need to set the world on fire to fill Tristan's itinerary. Between setting up press conferences, talking to inquisitive politicians, advising other branches of MISC nationwide with how to deal with their problems, and a heavenly host of paperwork, Tristan's job was annoying. When he was approached with field work on the 30th of December, he took the case as a relief from all the other work he had to do. "What is it?"

"You wanted to know where Safe Haven was?"

"Wait, you all found it?"

"Yes. Here is directions there, as well as a number of photos in the area. It's a small house in Palmdale."

"All right, call Suzuki and everyone else at the hotel interested in the project."

"Actually, 6 was interested in helping out this time."

"Really? He'd probably be a big help. Wait, isn't Palmdale in..."


Tarmo was hunched over his desk like a psychopath. There were bills that needed paying and regulations that needed adhering to, but Tarmo's work and a number of interested donors had agreed to help pitch in. That help was greatly appreciated, and his advertisement and news coverage had proved to help, at least a little. Then there were the scummy donors. Their offers all started the same way: "Hi there! We're from XXXXXXXXX Solutions. We're really excited about the community you've built. We'd love to support your group. In exchange, we'd like to test a few new mutant-friendly products on willing volunteers! We'd pay you handsom-" at which point Tarmo deleted the email. As a rule, he mass deleted any email involving the words "experiment," but most emails were more savvy than that, and his work was cut out for him.

Not that he was anti-corporation, of course. There were a number of perfectly reasonable offers and hire requests that he willingly accepted and scheduled. There was an institute who needed an electromagnet that could change at a whim for a small project it was working on. Tarmo marked it down on his calendar for mid-January. Nick and a couple other new mutants volunteered to lend their services as well, and the Center (better name pending) was making ends meet, even in its first few days of operation. Financial independence was a beautiful thing, and while the Center wasn't quite there just yet, it was going to be there soon. Hm, this was a good gig...

67 knocked on the door. "All right; I took the liberty and set up those signs that you wanted Nick to put out. Is that okay?"

"Okay, but please do not do again, thank," Tarmo sternly warned. While it was good that 67 wanted to help out, he had strict guidelines from MISC that he had to follow. He was loath to overstep any of those boundaries, and better safe than sorry. He sent 67 away to play on his own and dialed the real estate where Shauna worked. "Hello? Hi, this is Tarmo... Yes, the Tarmo. Look, there is a job that I have for Shauna. Could I loan her from you?... Yes? Good. Could I talk with her now?... Thank."

He reached Shauna's message machine. "Hello, Shauna, is Tarmo. Listen, there is art institute called Art Institute who wants you to go on tour." He started reading off the email. "They heard about your magical voice at the airport and wanted to see if you'd be willing to go on a national tour with them to welcome in the new year." He started skimming. "You will accompany guy named Braco, whose will stare at people while you read poetry to them. Anyway, I talk to real estate owners; they are okay with this. Will last a week, and pay is good. I can take care of young brother. Okay?"

Tarmo hung up and immediately heard the phone ring. Huh, what a coincidence. The phone stated that the number was from Tristan Spinner. Tarmo picked it up and put it on speaker. "Hello?"


"Yes, hey, this is Tristan."

He sat on the table again with the gathered assortment of mutants. His face was grinning as wide as it could go. "We're passing through town. Would you mind if we stop by your place?"

Life as a mutant was becoming interesting. Every day, the news had something on it about us, and not always good. Tristan was becoming a popular figure. The MISC had taken on a national recognition, and apparently so had the Center. But for those stories that came out that looked at us well, there were about four more that recounted all the property damage, the threat of destruction, and the fear that came from living among mutants like us. The MISC was being treated well, as they were seen as the government agency set to handle these threats. But the Center? The home for mutant preservation? Things were not as peachy here. A lot of fear among the newscasters about us, and what we could do against them. It never ended.

It was also becoming interesting being identified as a mutant publicly. Somehow, since Tristan's press conference after the two mutants we rescued were allowed to come with us, I was somehow caught on tape as being one of these mutants. And the investigative journalists tracked me down, and put my name all over the news. A mutant! A discovered mutant! Shay didn't know what to think. He had been avoiding me since I had been in the news. My boss was freaked out, and threatened my job. We had to go public with what I could do. Not my first choice, but it was needed. So now, all the world knows about my ability to speak and create emotions. My boss was somewhat relieved when he found out I wasn't going to blast his office with laser beams or demolish buildings. And he was even more relieved when he realized I could use my ability to get more sales. Not that I would, but if he wanted to think that, well, who was I to correct him? Actually I tried to tell him that I didn't use my abilities in my job, because I wanted people to be happy with the homes they bought without me interfering, and he just looked at me with a wink in his eye that told me he was thinking different.

Now, I was being sought out by corporations who wanted me to speak about their products and make people feel happy about it. That's what Tarmo was telling me. It didn't sit with me well. Manipulating how people feel so they can buy products wasn't how I imagined using my abilities. I was wanting to help people, and not get into sales. But I told Tarmo I would, at the least to try and give the Center a better public image.

One other thing I've brought up to Tarmo in the last few days. These mutants we've rescued, the power converter and the elastic guy. I've told Tarmo that they need to have names. It's demeaning to call them as numbers. That's what they were called by the MISC when they were prisoners. But that shouldn't be how they're called now. I've brought it up a few times to Tarmo. No word yet as to his thoughts. Guess I'll have to keep trying.

[Clashus]

Ace loaded his Heckler & Koch MK 23 and tucked it away into his pants. Hopefully, he wouldn't have to use it but it was impossible to know whether or not his being in the hotel was part of the plan to arrest him. Hopefully not, hopefully he could trust Tarmo. As he left he remembered to turn on the lights.

Ace took the elevator down to the top floor to enjoy the buffet. Armed guards were posted on every hallway, he could only presume that they were with MISC. The buffet room was empty of customers, and the quiet cooking was the only sound to be heard. Ace got all his food and ate quickly. Instinctively, Ace looked around the room. On the first survey of the room nothing was out of place, the second time around he saw a slight shimmer by some potted plants. He rubbed his eyes and got up and left the buffet room, glancing over his shoulder every now and then hoping that "Hans Shimmer-man" wasn't following him. Ace dipped into the toilets, just as his phone got a buzz. It was one of those blast from the past texts.

Ace raced up to his room, Room 135, hiding his gaze from the guards and avoiding the corners. He closed his eyes outside his door using the light waves inside the room to detect and discrepancies, anything cloaking, hiding itself, any shimmers. The room was clear, he opened the door and let out a fart. The best way to expel energy. He closed the door behind him and sat down at his desk. Placing the phone next on the desk, he opened up his case-file. It contained all of the people he had crossed or tricked, either in the heist business or as a CIA asset. Ace had the crisis under control, but he had to figure out what Shimmer-man knew about him. The text had been designed to creep him out, he knew that. What else was, "Stick to the Shadows Ace, I'm watching you, I've been watching you since Italy, since the Mob" meant to do? It was a very personal phrase, who else robbed the Mafia, while infiltrating them for the CIA.

Ace decided to stop looking for information, one thing he had learnt when he was an American Intelligence Asset was that information presented itself whenever it wanted to. Shimmer could be too many people, someone from his heist crew - someone he replaced, a fellow he left behind in a CIA mission or maybe just a MISC Intelligence Officer. But one thing was for sure, he couldn't be in the room right now. The light would make sure of that.

[Zjaum]

Tarmo acknowledged Tristan's request and temporarily resumed reading his emails. Giovanni's offer was the last email he read for the day, and Tarmo wished he had read it sooner. Well, there was no specific amount, but just the fact that it was someone he knew gave Tarmo a very pleasant surprise. The request to not hurt innocents cut deep, but the accusation was justified. That said, Tarmo knew very well that sending information like that via email was incredibly insecure. He responded back, using Google Translate as his guide:

To: Giovanni Serrano
From: Tarmo and the Center (I had a chuckle)

Greetings, Mr. Serrano. I am very glad that you are interested in financial aid. We have done a lot to make ends meet, and it really helps. That said, I'm hesitant to give you my bank account number yet; website is not as secure as I want it. If you can, then why do not you come over? I love to talk with you personally. You might want to check out everything that is happening here and we can discuss the details further.

So, in short, we would like to have your help. I look forward to talking with you.

Good day,
Tarmo Saar

Tarmo immediately put his computer to sleep and called over everyone from the Center who could make it. The message to everyone was simple: "MISC is coming. We need to get the Center ready for their arrival. Please come as soon as you can so that we can clean up and make preparations."

The college mutants and a number of others who had since joined arrived to do just that. For a few hours, Tarmo and his friends worked hard to clean up what few boxes were left, make the Center look much more technologically enhanced than it actually was, and even made a banner saying, "Welcome MISC" behind their reception wall. After everyone was done, they waited for a few hours before their guests finally arrived in four big Suburbans. Before leaving the vehicle, Tristan called Max's bar. Even though Max was a wild card, he would very much appreciate someone with wings. Good reconnaissance and all. The woman on the other end of the phone, one "Sasha," answered.

"Dragon's Maw. May I ask who's speaking?"

Tristan assumed that she knew about Max's powers. "Hello there, my name is Tristan. I work for the Mutant Intelligence and Security Corps. If it's at all possible and Max isn't busy, we'd like to borrow him to help us out with something. We'd pay for his services handsomely, of course."

"How handsomely?"

Tristan whispered into the phone. Sasha's voice changed a little. "Oh... okay, then. I'll tell him."

Tristan mentioned the address to be before hanging up and exiting the car. He enjoyed the brisk cold outside, but he had badly wanted to see what the mysterious Center was like. Ever since its inception, he'd been too busy to visit in person, and he sent other agents to interact and bring the Center up to par. Even those were few in number, so his sentiment was felt for the entire entourage. As sixteen doors opened and slammed closed, everyone walked up to the Center. It was... surprisingly average, like a regular small, suburban business. There were computers up all over the place, though, and the feeling of warmth that could only come from a small organization showed through. Tarmo directed them to a back room, where a podium, a projector, and a number of foldable chairs lay. Everyone from MISC took their seat, and the Center people stood at the back. Tristan got back up after readying his files and addressed the room at the podium. The projector was laughably less advanced than the stuff he and his crew had set up, and it took the agents a while to hook the right wires to the right ports. After everything was all ready, Tristan began. The image of a home and the picture of a man showed behind him.

"Before I begin, I'd like to thank Tarmo and company for their hospitality on this manner. I can say that we're all rather impressed by your little establishment. All right, so here's the deal. This man is Pastor Eric Van Willigen. He's a nice guy; I actually talked with him once or twice in the past. He has a very open 'all mutants welcome' policy at his house in Palmdale. This goes for all mutants, regardless of what they've done or who they are. This has led to a number of criminal mutants taking shelter at his home. The good pastor turned a blind eye towards their past deeds, and the criminals took advantage of his generosity, turning the base into a practical hub for criminal activity in the area. We knew what crimes were being committed and who committed them, but we've only just recently found where they came from. As a result, we have a task force of agents and mutants who are going to be raiding the house."

The agents moved to the next slide. Photos of a dozen mutants popped up, divided by a red line. "These are all the mutants who have are confirmed at the pastor's house. To the left are the mutants who haven't done any harm. They are there for refuge, and they are peaceful innocent civilians. No harm is to come to them, at any cost. To the right are mutants who have committed criminal activity. They must be apprehended, so long as no harm comes to the innocent civilians. Personally, I'd prefer that Pastor Eric doesn't get hurt, but he was practically an accessory, so take that as you will."

"Now, this would be a tricky accomplishment for even the best SWAT teams, so I've brought along someone from the Resort to help us, one of the few who actually managed to stay and whose powers would be very useful in freezing certain mutants and sending others towards us. I'd like to introduce the psychic Lyle Richards, code name Six, who's agreed to help us with this."

Lyle stood up in the back row of seats. He was relatively young, either in his late teens or early twenties, and the best word that could be used to describe him would be "smug." He gave a short wave before sitting back down. Tristan cleared his throat. "Any questions?"

Tarmo leaned against the wall in the back. This was a recipe for hurting innocents. Yet again, he would have to be there to make sure that no harm came to the innocent mutants. He studied each of the dozen mutant's faces very, very carefully, to make sure that he knew who to save when the time came.

[Anxiety Cafe]

As the conflict came to an end, Jacob looked over his allies, which were few compared to the number of unknowns that had been involved in the conflict. Shauna seemed spent, on the verge of just lying down and resting. Jacob felt similarly, but he still had some energy since he hadn't done that much during the conflict. He had started following the MISC group as Shauna and the mutant who had shot her car started conversing about something. The dragon, still there, caused Jacob to tense as he punched 38, but he managed to control the rising tide of anger in him. 38 had killed someone, and that did deserve consequences. Keith joined the argument, and Jacob saw the new mutant back down.

Back at the hotel, where the mutants had first met up, Tristan began a speech, introducing himself and the MISC and the Center. No one bothered responding, not out of disrespect but rather out of confusion and animosity. Many of the mutants still distrusted one another and were reluctant to begin trusting. He could understand their point of view, but was still a little disappointed. This was the time to ask questions, because they might not get a chance later on.

For the next couple of days, Jacob went through some r & r, needing it desperately after everything that had happened. He helped the Center get on its feet, overjoyed that Tarmo was feeling better but still a little concerned that he had gone back to work so quickly. When he heard that the MISC was coming to the Center, he felt a mixture of emotions that took some time for him to sort. He still held the irrational fear that they would maybe attack them, shut them down or something of the like. He knew the chances of that were slim, but his worries were overshadowed by his hope. The MISC had money, resources, and influence. They could help the Center become what they had intended it to be. What Jacob wasn't expecting, however, was what actually happened.

The MISC had come to them to call for their help. Remembering the last time they had worked together, Jacob's worries surfaced again, but he pushed them down and listened to the information, which he would probably need. The haven took on all mutants, even criminals, so they had to make sure to protect the innocent ones. That would be tricky, considering most of the mutants were probably friends, having lived together. Jacob also worried about the aftermath. Although he trusted the MISC enough, he wanted to make sure the Center was treated fairly too, which meant they had to have living facilities, holding cells (he was concerned the MISC would otherwise take more mutants and make them lab rats, with numbers instead of names), and other trivial things. Most of all, he wanted the Center to be painted in a good light in front of the public, as much as possible, for mutants' protection.

Jacob knew for sure what he wanted was definitely stepping over a line, and he'd be surprised if any of his requests were met, but he still felt obligated to at least pitch them to the MISC, after they had finished.

The triplets' confidence was faltering, and they all felt it. Their Amalgam form touched down on the ground and it took all they had to prevent their inner impulses from coming out and breaking them apart. If they did that, everything would be revealed, including their identities, and that was the one thing above all that they wanted to make sure didn't happen. The other girl had started walking away almost immediately, grabbing an umbrella and opening it up above her. They thought it was weird, since the sun was shining overhead without a cloud in the sky, but their thoughts turned towards the task at hand first.

The agent — for they were sure he was an agent — wanted them to come back to a hotel, a gathering of sorts for mutants. Even if he was with the government, the triplets feared being cataloged and imprisoned, or something like it. As the agent turned around to lead them away, the triplets debated what to do. The other girl seemed reluctant to follow the government man as well, but they couldn't risk discussing it without being overheard. Impulsively, they grabbed her and flew away without a sound, hoping the government man didn't look back before they escaped. Most people were too busy gawking at the crowd to notice them, so they set down on a nearby rooftop, hoping she wouldn't throw up on them.

They had to get back to their hotel, and their parents, and away from all the craziness. The Amalgam spoke to the girl, asking her if she wanted them to drop her off or something. The triplets were scared shitless, but, to Sebastien at least, it felt fun to actually do something.

Afterwards, a couple days later, the triplets were back in the hotel with their parents, preparing for a final day of sightseeing before driving up to San Francisco to visit some obscure great aunt or something like that. Sebastien was reluctant to leave all the mutants and dangerous situations, loving the adrenaline he got from being involved in it. He had pushed with his parents that they could stay a little longer, saying he loved the air and feeling of the city, but they had persisted. His mom had scolded him, saying it had been so long since they had seen Aunt Astryd and she had shrieked with joy upon hearing they were coming. Plus, their flight back to New York was already scheduled and couldn't be cancelled. Laura, on the other hand, was more concerned about the danger they'd be in LA. Not only had the government known about their Amalgam form, in a foolish way they had also revealed themselves to another mutant and perhaps dozens of bystanders. Just because they didn't know their identities didn't mean they couldn't track them down somehow.

All three knew the risks of staying, but Sean most of all wanted to stay. He didn't exactly like the adrenaline, or the dangers. But he was curious, about all the mutants he had seen, fighting about something or other. He wanted information, and he could only hope he could convince his siblings to sneak away with him in time, before they had to leave the hotel. Days before, as they had flown back to the hotel, he had noticed the procession of black SUVs towards a hotel across the street. That's where they would head, if he could convince them.

[Clashus]

Ace received the details from Tarmo, just as he was finishing his hotel breakfast and he went to check out the Center. He found himself among the bustle of other mutants (he could only assume) helping clean up the Center. He decided to do his part, sprucing up the joint, fixing some technology and creating the occasional secret energy dimension bunker. After all, he never knew. Especially with Shimmer around, the bunker would be useful. When he was done, Ace just lurked in the corner. Hopefully, he would be able to see some action soon.

[Bycrest]

Maximus Astor
After all the mess with MISC and their mutant escapees, Max took closed down the bar to renovate. Thanks to a very generous "donation" from MISC he was able to fix up the bar from the damages it took and redesign a couple a things, not to mention order some of the more expensive bottles that his normal customers could never hope to taste. Max took great pride in the upkeep of his bar and while he was still a little pissed that he didn't get to hurt 38 more, Max was fine with being left alone. The last thing he needed was for MISC or any other government agencies knocking at his door, so needless to say, Max was glad to be done with them.

As Max finished serving up some drinks to some customers who just walked in, Sasha came up and asked to speak with him in the back room. From her tone it sounded like something that Max probably wouldn't like.

"So what's so important that you had to call me back here?" Max asked.

"Well, that agent from MISC called and-"

"Nope, don't want to hear it." Max cut her off, his good mood suddenly fading. "There can't possibly be anything good to come out of working with them. At first I thought it would be fun to mess around with them but considering last time, I'm done with them. I got them to pay for the bar, and they kept my mutation under wraps so we're even." He was about to walk back out before Sasha handed him a piece of paper with a number written on it.

"That's how much that agent guy said he was willing to pay you for your help. Even with that compensation check, we could use some more upgrades to the bar, and it wouldn't hurt to give me a raise." she said with a smirk on her face.

Max looked at the paper, then to Sasha, and then back to the paper. He almost couldn't believe what they were offering. On one side he wanted to be done with MISC, but on the other, if he kept doing jobs with this kind of pay, he'd be able to retire. Well technically Max could already retire but he liked to work to stave of the boredom. Max thought over what he was going to do before he finally decided.

"Fine, but you're coming with me. You're gonna have ot earn that raise." Max stated as he left to go set the bar straight before he left. "Hey Bruno, where are ya..."

[NewLakotah]

Kw'eh T'soh Dai/Keith Dai (Red Wolf)
The Center

Kw'eh got the call from Tristan and moved out quickly, grabbing his gear as he did. Tristan had said that they were going to the Center, apparently it was deemed necessary to involve them in some capacity for the upcoming operation. He moved down the stairs quickly, heading out as fast as possible to meet up with the agents as they left, getting in the back of one of the large SUVs. The ride was a rather long one out to the Center, the whole time mentally preparing for the mission at hand. He wasn't sure of what to expect, but as the last few missions had shown, they could get very dangerous and very confusing.

Kw'eh stepped out of the car, moving with the other agents and mutants into the Center. He looked around as he entered, seeing a few familiar faces of mutants, and a few unfamiliar faces. The Center was small, not surprising, he thought, but it seemed up to date and well staffed. At one end he saw several chairs set up. Tarmo standing over there directing agents to take a seat. He moves towards them, nodding at Tarmo. He stops, decides to stand at the back, feeling more comfortable there. He stands there as Tristan stands up to give his briefing on the mission.

"Before I begin, I'd like to thank Tarmo and company for their hospitality on this manner. I can say that we're all rather impressed by your little establishment. All right, so here's the deal. This man is Pastor Eric Van Willigen. He's a nice guy; I actually talked with him once or twice in the past. He has a very open 'all mutants welcome' policy at his house in Palmdale. This goes for all mutants, regardless of what they've done or who they are. This has led to a number of criminal mutants taking shelter at his home. The good pastor turned a blind eye towards their past deeds, and the criminals took advantage of his generosity, turning the base into a practical hub for criminal activity in the area. We knew what crimes were being committed and who committed them, but we've only just recently found where they came from. As a result, we have a task force of agents and mutants who are going to be raiding the house."

The agents moved to the next slide. Photos of a dozen mutants popped up, divided by a red line. "These are all the mutants who have are confirmed at the pastor's house. To the left are the mutants who haven't done any harm. They are there for refuge, and they are peaceful innocent civilians. No harm is to come to them, at any cost. To the right are mutants who have committed criminal activity. They must be apprehended, so long as no harm comes to the innocent civilians. Personally, I'd prefer that Pastor Eric doesn't get hurt, but he was practically an accessory, so take that as you will."

Kw'eh nods. This mission seemed a bit more up his alley, a standard DA raid. Something that he had done a thousand times before. Of course, the fact that they were mutants added a level of difficulty, but surprise would still be on their side, if done properly. As long as the Center didn't over involve themselves and try and ruin the mission like the last outing. He smiles, puts his hand up.

"Yeah, what's the ROE? Besides obviously, not attacking the innocent civilians?"

[Zjaum]

"Yeah, what's the ROE? Besides obviously, not attacking the innocent civilians?"

Tristan nodded. A reasonable question indeed. "Yes, sure. We talked to the folks in charge of the district, the mayor and all, and we've been given the all clear to damage the house and any property belonging to Pastor Eric. We can also damage the street, but we aren't allowed to enter any other homes in the area, nor are we allowed to damage their property except in a life-and-death scenario."

Ah, that reminded him. "Now, this would be a very difficult challenge for all of you, considering the last two shots at this. This is where Richards comes in. We've dubbed Richards's little gift the 'mind wrestle.' Essentially, he has the ability to enter someone's mind and wrestle, both mentally and physically, with its controls, hence the name. However, this lasts only a few seconds. If the target manages to push him out forcefully, he dies. If he manages to push the target out completely, he dies as well. As a result, he's only going to be there either as a last resort or for the most crucial parts of the mission."

Tristan looked around and saw no other questions. "All right, then, if there are no further questions, we've assigned each of you to a car... [an agent whispers to him] ...including the... group of triplets? All right, the more the merrier. Not like we have much of a better alternative, anyway. All right, let's move out!"


The cars arrived, about a block away, in the middle of the afternoon. It was, as calculated, the time when the fewest mutants would be home, and so the best chance to sweep the gang from under their feet. Nestled behind the list of houses was the target yard, upon which stood a single mutant. Tristan spoke to the others, knowing full well that the mutant couldn't hear him from that distance. "All right, to clarify, that mutant is an accomplice. He has unnaturally fast reflexes, so stealth is the best way to go. There should be a small amount of mutants inside, about half a dozen, equal parts good and bad. The other half dozen are away on errands or crimes. Apprehend if possible, kill if necessary. All right; let's move out."

Wilson hated his job. He had to guard the fort because there were no one in the group with sensory abilities, and he was the only one who could react to any pesky intruders. He didn't carry a gun or anything; that would make him look even more suspicious to the neighbors. That said, it was an uneasy feeling that he could be shot at any time, and he was starting to get a little paranoid...

[Altito Asmoro]

Giovanni Serrano

Basically speaking, Giovanni had to met with him directly, public. Not a good thing for him, considering what just happened until now, but he has no choice if he wants to supports the new organization on its financial support. He got the address of the Center, and arrived just in time for Tristan to appeared as well and had a mission for them. Apparently, a priest provided a safe haven for those who needed, and he casted some sort of blind eye for the mutant criminals. Why? He has no idea. Thankfully, he has a gun to brought on about.

"Alright then, time to deal with these...fellows."

---

He hasn't got any chances to talked to Tarmo about the proposition and subsequent development, though he indicated he would do it at the end of this mission. In his hands come upon a good Arctic International Warfare. A sniper rifle, and he also has an assault rifle, AK-74. Practically it would suited more on close-range assault. The lookout on this criminal hub is a mutant with fast reflexes. He turned to the rest, "Alright, I'll do some stealth action on this one. I'm not sure I will be succeeded on this one, so just prepare yourselves for the worst, alright?" as he reloaded his assault rifle and ready for action. His suit still basically a black suit but with ballistic vest this time. "But, maybe this sniper rifle is for the better. I'll aim, and shot the guy on the head. I'll put a suppressor to lessen the sound, but I need all of you on the move first so that after I shot him, and he's dead, you all can move in fast. How's that for a plan?" he asked around.

---

Suzuki Hashimoto

She didn't minded the interactions, but the stress had been quite awful for some time, so she took a rest time for this one mission.

[Anxiety Cafe]

Before he knew it, Jacob and the rest of the mutants were outside the property. It seemed normal, like a house for a quiet family. The kind of place he would've liked to grow up in. He definitely did not want to invade someone's home, their sanctuary, especially since it was a home for people who felt inhuman in a world where they were outed just for their mutation. It sort of felt kind of like the Center's own mission, to be a sanctuary for mutants. Then again, they were working with the government, and that meant stopping crime, including by mutants. Perhaps they could rehabilitate some in the future. He made a note to talk to Tristan about it later.

He looked around at their ragtag bunch of misfits, hoping for a glimpse of what they could be in the future. He didn't find much, not even from the MISC mutants. The mutant they had brought along seemed bored, comfortable in his power. Jacob couldn't say the same for the rest of them. Most of them seemed nervous, skittish, even if they were normally confident. He noticed Keith off to one side, someone he knew more than most, although that didn't mean much.

"Crazy shit happening, huh?" He asked, hoping to start a conversation after what happened at their last meeting. He didn't want to make any enemies, especially in their dangerous situation. He looked back at the house, waiting for the order to move in.

After a lot of whining and promises he'd knew he'd regret later, Sean finally managed to convince his siblings to come with him across the street to the hotel. Laura definitely wasn't happy about it, but she trudged along with them, in their normal forms, hoping not to appear out-of-place. They were supposed to get in the car and leave in a half hour, so they had to make it quick. As they approached the hotel, one of the agents out front whispered something into his comms. All they overheard was "triplets", and the response to bring them along.

"You guys? Mutants right? Come with us to the cars."

Speechless, the three just stood there, until Sean shook out of his stupor and mumbles, "W-w-wait we're not, well we're just, I mean..."

He trailed off as the man started towards a convoy of vehicles, pulling them behind him. Sean exchanged a glance with his siblings before they formed Amalgam, pulling free of the man's grasp and flying towards the roof, hoping he wouldn't see them. They had screwed up, majorly, and both Sebastien and Laura knew it wasn't their fault. They went back down to their hotel, and prepared for the ride off. If they got away from the city, maybe the government wouldn't worry about them.

[Clashus]

Ace arrived at the back of the house. He was used to the "break and entering" business so he had scouted out the best areas for a breach. He tiptoed around the pool tightening the suppressor onto his H&K MK35, when the suppressor was secure he whipped out his Kabar. Some Mutant-knockout pills from his CIA buddies in his breast pocket. Ace used his 'light-sight' and picked up the forms of around 5 mutants. He hadn't picked up any cloaking Mutants, so that was a plus. He pulled over a gas mask and climbed through an open window frame and found his first target. Ace rushed the Mutant and engaged him with his knife. After getting three quick slices, the Mutant puffed into a green gas. Ace grabbed one of the knockout pills and crushed them in the air, he then used his stored excess energy to further crush up the knockout particles and propel throughout the room, hopefully knocking out the Freeform Mutant. Sure enough the hostile dropped to the ground now in his human state, his open-wounds covered in the knock-out particles. Finally, Ace could move on. It had been ages since he had had such a fun time.

[Talchyon]

Driving
Shauna Marks (aka "Lady Lang")

She had made it about a half hour away, driving in her newly restored and fixed car. Whereever the funds had come from, whether it was MISC or Keith, all Shauna knew was that it had been paid in cash before she had even brought the car in to the mechanic. Not that she minded someone else picking up the tab. Still, she didn't want anyone thinking that she owed them because of it. After all, they were the ones who shot at her. But these things get twisted around sometimes, when money is on the line.

About half an hour on the road, Shauna got a phone call. The deal was off. They had some situation they couldn't resolve at the corporation. Now, instead of going to use her words to make people feel better about certain products she could care less about, it was postponed. Perhaps indefinitely. Which was fine with her. It actually bothered her to use her ability to create emotions by speaking to lure people into to buy something they might not otherwise. Because eventually, they got back to normal, and if they didn't like the coffee or the detergent they were buying in the first place, it's not like she could make them permanently love it.

So she stopped, and called back to Tarmo and the others at the Center to let them know that her side gig had fallen through and she was back in the midst of things. News had come though. Seemed Mr. Tristan and the sometimes friendly governmental agents at MISC now wanted the Center to help them handle a safe haven for criminal and not-so-criminal mutants. Shauna wondered how this was going to go down. The MISC boys had different goals than the Center had. Like these architectural designs they sent so as to keep various mutants they captured in prison. Yeah, as if that was what the Center wanted. She had imagined trying to help reform these mutants so they wouldn't have to be locked up in laboratories.

Tarmo told her the address of this place, and Shauna wrote it down on a spare napkin she had in the car from some time back. She told Tarmo she was on her way. Typing the address into her phone, Shauna saw that it was going to be about another 15 miles or so. Well, she'd arrive when she arrived. Hopefully, there wouldn't be a firefight already happening when she got there.

[NewLakotah]

Kw'eh T'soh Dai/Keith Dai (Red Wolf)
Mutant Safe House

Kw'eh smiled. This seemed like a mission more up his alley. Something that fitted his skill set much more than before. He moved out quickly, grabbing his gear along the way. He picked up an M-4 assault rifle, to go along with his own Colt .45 and tomahawk, as well as a ballistic vest and several magazines and a few flashbangs, a smoke grenade and a few regular hand grenades for the road. He was dressed in his black paramilitary fatigues, similar to a few of the other agents, making sure to grab a helmet along the way out. Beforehand he had decided to grab his old skull balaclava from his days running with Delta. He had used that quite often to ensure that his identity wasn't disclosed, as well as an intimidation. He pulled it down over his face, sliding the helmet overtop, then moved out to the SUV. Ready for whatever was about to happen. Kw'eh hops into the back of the SUV, next to a few other similarly geared MISC agents as the car pulled out.

The ride wasn't terribly long, nothing to really deepen the stress for Kw'eh. He had done enough Direct Action missions in his life for this to be second nature for him entirely. However, there was something a lot different about this one than ones he had done before. This would be against other mutants, with powers and abilities that far outweighed his, as well as not knowing anything about their abilities. Speed and surprise would be key, that he knew for sure. As they pulled up, Tristan motioned to a mutant on the street. Apparently he was apart of the gang, and had fast reflexes. At least it wasn't something far more intense than that. That was definitely manageable. Giovanni stepped up first, saying he would move in with stealth.

Kw'eh nods at him. "Alright, sounds good, Giovanni, how about this. You get setup, I'll move in along the far flank, staying undercover, on your go, I'll surprise him from the rear, get him from both sides. Then push straight into the building as quickly as possible. Good?"

He hops out of the car, shoving a 30 round magazine into his M4, and charging it. All set. His Peacemaker was already loaded as he darted quickly around to the side, maneuvering out of sight of the lookout mutant, then stopping waiting for Tristan and the rest of the MISC agents and Giovanni to get themselves into position as well.

[Zjaum]

Tristan saw the rest of his squad make plans. He knew that they could be equally as adept as he was at battle plans, so he listened in the back and instead turned his attention towards the heat map of the house. Lyle peered over the monitor directly behind him. Usually he preferred to see his targets beforehand, but he'd make do with what he had at his disposal.

Suddenly the heat map started getting blurry. A fight seemed to be breaking out inside the house's den area. That couldn't be one of his, right? It was too late to stop him in that specific room, but hopefully no one in the rest of the house would hear. That possibility was doubtful at best; even the best silencers made some noise, and that's if he brought a silencer.

He took a head count of the group. One was missing. He contacted the nearest MISC agent. "Do you know if anyone left the group as we got out?"

"Yeah, I think so. Called himself 'Ace.'"

Tristan paused. Few people were tacky enough to call themselves "Ace," and that name sounded familiar... OH FUCK.

He called on his radio, watching five bodies on the heat map slump to the floor. He repeated his order in an excited whisper. "Ace, don't you dare leave that room! Do you want to break our cover this early?! Just... just wait there. We're coming to get you; I'll tell you when to leave that room and head to the next." He quietly muttered to himself how many innocents might have been killed at that point.

Regardless, it was officially "Go" time. He motioned to Giovanni, Keith, and the other officers around him to begin, all the while addressing Lyle. "I don't know if you can, but could you cover for Ace? If any mutant heard him, this will get messy real fast."

Lyle, looking a little insulted, took a good long look at the screen. One of the bodies heading towards the door stopped, abruptly turned around, and headed towards the restroom. Another body was about to enter. Lyle took a deep breath. The second heat body stopped, turned around, and went upstairs to join with the other heat bodies upstairs.

Tristan was impressed. "I didn't know you could switch that easily, let alone block out recent events."

Neither could he. He groaned from a massive headache. "I'm going to be out of it for a minute." He stated. He turned to Tristan. "Never doubt me again."


Pastor Eric was in the middle of a game of catchphrase with what mutants were willing to play. He'd announced today as a day or rest the night before, since most of them had things to do on Sunday. Most of them agreed to take the day off; relaxation from such stressful work was desirable, if not necessary. He thought he heard something downstairs amidst all the talk and shouting from the upstairs game, but it was probably just the video games they were playing downstairs. Besides, he had the patrol out front. He sighed; he was getting far too paranoid for this line of work. But, it was God's work he was doing, and he'd continue to do it until God took him home.

[Anxiety Cafe]

Before Jacob could have any chance to initiate conversation, he heard Tristan panicking, which was definitely not good. Something about one of the mutants going rogue, starting before everyone else. Whatever had happened, though, Tristan made it clear it was time for them to start moving in.

"I'll try to get the Pastor out safely," Jacob whispered, almost timidly in the face of the threat in front of them. He couldn't possibly know whether a mutant was a criminal or not, especially in the rush of battle. He just had to stun, not maim, and hope for the best. He jumped up into a streetlight, moving underground through a labyrinth of wires. At least it meant he was getting closer to the bundle of electricity in the house, which he was aiming for anyway. It took him a couple tries, as he shockported into several unoccupied rooms and even more occupied ones, hoping he got away quick enough to avoid their main ally: surprise.

He wasn't exactly supportive of taking away a mutant sanctuary's leader, but it was all they could do. The crime that started here could endanger many more lives, beyond the mutants, and he wasn't going to allow that to happen if he could help it. Finally, he got into what seemed like the right room. An older man, whose picture he recognized from the earlier briefing, seemed to be involved in a game with a couple other mutants, his back turned to Jacob. The mutants in the room reacted quickly, and he felt his whole world come crashing down as he stared into the eyes of one mutant. What was he doing there? Who was he? Who were these people?

A sudden sound distracted him from her eyes; the pastor's voice.

"Who are you?"

Jacob barely had time to get over his confusion as words stumbled out. "My brother, I heard this is a sanctuary. He-he was hurt, outside. Please, you have to help me!"

The Pastor looked him over for a moment, a hint of sympathy amid the outright suspicion and paranoia. He wouldn't be able to convince him. Jacob stared at the other mutants, gauging their threat levels. Only four other ones, and they were all staring at him. He held his hands up to mimic surrender, then shot bolts of electricity at the confusion girl and another mutant. He took aim at the other two, only able to bring one down as the other held up his arms in an "x", somehow blocking his bolts. It seemed to take a lot out of him, however, and Jacob kept his bolts on him.

"Come...come on. I'm trying to protect you!"

He grabbed the pastor and stared regretfully at the unconscious bodies on the floor, somewhat grateful that they didn't make much noise. He looked at the other mutant, who somehow still have had his force field up, this time with only one hand. One of the other mutants had begun to get up, behind the force field. Not good. He only took a moment to get his bearings before looking Jacob straight in the eye and opening his mouth to scream. What came out of his mouth was so loud and powerful, however, that it could barely be categorized as a scream. Jacob felt a drop of blood escape his ear and worried about permanent hearing damage before stumbling down the stairs, the pastor in tow. He tripped him, and Jacob fell down the stairs and hit his head on the floor.

"Please...you have criminals here, I'm-I'm trying to p-p-protect you," he shouted, although it was barely a whisper as he faded in and out of consciousness. If you guys are coming, now's the time, he thought hoping the mutant, Lyle, would be able to hear him.

The triplets' escape from the government organization happened without a hitch, although it probably would've raised more alarms if the black SUV hadn't started already leaving. for some other fight. Sean wasn't sure he wanted any part of it, but he also worried about how much protection and hope they could provide if they were helping.

No, he thought. There are already plenty of mutants out there helping.

But still, his worries continued all throughout the car ride north, the others more interested in sleeping, or the landscape. Sean also knew, however, how much fun their powers could actually be, if they used them right. And that did NOT include fighting off criminals, especially in a dangerous situation when they could get hurt. He wasn't sure how exactly he felt about their powers, but he wanted to make a name out of them, and the best way to do that was to help the government. After all, who wouldn't want to be a hero?

But there was no way he could convince Laura. She was dead set on them hiding, not using their abilities. It seemed almost as if she hated having them. He couldn't blame her though. Most of her life she always did her best to feel and to be "normal", and being a mutants wasn't exactly part of that. She didn't want to be a hero, she just wanted to live her life without risking it constantly.

[Talchyon]

The Mutant Safe-Haven
Shauna Marks (aka "Lady Lang")

As soon as she turned the corner for the street, Shauna knew it was a disaster in progress. "Great. Just... great." Her fears were being realized. The Kevlar-crew from MISC had parked their cars all in assault formation, as if they were police officers blocking off terrorists. Other cars were parked there, too, but regularly, as if they were just ordinary citizens. She recognized some from her colleagues at the Center. But the closer she drove up, she could make out a rather pissed off looking Tristan barking out orders. Tarmo was there, nodding in agreement at whatever Mr. Tristan was saying. She thought she saw Jacob for a moment, before he disappeared in a blip of electrical light. Others from MISC were in tactical formation, weapons drawn, with - was that Keith? - looking like he was going to crash in.

Why was it that these guys couldn't just talk out any problems they had? Why did they have to jump into starting a fight - and not even knowing who was innocent or not? It was definitely a disaster. An E-5 tornado would have been easier to handle.

Shauna parked a convenient distance away, knowing all too well how interactions with the MISC company also usually brought along visits to the mechanic afterwards. She got out that outfit she had gotten, and had been keeping in the car. A nice dark metallic kind of green, that also didn't make her look too fat. "Dark colors always hides fat well," she thought. Pulling the similar-colored green mask over her eyes, she wished she had a mirror. But it would have to do for now. "Ok, Shauna. Concentrate. Innocent lives are in danger," thinking to herself as she crossed the block or so to the MISC geeks and those on her team, the Center.

As she approached Tarmo, he told her in his broken English what he knew. At least one mutant (one of theirs?) had entered the building, armed. And there had been commotion in the house since. Likewise, Jacob had zapped himself in as well. All of which made Shauna quite angry. Could they have picked a more hostile way to handle this situation? Maybe next time they should just drop a bomb on some mutant safehaven. Who cares about innocents? Now, it was certain that they were not going to be able to help any of the innocent mutants. They'd all be on the defensive, and for good reason. She could just imagine what might happen if MISC did this to her house. And if the Center idly stood by and helped them.

Ducking behind the barricaded cars, so as hopefully to not draw any incoming fire her way, Shauna made her way towards Tristan. He better be ready for an earful. "What the hell are you guys doing? I thought there were innocent mutants in there! And at least one civilian! Is this how you handle things, just begin with heavy assault weapons and then maybe move on to more powerful means after that fails?!"

Just then, a loud scream shot out from the house. Covering her ears, Shauna crouched down as the deafening sonic blast shrilled. Great. Either the first guy or Jacob had made contact. They were all screwed. What chance would there be for any of these mutants to live? The house was a deathtrap, and Shauna was going to stay out, hopefully where it was safe.

An idea came to her. Whispering with her ability to make people say things they weren't planning on saying, she had him say, "Somebody. You. Get Shauna the phone number for the house. And the cell phone number for the pastor. Oh! Also get her a megaphone! I said move!" And the agent in question rushed off to speak to the agents in the armored van who had their computer up and running.

While she couldn't survive going into this house - and hoped those who dared to enter would survive - she could still put her powers to use with these phone numbers. She always had a way with words...

[Clashus]

"Ace, don't you dare leave that room! Do you want to break our cover this early?! Just... just wait there. We're coming to get you; I'll tell you when to leave that room and head to the next." Thank god Tristan rang just in time before Ace began his slaughter. After, all he had no way of telling who were peaceful mutants and who were not. Ace took the time to reload all his weapons and to turn on his phone sapping 50% of the charge.

He scattered his excess energy throughout the rooms of the house, locating Mutant heat signatures and sounds. It seemed as if someone had stumbled into a room filled with Mutants (definitely not MISC's) and was discharging electricity - definitely one of Tristan's. Ace's mind was racing, should he assist the electrical firework or should he just wait for Tristan's call. Thank god, he left his phone with some charge.