Gods Among Us (IC|Superhero|Open)

[Union Princes]

Holiday

---

Today was a productive day for Maria as evident of her bloodied weapon hanging off her shoulder as she got out of the car. Her adoptive father made sure that the few days Maria spent with him were nothing but activities. When she wasn't donating blood, she had to assist in his office and whenever she wasn't stationed in her adoptive father's office, she was tasked to treat his patients at his hospital. She had to do some surgery, some dissections, and take part in her father's extracurricular activities.

The blondie waved goodbye to the driver that dropped her off before she closed the door and watched him exited the area. Under the bright sun, Maria looked like she came out of the American Psycho. She didn't bother to clean up since she was under the impression that she was late to the gathering. Noticing how many vehicles are in the parking lot, her fears might be true. Carrying her bag of equipment and lugging her cooler of blood jars, Maria marched right into the gym. A bit of her sweat was mixed in the blood dripping off the strands of her hair as she navigated through the parking lot to reach the main entrance.

"Hi, everyone!" Maria cheered as soon as she saw them in the assembly hall. "Hope I'm not late. My father wanted my expertise in extracting information from a confidant." Unwittingly, she failed to realize how terrifying she must have looked to her compatriots. The blood that stained her clothes and face didn't belong to her. Her weapon was a bone saw the size of a bush trimmer hanging off of her shoulder shows signs of recent use as brain matter and bone shards remain stuck between its teeth. Even her bag and cooler look suspicious by the bloody fingerprints decorating the metal buckle and handle.

Maria smiled brightly when she saw Hans in his seat although the moment was fragile when she spotted him chatting with Emma. Spotting an empty chair near his position, she blitzed her way to claim it. Casting her weapon down at her feet after placing her bag and cooler nearby, the blondie grinned mischievously at the boy. "Excited for the training? I know I am."

[Segral]

Emma Davis

It happened in a second. Less than that, a fraction of one, a split second. In one moment, Hans was floating in heaven, and in the next, he looked like he had seen hell, and was lunging right towards Emma's face, his hands flying from his sides as if to suddenly strike her. She flinched, turning her head away and throwing her arms up in expectation for something to strike her face, or seize her by the throat, or grab her by the hair. But as the long, agonizing seconds passed by, she felt nothing. Not a single finger on her face, throat, or hair. Trembling, she dared to take a look back at Hans, and was met with his hands right in front of her face, one pointed towards her chin, the other towards her forehead, fingertips quivering just an inch away from her skin. No, less than an inch. A hair away from her skin. And then, just as quickly as they had lunged forward, the hands fell back down into Hans' lap, his face turning crimson red as he began to stutter and cough out a string of apologies and explanations. No amount of them were enough to distract her from her mounting confusion.

Hans wasn't just acting peculiar, he was acting downright strange. Emma had been through her fair share of those stupid "made-you-flinch" pranks that seemed right up Hans' alley, but this was...different. She had seen him cheery, enthusiastic, bubbling with energy. She had seen him frowning and disappointed. She had never seen him glum and downtrodden like this, looking as if he was going to burst into waterworks at any moment. Granted, Emma had only known the guy for a grand total of four days, but he had been ecstatic for 99% of those four days, which only made this 1% even stranger. The only thing more perplexing was his vague, beat-around-the-bush explanation, something about not learning in the traditional way, and certain unconscious skills, and how she could of ended up...dead?

That's when the realization hit her, a cold icy splash that sent a deep shiver through her spine and made the hair on the back of her neck stand up.

Her neck.

He had been going for her neck.

Her face hardened at that thought, grimacing as her hand reflexively moved up to her throat, tugging at the black leather choker that now felt a little too tight for its own good. Whether he had been attempting to throw her into a chokehold or snap her neck right then and there was a mystery to her, but either way, it was a little jarring to know that she had come that close to...well, whatever fate that would have befallen her, had Hans kept going for another half a second. It was terrifying, and it made her want to tremble again. Hell, it did make her tremble again, her hand beginning to shake slightly. She was scared, and admittedly, she was a little angry, a little angry at Hans for nearly killing her over a small scare.

But, maybe it wasn't his fault. Whatever "learning" he had been subjected to clearly wasn't the traditional K-12, and given how vague he was about it, it was probably something he'd rather not bring up or even think about. So, she didn't push him for answers, and instead, softened her face slightly, laying a hand on his shoulder with a hint of gingerness and rubbing it back and forth slightly in an attempt to comfort him as he twiddled his thumbs. She didn't want to say anything and risk spooking him again (because who knew if she would survive a second rodeo), but the silence was a long, awkward one, with a forlorn Hans shifting his thumbs back and forth while Emma continued to pat his shoulder, trying to let him know that the apology was accepted without saying anything at all.

Luckily, he magically perked up a few seconds later, the signature smile returning to his face as he pointed to the backpack at his feet, which, quite frankly, was massive, practically bursting at the seams. Maybe the non-verbal message had gotten through loud and clear. Or maybe it was just Hans being Hans. Either way, it was nice to see cheery, enthusiastic, bubbling-with-energy Hans again, even if the transition was jarring enough to make her blink a few times as she attempted to process the sudden change in tone and topic.

And soon, she was blinking even harder.

From the minute she had started handing out her own blood as party favors at the bowling alley, she had known that this Maria girl was a little...nutty. Not any nuttier than some of the more eccentric members of TIAMA she had met, but still, nutty nonetheless. From this minute onward, her classification in Emma's mind had shifted from "nutty" to "complete psycho". The cheery blonde practically leapt into the seat on the other side of Hans, and as she did so, provided a sight that made her do a double take, blink several times, and when that still hadn't cleared her vision, rub her eyes so aggressively that her contact lens nearly popped out. Yet no matter how many times she blinked and rubbed, the mirage wouldn't clear.

She wasn't serious, was she?

Unless it was some very convincing face-paint, the red stains that clung all over Maria's face and clothes likely belonged to blood. Unless her bag was following some new chic fashion trend, those dots all over the handle of her bag and cooler likely belonged to bloody fingerprints. And unless that was some very, very convincing fake prop decoration, the massive saw strapped to her back was likely coated in what looked like bone shards, and maybe the occasional chunk of...something slimy and gory and weird that forced Emma to grit her teeth to avoid retching. And the smell. She could smell the blood wafting off of her, and the smell of something else...dead bodies. Antispetic. The aroma was so horrifying that she nearly let a gag slip, managing to pass it off as a cough into her sleeve.

Before she could even open her mouth in even an attempt at a polite greeting, Maria was off to the races on Hans, asking him about training as if Emma was invisible, or not there at all. Rude. She could clearly see her, it's not like she had gone anywhere. Or maybe she was just that eager to talk to Hans. Either way, she'd make her presence known.

"Ugh, the training's gonna be brutal." Emma replied to Maria, a look of genuine contempt shadowing her face at the thought of what was to come. "It's going to be nothing but a bunch of close-quarters combat-type stuff, meaning that half of us are going to get our asses knocked flat. Including me." she said dryly, prying her hand away from Hans' shoulder and using it to rub her temples. Sure, it hadn't been officially announced yet, but after two cases of gross misconduct by TIAMA heroes in the past week, mandatory training was likely going to be in her near future, and she was...not looking forward to it. Knowing how the organization rolled, it would be a whole lot of CQC and not much left for anything else, which didn't exactly mesh well with her skill set. She was never meant to be a front-line soldier, she belonged to the reserve trenches, where she could play support. Hopefully, the big shots that were running this operation would show some mercy. If they didn't, she had a feeling that there would be a startling number of heroes out-of-action in the upcoming days.

---

Miguel Castro
The Bronx

A perfect crime was like a cocktail; there was a delicate, fine mix of ingredients, and all needed to be blended with an experienced eye, mind, and hand in order to bring the best out of every component, and create the perfect drink. In that regard, it was more like the perfect cup of coffee, a classic Italian caffé. 90% of it was water, with just 10% left over for the beans, or perhaps the liquor, the Irish cream if you were a true degenerate. In a crime, the water was preparation, planning, hours upon days upon weeks upon months upon years of poring over the finest details, like an 85-year old man sweating under the hot sun, breaking his back to trudge without a cane to the nearby stream to collect the finest, purest spring water. Miguel was an artistic individual, a romantic, one of passion and honor who possessed a deep love for the finer things in life, but when crime came knocking at his door, he was a scientist, a precise, cold, ruthless one who stressed every molecule, every millimetre, every last observation in his mental chart. He did not have years in this instance, just three days, but that was acceptable, because this was a low-risk experiment.

The area in question was a dilapidated, gray shell of what had once been a fine warehouse. Industrial architecture was a lost art, destroyed by humanity's pursuit of commercialism, utopia, and entropy. Cars seldom passed, and pedestrians were even rarer. What the site did have in abundance was power lines, strung in thick, endless canopies from the tall, trunk-like poles driven into the ground. A complicated web that left this sad, pathetic block in an odd conundrum; it was elegantly linked to every major section of New York City through its power lines, its sewage pipes, but remained horribly isolated, forgotten amidst the glitz and glamour of Manhattan, the paramour of Queens, and so many others. It was precisely why he had chosen this place; it sat at the Northern tip of the Bronx, as far away as possible from TIAMA's Training Facility in Staten Island, where hundreds of TIAMA East North America's finest heroes would be gathered. It would be a shame if havoc was caused, forcing precious resources to be spread thin across New York City.

Why did he commit to such low levels of petty chaos and disruption? The financial incentives were solid, and the plan was simple: a little bit of chaos, a little bit of pandemonium, but one that remained in control. A civilian life could not be put in danger, such a foolhardy mistake would bring the full forces of the East Coast down upon his precious head and shoulders. No, just a temporary disruption, a distraction. He was nothing but a diversion, a mere illusion of danger, a minor pawn in a greater game of chess. Admittedly, it wounded his pride, placed an arrow in his rocky heel. Surely, he was above such a low role, such a personality as a low-level crook? Did his dignity not require more? He was forced to convince himself otherwise; in chess, the pawn was numerous, but never weak. It could set the perfect trap to slay a rook, stop another piece dead in its tracks, bring a queen back to life. Its sacrifice, its mortal duty, played a role, and Miguel was being offered more than just honor. His poverty consented, even if his will was reluctant.

It was always his tradition to pray before embarking on a quest of any kind, whether minuscule or gigantic. Faith was a powerful thing, and if he was truly God's child, then the Father would show guidance, protection, and love. Perhaps it was just a ritual habit; theology had always fascinated him, even as a boy. Isabel had introduced it to him, bringing him Bibles and Qu'rans when his picture books had run dry. He loved all Gods, loved all religions, loved the naivety, the purity, the surrender of control to the higher power. It was never one God he prayed to; he prayed to every one, slipping from mangled Arabic to English to mangled Sanskrit, facing Mecca and crying "Amen". Today, he was sitting cross-legged on the warehouse floor, surrounded by rusty shelves and an overturned forklift as a deep "Om" reverberated in his chest for his third prayer of the day. He would pray twice more when this bizarre play had completed curtain call. He could feel peace within his heart and mind, every last bit of tightness slipping from his muscles and into the air around him. His feet, legs, chest, back, arms, shoulders, throat, jaw, eyes. Each one relaxed. He could feel the air next to his body, feel the rough textures underneath him. Serenity. Quiet. Peace.

Amen.

The street had been mirroring his calm tranquility, but that would soon be disrupted by the sound of two aged double-doors being violently torn off their hinges and sent skidding into the street with a massive screech of protest, sparks trailing as the padlock-binded chains trailed across the asphalt. If the deafest men did not know of his plans, they would know soon enough, as Miguel let out an earth-shaking growl that soon formed into an earth-splitting roar, beating his chest like some primitive goon as he trudged down the warehouse's steps, bearing down on the door he had just cast into the street. The smell was strong; the smell of old metal, of torn concrete, of bloody sweat and hopeless tears. He swiped down, catching the chains that so precariously held the door together by the tips of his claws and sliding them into his palms. The perfect double-headed mace, the strongest of bolas. He swung the doors high above his head like the protagonist spinning his lasso in a Spaghetti Western, turning back around to face the gaping, slack-jawed factory entrance. That ugly, loose mouth would soon be smashed clean open.

His height granted him the gift of long stride, bringing him close to the doors he had so magnificently burst from. It was a grand entrance, and his sensitive ears could already pick up shouts, curses, and the heavy footfalls of fleeing pedestrians. None would be in harm's way of course, aside from the stupid and the suicidal. Even the latter two would run soon enough, as Miguel heavily swung the rusted doors to the general right of their original placing, smiling with satisfaction as he felt the doors crash through layers of brick and glass window. The sheer force of the impact was enough to capsize half of the second floor by the sound of it, and reduce the doors to nothing but twisted scrap, which he contemptuously threw aside. He would not need it, he had other tools at his disposal.

He could smell the electric pole too; woody, with a slight tang. This maneuver would be much more difficult; executed correctly, and it would be the perfect chaos, a massive pole smashing through an abandoned warehouse, and blackouts all around. Executed poorly, and he would be snagged by the wire's deadly embrace, forced into slow, painful injury, if not outright death. He shifted his weight to face east, where the breeze pushed the pole's wafting scent. His sensitive ears were still ringing from the smashes, the crashes, the destruction that he had brought upon the wall, but sensitive ears be damned! He needed to concentrate, because in this circumstance, the price of failure was unknown, and likely steeper than the windwards of a Himalayan valley.

His tail began to tense against the ground, folding over and coiling into a wiry, bouncing spring. The hindlegs matched the movement, while the forearms and head went in the opposite direction, tucking into his familiar shell. Layers of cartilage began to slowly peel over his giant frame as he curled into an awkward crouch, one that most likely looked ridiculous to any Philistine passerby who lacked the brain folds to flee the obvious signs of danger. Better to move soon; the lure could hook its prey in an exceptionally short amount of time.

With a grunt, he tucked his entire body into the shell with the exception of his right hindleg and tail. The leg skimmed the ground slightly, giving him direction, while the tail snapped hard against the ground, giving him push. He was rolling in blind, dark circles, the sound of his own heartbeat clammy and damp in his ears. He could not afford to miss, not by an inch, and luckily, he would not pay. He felt his rolling shell strike the pole at the perfect angle, cracking and fracturing the wooden surface and bouncing into the middle of the street into a clean, free tumble. He rocked from side to side as the force of the pole pushed him away from the danger of its electric threads, flipping out of his shell and coming to a dead stop on all fours. It only a brief pause, one made with the intention of savoring the fruits of his labor.

Fruits they were indeed, for the sweet sound of the pole snapping and tipping over, followed by the sounds of crushing brick as the pole collapsed headlong into the wall of the warehouse. The wires up above were snapping loose and trailing thin, electricity sparking in the air as their loose ends began to drag across the street, far away from his own body, of course. He could catch their plastic scent, and they wouldn't even dare to give him the slightest of pokes, the quietest of fingerpricks. He was safe, and his first target had been destroyed. Chaos and noise had been created. People would be screaming, sprinting, the lights in their brownstones flickering out as their power lines came down. The public had seen his face, and TIAMA would soon be flying and sprinting and swimming to this gray, poverty-stricken block, for the first time since the community's elders were swaddling young teat-suckers.

Yet despite this small victory, this gold coin in the treasury, there was still more to do, rubies and silver and precious suits of armor to add. He needed to keep moving, create a futile hunt for a rookie pawn, and leave the unknown knights and bishops to complete their duties. There were more poles to bring down, and many a warehouse to smash. His work was not done, he concluded, as he once again tucked himself into his familiar shell and began rolling blindly down the street, tearing gravel and eliciting painful screams as he cast out his senses for the next wooden pole. For he was Miguel Castro, the feared Armadillo, and whoever feebly stood within his path would come to understand that simple fact in due time.

[Remnants of Exilvania]

New York City
Staten Island Training Facility
Hans

Hans had been very happy about Emma seemingly having gotten over hear near death experience so well. Others had been a lot less lenient in that regard, beating him, shouting at him or doing other awful things, generally avoiding him later and he really didn't want that to happen again. He wanted to be friends with everyone instead as that generally felt much better than scathing dislike or a fist in his face. Surely just forgetting about the whole unfortunate incident and continuing as if nothing had happened inbetween her question and him answering it was the right way to go!

At first he wondered why Emma was blinking so often. Then he noticed that she wasn't blinking because of him but because of something past him. And curious as he was he of course looked and was met with what most would describe as a morbid sight.

It was Maria, their local deranged german medic, looking just the part of the crazed doctor. Bloodstained as all hell, a bonesaw at her feet and with bits and pieces hanging in there which Hans easily identified as brain matter and bone shards. An equally blood-stained bag and a cooler were also placed next to her on the ground. Given past observations in the Lucky Strike, Hans could alredy guess what that cooler held. Likely more jars of her own blood and, he shuddered, syringes full of it.

But Hans wouldn't be Hans if he wasn't already used to that sight. The people at that place had always looked like that and parts of people not being where they belonged was something Hans had grown up with. That aside, he completely missed the point and assumed she had been working in the funeral business and there were probably some cool funeral styles like...uh...Pharao Style that could get you buried with all your organs neatly placed in some urns. The information extraction was likely just about how the confidant wanted their relative's corpse to look.

"So your father owns a morgue? It's really cool and good of you to help him out there when he needs a hand! You should've probably changed your clothes first though. I can tell you, people don't like to see other people covered in blood. They get all the wrong ideas."

He cast a worried glance at Emma as she coughed yet her facade held and he didn't see anything to be worried about. Maybe he was wrong on that then. It was not like he had been blood covered or had seen blood covered people and the reaction of others too often. Perhaps it was just a few people who really didn't like that and it was normally completely fine.

So now Maria mentioned something else, grinning at him like a child and he decided to grin back the same way as he progressed the information. Training? He knew this was a training area but he didn't know they were here for training. He had assumed they were simply here because of massive amount of people who had been brought in. Though he'd happily take any training he could get...atleast if there was no risk to other people involved. And it sounded great that Maria was quite excited for it. Her excitement seemed to be quite contagious as Hans too wondered what interesting things they could learn.

Though it seemed as though Emma was far from as excited as Maria and Hans were now. Hans could recognize it in her voice, not to say the contempt within her face. She really didn't seem to look forward to it and in a way Hans could understand it. It was no fun to get wasted by others over and over again...well...unless you were doing it on purpose of course. But even then, it seemed like Emma was really distraught about it and Hans felt like he needed to cheer her up somehow so he took her hand and said somberly:

"We'll see about that. And see, even if the first time it will be brutal, you will have learned something for the next time! And eventually you will be knocking my behind flat!"

He quieted for a moment before saying:

"...well, perhaps better not mine. I'd rather avoid unforeseenaccidents."

[Cybernetic Socialist Republics]

Ophiuchia, 2000 Feet over the Staten Island TIAMA Training Facility, before 10:00 AM

While Aethelind studied the cars entering the parking lot and the heroes entering the facility, the A.I. also kept track, as she normally did, of key words on social media, pertaining to local mentions of metas and potential meta villain attacks, lo and behold, she had ended up discovering something interesting

"Getting reports of something interesting you'd want to hear about." Aethelind began

"What?" inquired Ophiuchia

"Social media reports of a metahuman wreaking havoc in the bronx, apparently he's also taken out power in the area." Aethelind continued, now streaming online posts and video footage of relevant to the ongoing attack to Ophiuchia's Augmented Reality Eye Contacts

"Exactly on the other side of the city, seems suspicious, as if they were trying to spread us thin. To what end though, the training facility is hornet’s nest, unless they got a full complement metahuman villains in the area, there's no way enough would be deployed elsewhere that you'd see enough heroes leave the Staten Island Training facility to be vulnerable.” decide Ophiuchia

"There only appears to be one, indeed, the most they could be doing is hoping to lure in a single hero who decides to peel off and engage them, on their own perhaps there are nearby in hiding waiting for such a predicament." Added Aethelind

"Exactly what i was thinking, that'd be the only rational plan. Even if the villain,on the ground wasn't thinking that far ahead, there is a decent chance that someone else would show up at the scene and use the opportunity to carry on as if that were the plan." Ophiuchia carried on, making sure to consider alternatives even if this wasn’t a deliberate trap set by the currently rampaging villain.

"Correct, I suppose that means we have something better to do than pretend to be still observing, since we've already got what we wanted, and it will cut down on the chaff we're throwing out in distraction while we search, providing you with a good excuse to stop now.” Said Aethelind, happy to not have to use more resources on information only being gathered as cover for what she was actually looking to track

"Exactly, my next course of action therefore, will be heading into that meeting, finding at least a few of those who were at the lucky strike with me as I know them, inform them of what was happening and move on from there." Determined Ophiuchia.

"Excellent plan, Jack and Maria should be easy to being over, Maria because she'll like to have a chance to 'harvest' and Jack because, well…" Said Aethelind, still teasing Ophiuchia over Jack, not because she felt Ophiuchia felt anyway particular about him, because constantly teasing Ophiuchia over one thing or another was just something the A.I. did

"You know something else, it also happens to give me an opportunity to help prove myself as a leader, so this is an excellent opportunity. We'll need to do a lot to get civilians out of harms way and aid those who are armed. In the meanwhile, keep digging in to any information you can about what’s going on at the bronx" Ophiuchia continued, keeping her focus on what actually mattered.

"That it is and that I shall do." answered Aethelind

Ophiuchia then began flying toward the ground to land and head on foot into the training facility to track down her comrades.

[Anowa]

Unlike a vast majority of people in the building, Gauss saw her friend coming. The normal human eye only 'ran' at 24 hertz, after that, the human eye stops noticing differences and starts seeing motion blurs. Other animals, like the Peregine Falcon could see at 129 Hz. Thanks to the superconducting fibers that made up her nerve cells at this point, Gauss could see at 143 Hz. So, while a normal human topped out at seeing 24 pictures a second before they became a blue, and the fastest animal species could see 129, Gauss saw 143. Couple this with her obscene reaction time, it meant she could dodge a 5.56x45mm SS109 round moving at muzzle velocity from about 9 meters distance. Or in this case, expect her buddy to come whipping it at a speed most aircraft had trouble attaining.

"So, how bad was this fuck-up exactly?" they asked, giving the electrical hero a cocksure grin as they draped their arm over the back of their friend's chair.

Gauss sighed, "From what I can garner, between 800k and about 2 million." a pause, "So, bad."

Her nose wrinkled, her mother was many things, a vampire among them. While it gave Gauss a pretty wicked allergy to garlic and a tongue twice the average length. It also had the unfortunate consequence of giving her a rather acute sense of smell. While not nearly to the degree her mother had, it was enough to pick up on individual people she knew and most specific things, like raspberries, alcohol... blood.

"S... Synapse. Please tell me that's not who I think it is?"

[Aserais]

Skye Cross, AKA Synapse

"Two million?! Jesus Christ, we're gonna have our pay docked for sure. Looks like it's nutrient bars for me for a while," Synapse grumbled as they looked towards the front of the room, where a few of TIAMA's leadership were gathered, including their cousin. Along with the head of HR and Mr. Herrman... which could not be good. The only time all three of them were in the same room was when there was some serious shit about to go down.

"S... Synapse. Please tell me that's not who I think it is?"

The speedster heard the disquiet in their friend's voice and turned to look at them, wondering what it was that she could be talking about, before they turned to see what it was that they were smelling, and--

Oh no.

That crazy chick from the Federal Reserve was sitting a few rows behind them, absolutely drenched in blood, gore, and various bits of viscera and talking to two other heroes like there wasn't anything wrong. Synapse's eyes widened at the sight, her jaw hanging open just slightly, before they turned back to face the front and scowled at the empty air.

"It's that chick from the fed--the one that tried to harvest the bad guy's organs. I still don't understand how in the world she got past the initial screening. She's crazier than a bag of wet cats," the hero muttered to their friend, knowing that Gauss could hear them.

"She's drenched in blood. That's gotta be enough for us to at least detain her, right?" they asked, turning to look at Hannah's armored form.

[Anowa]

"It's that chick from the fed--the one that tried to harvest the bad guy's organs. I still don't understand how in the world she got past the initial screening. She's crazier than a bag of wet cats," the hero muttered to their friend, knowing that Gauss could hear them.

"She's drenched in blood. That's gotta be enough for us to at least detain her, right?" they asked, turning to look at Hannah's armored form.

Gauss sighed, a small hiss emanating from her armor's helmet, the smell of blood being filtered out now, her voice took on a slightly tinny effect, "I would say yes, but Cromwell is un-fucking-phased, and technically it isn't a crime. For all we know, it's her blood and she was running late."

From the other side of Gauss, Mr. Meme spoke up, "Something else you gotta keep in mind, not everyone in TIAMA came from a good place, more than a few people here used to be criminals of some kind." he gestured across the room at what looked to be a werewolf, "Beowulf was arrested for warcrimes during the Yugoslav Wars." The skeletal man pointed at a wheelchair bound figure directly across, "Wheelman got a few people killed in a DUI, almost himself included." he srugged, "Pretty sure Digel was mafia, and Herrman was dishonorably discharged... for classified reasons apparently." leaning back in his chair, he continued toying with his GameBoy, "Besided, you're in a room of people willingly throwing themselves into potentially lethal situations, crazy is kind of the norm here."

Gauss spoke up, "That and the fact I don't want to cause a scene. Miss Bloodletter is doing enough on her own."

[Jerno]

John Farrow/Emma Greenwood

While John waited for the meeting to begin he decided to get some sleep. He vaguely noticed Maria, which he recognized from the federal reserve. He couldn’t remember if she was at the bowling center. She might’ve been there. John was simply to tired. John morphed once more, this time into a saw scaled viper. Now he could get a bit of sleep hopefully. From another persons point of view it was hard to tell if John was really sleeping. Emma in the meanwhile once she saw John morph she decided to leave him alone. She immediately recognized the kind of snake mainly because of how venomous the snake was. From what she could understand he was giving of two discreet messages. One Is not messing with him while he’s sleeping and not waking him up. That’s what she could deduce anyway. breath Emma breath it’s not gonna do anything.its just John. she quickly regained her composure and her breathing. She had been mortified for a span of almost a minute. John was some serious person. After her shock she just started to doze of as well, while thinking, I’m totally screwed for this training.

[Dyelli Beybi]

Imogen Vaughan, Kaleidoscope

Imogen was 50/50 about handing in her resignation after the fiasco at the bowling alley, but she responded to the request for people to come to the training facility anyway. She arrived on her Bonneville T100, parking it up with the other motorcycles before making her way inside.

She wasn't sure what this was about, though she guessed it was to be barked at by the TIAMA equivalent of Gunnery Sergeant Hartman for something to do with what had gone on at the bowling alley; either the fact that they're done huge amounts of collateral damage or the fact they hadn't taken the target down fast enough. It seemed to her that in situations where a scalpel was appropriate, most of TIAMA preferred to take on the role of an oversized comedy hammer.

She did a quick sweep of the room when she entered, frowning with displeasure at the woman covered in gore. She wasn't sure that one wasn't doing them any favours in trying to build a positive public image. She didn't immediately see any of the mages she'd been speaking to at the bowling alley so she slipped into a seat at the back, as far away from the bloodied woman as she could get. She folded her arms, slouched down in her seat and waited for the fun to begin. She could always hand her resignation in after this, if she still wanted to.

[Kingdom of Irhk]

William Brookes

Failure. Disaster. Catastrophe. Misfortune.

Many definitions could be given by Cambridge to the jobs he participated on - and even if he didn't cast a spell, he knew he was implied - in the past days, but failures didn't worry him that much. At the very least, not when a small detail grew inside his head constantly. Regeneration? He saw it other times, be it magical or not. People with wings? At least she wasn't an angel. Gun fights? That doesn't even need to be mentioned anymore.

However, few times across his career he met this particular type of situation where something so small bothered him deeply. No one from TIAMA gave him an explanation regarding the frozen soldier, and these displays had a way of fixating themselves inside William's mind. The reason was simpler than most people thought. As a deadly, somewhat boring human, too much power in wrong hands often meant he wasn't going to have a second chance to get back and correct a deadly mistake. Knowledge was his preferred tool.

Lost in his own investigation once again, his phone vibrated: a message informing him that a meeting called up by TIAMA was happening in Staten Island and that he should make himself present grabbed all of his attention. Looking through his bag, another suit came up - as William often realized it was the quickest way to dignify himself when he was hungover - and he decided to go with a grey one, before picking up a cab and headed to the address.

Was the most obvious reason the actual reason? Or another problem appeared, making it a hat-trick that aptly displayed his lack of virtú? As the yellow car crossed the city towards the Island, Brookes tried to relax itself as the radio mentioned the destruction the city suffered through songs and songs. Always funny how serious topics seemed to match such irreverent lyrics.

Paying the driver and heading inside, Brookes took a seat near Imogen, the mage he knew from the alley as he scanned the room and tried to blend in alongside the very exquisite figures that populated it.

"Always a lovely time coming to these meetings..."

[Lessoni]

Jack Dredd

As Jack dozed, the neck pillow proving to come quite in handy (he briefly considered asking the man if he could keep it), he wished for a moment he'd brought a sleeping mask. It wasn't an ideal spot for sleep, but he liked knowing he would wake up with his possessions, a luxury he realized he would now have when he got back to the city. When he found someone who would rent to a 17 year old without a license... he decided to cross that bridge when he came to it, and in the moment relax.

Of course, his relaxation went out the window when Amalure walked in. He quickly sat up straight, pulling off the neck pillow and hurriedly shoving it back at Shadowshock. "Here, take it back I don't need it anymore," he rushed out as he rubbed sleep from his eyes.

As she walked closer, Jack raised a hand, slightly. "Hey, Amalure, over here!"

He internally cringed; how desperate that must've sounded.

[Cybernetic Socialist Republics]

As Ophiuchia walked towards her comrades, who she spotted in a group in the facility's gymnasium, where the meeting was being held, Jack raised his hand and called out to her.

"Well, I don't think he's gotten over it." Aethelind said to Ophiuchia through their mental interface, their conversation happening rapid pace, in a span of a couple seconds.

"Can you blame him?" Said Ophiuchia

"Well no, he doesn't know how much of a cold, cruel, manipulative person you are. He just sees a beautiful six and a half foot amazonian woman that gives him care and a lot of attention." Continued Aethelind

"You keep saying these things as if you didn't have a role raising me this way." Were this conversation happening at normal pace, Ophiuchia would roll her eyes.

"No, I simply described what you are and how he'd likely react to knowing that, I made no value judgements, in fact, I think it's a good that you're so cold, cruel and manipulative, leaves you unlikely to abandon the larger good for mere interpersonal feelings. if this behaviour isn't what I wanted,I wouldn't have raised you the way I did. So, how are you going to diffuse the curious fact that he's so excited to see you, without hurting his feelings. Assuming you don't want to do so, sometimes your blatant cruelty surprises even me."

Fnished Aethelind, in her sarcastic tone.

It was actually helpful that Blink had first called out to her, she had intended for him to be one of the first of the group that she broke the news of the attack to, but had some reservations regarding whether or not it'd look curious for her to start with him. After all, the last the lucky strike crew had seen them, Ophiuchia had been carrying off an unconscious Blink. Since Blink began, she'd had good reason to address him first, while subtly burying any implications from his enthusiasm under a more serious subject.


"Hey, Blink..." Ophiuchia began, hoping that he'd use her alias. On account of her being an exceptionally muscular near 7 foot woman, she didn't exactly blend into crowds all that well, so she learned to be secure nonetheless. Besides, she didn't exactly have that much in the way of a family to worry about putting in danger. Nonetheless, it was just good etiquette to use aliases

"I got reports that there's a villian metahuman wreaking havoc in the bronx, who seems to be shaped like a giant armadillo, making his way down the street, wrecking electric poles"' Ophiuchia pulled out from her belt basic video screen that Aethelind controlled and used to present the facts of a situation as she had researched them, and showed it to Blink as Ophiuchia spoke.

"It seems fishy that this is happening concurrent to this meeting, when there are masses of us here at the other side of town. I doubt the intent is to get us to empty out of here, as a distraction. On the contrary, I suspect the idea might be for us to treat it as so minor, that only only one or a few of us to head over into an ambush, so they may capture or kill one or some TIAMA heroes, demoralizing us on a day in which we're gathered together to discuss our already existing problems."

That last part occurred to Ophiuchia as she spoke, a disaster on a day when hundreds were gather to discuss two other disasters, could do a lot of damage to TIAMA.

"It's not that I want to skip out on this meeting, but the last thing we want to do right now is let a low income neighbourhood be victimized while we're over here having a chat. Though respecting the spirit of the content of what this chat is most certainly going to be dominated by, we should try not to do as much damage as the villian, or, if my ambush theory is correct, villians that we try to stop." Ophiuchia concluded.

"So Blink, are you in for helping me round up some more of our fellow heroes so we can head over to the bronx?"

[Lessoni]

"So Blink, are you in for helping me round up some more of our fellow heroes so we can head over to the bronx?"

Jack Dredd

Giant armadillo...? His enthusiasm at seeing her was quickly replaced with the queer mixture of nervousness and excitement that he always felt when a situation arose. This time, excitement almost overrode his nerves; after all, he would be riding along with the people who actually knew what they were doing. What could go wrong?

“Oh, jeez, that’s pretty uh, pretty not good. Yeah, we really should go deal with that, but... Yeah, yeah, let’s go do that thing you suggested.”

While he was running with the proverbial big dogs, he sincerely hoped it would only be the Armadillo dude; he hated the idea of taking on a whole group of metas.

[Sao Nova Europa]

Three men walked inside the local convenience store. Muscled, tattooed and wearing white shirts and dark jeans, they were smelling of smoke and alcohol. Walking to the counter, one of them suddenly pulled a gun and aimed it at the owner. "Bring me your cash!" he shouted. The owner, a bald mustached man in his late sixties, froze. His face had become ashen white and he was stammering, unable to find words to reply. The thief grew impatient and shoved the gun right in the man's face. "Do you hear me, or do you want me to shoot you right in your damn ugly, old face?". The old man could only nod.

"Hello there," a deep voice was heard. The three thieves turned around to see the Doctor approaching them, his dark plague-doctor uniform instilling fear and awe in them. The other two thieves had also pulled their guns, and now all three of them were aiming them at the Doctor.

"Who the hell are you?" one of them asked. "Go away freak, or we will shoot!"

The Doctor laughed, his laughter echoing across the store. "How amusing..."

The Doctor then suddenly ceased laughing. For a brief moment, an eerie silence followed. Behind his mask, the Doctor was concentrating; he had closed his eyes and was focusing his mind for the upcoming battle.

"Fine!" one of the thieves exclaimed. "Shoot at him!" he said to his buddies.

The three men were about to pull their triggers when all of the sudden, the Doctor waved his hand and unleashed an invincible energy wave at them. It swept them away like a hurricane, sending them crushing against the store's walls with a loud cracking noise; after the collision, all three of them collapsed onto the floor, unconscious. The three men having been neutralized, the Doctor quickly left behind the store.

'I still have an article to write for the magazine...' he thought as he made his way back home.

[HypErcApitAl]

George T.
Newmexico

He sighed, tiring of training and fighting his "War-on-Crime" in the ABQ or other parts of Newmexico. He, of course, hated cities and city life, but continued reading up on TIAMA reports and information about "Supes" or "Metas" on the News. A part of him wanted to enter the Concrete Jungle, but he shook in horror.

It wasn't that he had some sort of fear of skyscrapers or some nonsense; he just wanted to be away from Urban life and eke out a mostly-peaceful existence in the suburbs and countrysides of the desert US state. He thought about Nevada, and how he gambled away $130,000. Maybe even more. But that was enough for him to swear-off the vice of Gambling and even Las Vegas and Paradise, themselves.

"Paradise," even the name taunted him. "Pair-of-Dice." He silently screamed at the pun, but also remembered he was the very same guy who named himself after a scientific instrument (Grandulated Cylinder), but in the end, Volume was a much, much better name, and even fitted with his armor.

He looked like a black obelisk, when not absorbing whatever energies was near or tossed-at him. Absorption, he thought.

"If I hear of a man that made armor from a Gum or Jelly-like substance, then, I'll pay him."

"We need more bulletproof tech. Men and women are out here everyday, getting shot in the face, and the crotch, and..."

---

The labwork was fun to him. It was even funner being surrounded by other scientists. Other doctors. Chemistry was his bread-and-butter, and even armorbuilding, but he needed to return back to work. He studied the green liquid in the vial, and how it seemed to glow but also glow off-and-on, like a strobe light. Luckily, he practiced Lab Safety, amongst everything else he'd learned across his years of age.

He studied the green chemical, even mixing it with a few other liquids and even breaking it down to figure out how exactly it worked. He'd continue, repeating the processes and even giving it to his peers for them to test.

---

Giving to Charity, funding police departments, the works, Tennerman was a strong force, inside his suit-of-armor or not. Being a financier hit the books, but also felt good.

[Europa Undivided]

"So Blink, are you in for helping me round up some more of our fellow heroes so we can head over to the bronx?"

Jack Dredd

Giant armadillo...? His enthusiasm at seeing her was quickly replaced with the queer mixture of nervousness and excitement that he always felt when a situation arose. This time, excitement almost overrode his nerves; after all, he would be riding along with the people who actually knew what they were doing. What could go wrong?

“Oh, jeez, that’s pretty uh, pretty not good. Yeah, we really should go deal with that, but... Yeah, yeah, let’s go do that thing you suggested.”

While he was running with the proverbial big dogs, he sincerely hoped it would only be the Armadillo dude; he hated the idea of taking on a whole group of metas.

Shadowshock/Robert Massoud

"Looks like a diversion to me.", Robert quipped from behind the two of them. It seems like he had also caught wind of the Armadillo's attack in the Bronx, though he didn't have the sense of nervousness, nor did he look excited. In fact, it was apparent that he wasn't overly concerned with the rampaging of a random metahuman criminal. To top it off, there were no reported casualties in the Armadillo's wake of destruction; there was only quite a bit of property damage going on. Between saving lives and ensuring that some wealthy fat cat's fancy car remains unsoiled, Shadowshock known to disregard the latter if it meant fulfilling the former. Now that no one even got hurt, he didn't look like the part of a concerned individuals; it was just like he read the morning news.

"Well, if you are going for that shelled wheel spinner, count me in. We could always read the minutes of the meeting when we get back..."

As he finished speaking, a shadow would loom over the three of them and a pair of blue lights reflected off the screen of Ophiuchia's phone. A quick look over their heads would reveal someone in a suit of armor, astride on no less than four robotic appendages that sprouted from their back. The person had their arms crossed, and was apparently interested at the attack of the Armadillo.

When he spoke, his voice was like legion, but he was only one. "Well, well, will you look at that."

Shadowshock looked up as soon as the man in the suit said something, and immediately smiled at the sight. "Ah, look at who it is."

The robotic appendages quietly withdrew into the man's back as they lowered him to the floor, touching down with some force due to the armor's metallic composition. He didn't look that spectacular, what with being a diminutive 5 feet and 2 inches tall. However, he did wear a robe over his armor, which was saying something.

Shadowshock was quick to introduce the newcomer to the two. "Blink, Ophiuchia, this here is Hydra Imperator from Brooklyn. Hydra Imp for short.

The man shook his head, displeased at the nickname that he was given. "Just call me Jacques. Or Hydra. Either of those work. Looks like there is someone stirring up trouble in the Bronx, oui?"

[Lessoni]

The man shook his head, displeased at the nickname that he was given. "Just call me Jacques. Or Hydra. Either of those work. Looks like there is someone stirring up trouble in the Bronx, oui?"

Jack Dredd

As the man approached, borne on proverbial wings of what couldn't be steel, Jack's jaw dropped just a tad. For a moment, he simply appreciated the look of the legs. He hurriedly closed his mouth as the legs retracted, instead gawking, though now with mouth closed, at the man's suit, seeming especially to appreciate the man's mask. For a moment, any thoughts of Armadillo-taming went out of his head. When it came crashing back in, his nervousness was almost entirely tempered; if this guy was coming along, along with Shadowshock, Ophi, and himself? A four versus one would be a cinch, and even easier if anyone else came along. He considered skipping this one, considering he'd probably just end up getting in the way... but then realized he'd already agreed to go. No use looking like a coward.

"Holy hell that suit's cool. I'm J-"

Come on man, you pick a cool name and you can't even remember to use it?

"I'm Blink, I do tel-teleportation. Don't uh, don't know why I said that, I didn't really need to clarify right now, but- I'm rambling, I'm rambling. Sorry, just like your suit."

[Anowa]

The clock in the room ticked with a deep, resounding tone that indicated an hour had passed. In unison with the baritone tick, the lights dimmed, as a holographic projector sat on the table lit up, and Herrman spoke, "Right, so, 10 AM. Everyone who's not here isn't coming, as unfortunate as that is. I'm sure most of you have at least a small idea of why you're all here. There's actually a few reasons, the smallest of which is the recent financial hit we've taken." he hiked his thumb to the holographic projector, which flicked to a full display of a few photos of wrecked vehicles, a few pockmarks in buildings, and shell casings.

"Over the past month and a half give or take. We've had to pay out close to 20 million dollars in insurance payments, out of court settlements, and legal fees. We've had 7 lawsuits regarding personal health, only 2 of which were successful however, and we've nearly caused an international incident." the photo flicked to that of the Chinese consulate in Manhattan... coincidentally, right across the street from the Lucky Strike, with a window smashed out. "This is, somewhat interestingly, the best 45 day period we currently have on record. However, the main concern here is both the Federal Reserve which tanked us right before an incident at Lucky Strike Manhattan. These two incidents aren't exactly uncommon at the scale they are. The problem arises that they happened so close together. Thankfully, Doctor Cross and Epoch are covering the costs of such events, so our Division doesn't end up defunct. Feel free to thank him."

A pause as he picked up a stapled together sheet of papers, "Now... here comes the actual reason you're all here."

The holographic projector shifted to that of a 3D display of 6 individuals T-posed in a revolving circle, one of them, very obviously the bone encrusted man, Revenant, and 4 others no one had really seen before, "Cross."

The long coated man cleared his throat, southern drawl taking over from the veteran, "Right. Both TIAMA analysts, NYPD, and Epoch's security division beleive that the Federal Reserve heist, the incident at Lucky Strike, and a break in at White Mountain Research Center yesterday were connected beyond reasonable doubt."

"We believe that, for the first time since 2008, an organized syndicate of Meta-humans is active and acting in the continental United States." it was a rather haunting reveal. The last time something like this had snowballed, it culminated in Lady Liberty and Brooklyn Bridge being damaged to the point of closure, and the eventual retirement of Cabal after a death of one of their number.

"As of current, we know the identities of three of the six meta-humans involved with the Federal Reserve incident, and the associated attack on Indian Head." the 3D display faded out 5 of the figures, focusing on the bone encrusted man, "This, is Gunnery Sergeant Alexander Carmichael, designated; Osteo. United States Marine Corps, retired. Served in Vietnam from 1976 to 1975. Recipient of the Prisoner of War Medallion and Navy Cross. Declared missing presumed dead in 1976. We received intelligence upon his current appearance from a classified source, so don't bother asking. Incredible capacity for morphological changes." CCTV footage started playing, showing the initial attack on the Federal Reserve, namely the harpoons launched from his arm that shot quills all across Hell's half acre.

"Suspected mastermind behind the heist, considered armed and incredibly dangerous. The spines recovered from the Reserve were coated in a non-lethal neurotoxin that indices neuronal firing indicative of excruciating pain. In layman's terms, if you get poked with one of those quills, you'll end up wishing it killed you. he also has the capacity to wield and fire a PaK 40 anti tank gun through unknown means." Footage played of that beast of a man having transformed and fired the cannon. "Best advice is to avoid prolonged engagements as much as possible. We currently have no confirmed means of containment."

It flicked over to the heavily scarred man. A few gasps of surprise audible throughout the room, "James Washington, designated: Revenant. Formerly convicted of 1st degree murder and aggravated sexual assault. Sentenced to Death... twice, once in 2006, once in 2007. Survived both attempts, and was finally acquitted in late 2007 when the actual perpetrator confessed. Most recently arrested 4 days ago, however the District Attorney apparently didn't want to touch the bag of cats surrounding said arrest, and he was released yesterday morning... about 3 hours before we put the pieces together. He is to be considered armed and incredibly dangerous." the video of the man being veritably ripped to ribbons by gunfire played, the full bodies of everyone at the party were fully blurred sans the man himself, "Latent genetic activation of his meta-human 'power' during his second execution means he has an incredibly fast regenerative response."

Again, the display changed, what appeared to be a man in a winter camouflage variant of a Russian Gorka uniform. "Chief Petty Officer Michael Greene, Designated: Blank. United States Naval Special Warfare Command. Recipient of the Navy Cross... Posthumously. Declared dead in 2007 in action in Afghanistan. His whereabouts in the previous 13 years are unknown. He is to be considered a highly dangerous individual. Power is unknown, although it's suspected to involve reincarnation, given he's back from the dead after being buried in Arlington. The grave was empty, we checked that already."

Cross stopped speaking as Herrman took the helm again, "The remaining 5 are unknowns, known only by internal designations and their so called costumes."

The sole woman was brought up, wreathed in some kind of robe and with a full face helmet similar to a space suit's, but much smaller in scale, "Designation: Chrono. From what various Epoch anomaly sensors indicate, she controls gravity, more specifically black holes. The single official casualty from the attack on the Federal Reserve is her doing. Officer Stanley Ford is still in a technical coma, based on what limited info we could garner, each and every one of his atoms has been paired with a microsingularity, and he is currently locked in time via time dilation."

Cross spoke up again, "Right now, we're trying to find a countermeasure, as well as a way of undoing it without causing a multi kiloton explosion from the rapid decay of every atom sized black hole."

Herman continued, "Yeah, right now, you have the expressed permission from TIAMA, the United States government, and the United Nations to kill her on sight if she even so much as moves without you telling her to. Even if you aren't a science type, you're all smart enough to know how damaging a black hole can be."

The shape shifted to that of a, rather large, toad looking individual, Herrman hesitated, turning to Miss Cromwell, "Is this right?" the woman only nodded, "Okay. Designation is Cyst. Unknown powers and identity. As you can see, not exactly one who blends in. There is an active request from authorities and TIAMA's Headquarters in Stuttgart to leave him... or her, alive. We don't know the exact circumstances of their appearance, but we'd rather know and avoid any potential repeats."

Again, to a more human shape, a man with a balaclava and a Pikachu onesie, video started playing from the vault of the Federal Reserve, namely a yellow shape ripping locked and barred vault doors open, "Designation: Psychonaut. He's the source of nearly 32 grams of cocaine left behind at the federal reserve, he's also the source of the vault door's being ripped off their hinges. besides his strength, we suspect drug use of stimulants. If you're the type of person to be able to punch a dent in steel, feel free to subdue him, if not, call back up, we don't know his full potential."

Miss Cromwell spoke up, her accent making it clear she was from southern England, "In order to combat this 'syndicate, we are organizing you all into teams of three. Until such a time that this group is dismantled or rendered wholly ineffective, paid vacation and sick days are being withheld. Furthermore, a few of you present have volunteered to effectively train the rest in measures to avoid further events of... excess collateral damage."

The lights switched back on as Herrman took the reigns again, "So... any questions, concerns?"

[Lessoni]

The lights switched back on as Herrman took the reigns again, "So... any questions, concerns?"

Jack Dredd

At first, Jack felt basic apprehension upon seeing the 6. None of them looked particularly tough, besides the bone man, and the guy in the Pikachu onesie looked almost harmless. As Cross kept talking, the apprehension grew into something that could’ve been panic, if Jack wasn’t acutely aware of how that would make him look, freaking out at the mere idea of villainous metas. He hadn’t been expecting to have to fight metas who he wouldn’t be able to do any useful amount of damage against, especially considering how long it’d been since a team like that had been assembled.

So, let’s take stock. You can’t beat any of those guys in a one on one, but that probably holds true for everyone, so chill. Besides, you’ll never be fighting any of these guys one on one, you’ll have two metas at your back. Actually, maybe I’ll stay behind them...

His internal monologue for once calming him, he started thinking of that final announcement, of training. For that he was almost excited. Sure, he wasn’t the biggest guy, but maybe they’d teach him something to help with that, like in a spy movie or something similar. With this comforting thought locked firmly in mind, Jack was almost more excited than he’d been when he’d joined TIAMA.

[Mandicoria]

-snip-

Tesla's hand rose, a loud click from his suit's robotics breaking a long silence from the meeting. Standing up as he gained attention from everyone, looking around as he turned directly to Hermann. "Ah, yes. Do we have any idea if these are the only foes in this group? Not trying to bring further concern, but surely they would organize multiple other metahumans to aid their... Erm... cause?" More loud clicking came from Tesla's suit before he gave an audible THUD to his head, causing it to cease. "Apologies for the noise. But I stress that perhaps we should keep an eye out for possible collaborators. After all, the heist had more than just these individuals. After all we had two suspects confront Patriot and I, distracting us from aiding against this "Osteo" fellow."

"Tesla's right." Patriot added in, raising his hand to show where he was. "The threat of possible unidentified collaborators for these terrorists is... very damn real. Hell, we could have possible collaborators with these Terrorists that lurk within TIAMA or possibly even the Government."

[Remnants of Exilvania]

New York City
Staten Island Training Facility
Hans

Hans stared at the pictures they were shown in silent awe, temporarily forgetting about the two girls he sat inbetween. Their enemies were all such illustrous personalities! The bone giant was like something straight out of the...yeah no, he wouldn't follow that train of thought further. Then there was Scarman, no, James...who looked as unassuming as ever. Or perhaps he had talked too soon. This Greene fellow was even less exciting. No scars, no cool costume or interesting shapes. But atleast the others somewhat rectified that. The mysterious Chrono, the large toad and an interesting guy in an animal suit. So was this man a furry then?

Hans of course heard the information that came with the pictures but...most of it had little impact on him as it didn't mean anything to him. These ranks and organisations meant nothing to him, nor did the medals and awards. He didn't know about a Vietnam War or any action in Afghanistan. He didn't exactly know about black holes either and wondered, if him making black holes in paper with his black pen was in any way dangerous like this Chrono person was. Still, he committed everything that was said to memory, like an overeager schoolboy.

When the question went up for...well, any questions, his hand shot up, wildly swinging in the air. He had assumed that these people at the front would be picking out the people who raised their hands...but as evidenced by Tesla just casually picking himself, that was not the case. Still though, Hans decided to keep his arm up. Perhaps Tesla was just being rude and cut the line. Still, he listened and found their words to be rather worrying. Of course it was a very real possibility that their enemies were far from alone. But the implication of snitches in their own ranks? That was just mean and would open the door to all kinds of suspicions!

Now, after the mechaman and his patriotic companion had spoken there was a small silence and Hans, having given up on being picked, decided to raise his hand and then rise, asking:

"I have a question. Or well, actually I have two questions.

The first is, why does Stuttgart want this Herr or Frau Cyst alive? And why don't they tell us more about them if they so clearly know about them? I thought we are all TIAMA so surely TIAMA tells TIAMA what TIAMA knows, right? Atleast on some level?

The second question is why are we being placed in teams of three when we know of a threat of six? Shouldn't we strive to have numerical equality at the minimum?

Danke for hearing me out."

And then Hans sat down again, having said his piece and eagerly hoping for answers.

[Europa Undivided]

Hydra Imperator crossed his arms at the mention of possible traitors within TIAMA itself, not to mention the government itself. "Snitches in the ranks. Great. Right when we are having a Cabal level threat looming over our heads. Then it gets worse and worse."

The suit itself then spoke both to Hydra Imperator and Shadowshock. Like its master, it had a voice of legion, but also of one. Hydra muttered its words like a serpent empowered by the power of the sun and the light of the moon. It can be heard only by the two of them"This looks badssss. You got your assessssssssss up on the wallssss..."

Hydra Imperator frowned at his sentient suit's speech, annoyed at its extremely inappropriate attempts at humour. "Be quiet, damn you. The German is speaking. That is a horrible accent. Always makes you sound angry." Apparently, Jacques Lenard wasn't fond of the German accent. It remains to be known whether or not there is a connection between his dislike of the accent and his nationality as French.

"Surprised that they don't seem to know about the attack in the Bronx.", Shadowshock remarked. "Do they not check what is trending on Twitter?"

"They're boomersssssss...", Hydra hissed. "They can't tell between Twitter and the Book O' Facesss..."

Hydra Imperator once again spoke to his sentient suit, displeased at the manner by which it spoke of the people in charge. "Anthony Cross and the rest aren't that old, you damn extraterrestrial snitch."

"You were the kid that was going to hang himself until I came alongsssssss..."

Shadowshock, ignoring the suit that was constantly insulting its master and literally everyone else, leaned towards Jacques to whisper yet again. "Anyway, on the topic of traitors, do you have anything in mind, Jacques?"

"If we had an empath or telepath that could tell if someone is lying, that would be great.", Hydra Imperator replied. "Otherwise we may have to use the wildly unreliable lie detector machine... or maybe we can start with who is connected with who, and continue from there."

Shadowshock deadpanned, as it looked like no one was going to bring up the attack on the Bronx. "I also have a question.", Shadowshock finally said. "I was just sitting here with Blink, Ophiuchia, and Hydra Imps (this last bit earned him a glare from Hydra Imperator) here when Ophi came across footage of an attack currently ongoing in the Bronx on social media. It is trending in Twitter, Facebook, and Instagram, mind you. It is unmistakable that some armadillo human hybrid is rampaging through a low income neighborhood."

A pause. "Does the council mind if we tested that team up thing... right now? It would be bad for our image if we dismissed this incident as of little importance."

[Endem]

Chris Digel

He decided to not get involved in the talk between Opiuchia, Blink, Shadowshock and that Hydra guy, neither did he think eavesdropping would be particularly nice, so he decided to also not do that.

The lights switched back on as Herrman took the reigns again, "So... any questions, concerns?"

Chris stood up, as many others he wanted to voice his concerns upon the topic at hand " Yeah, could you tell us what the teams are?" He asked and then sat down, none of them looked particularly terrifying, or dangerous even, except Osteo, Revenant looked normal, tough, Chris already got the displeasure of getting to know him up-close, if Greene's power was resurrection then he wasn't much of a threat except what he learned in the military.

Chrono didn't look threatening, more like a bad astronaut impersonator, but the power indeed sounded bad, Cyst looked gross and not much else, Psychonaut looked funny, anyway, Chris leaned back on the chair and asked Shadowstock "What's Twitter, Facebook and the Insta something?" He probably sounded funny to him, but it would make sense when you considered Chris's chosen mode of communication was one of the older phones, that didn't have social media.

[Revlona]

The Arsonist

Well this was turning into an exciting night. Henry had merely been wondering around Bronx, he had been meaning to set something on fire of course, when a random meta had started trashing the place. "You know what, he has the right idea, lemme just.." Henry said out loud, drawing a couple odd looks from a growing watch party. "I guess you people will do," Henry muttered as he began to will the flames into his body so he could burn the half a dozen people around before he stopped in realization. "Damnit, damnit damnit damnit, these are my good clothes, I didn't think this through," He said out loud again.

Looks like he wasn't gonna get to have that much fun tonight, still, better not let it go to waste. Henry quickly ditched the crowd and jogged around the corner into an alley, his leg catching the edge of a dumpster due to his quick pace and open a small cut in his jeans and upon his lower leg. He hissed in pain before rolling his eyes at his own clumsiness. "I'm going to have to sew that up later, damnit," He muttered as his eyes flicked from side to side, looking for a good target.

Finally his gaze locked onto a door in the alley, it was wooden and appeared to have a rather rudimentary chain locking it. Henry walked up to the door and pulled back the sleeves of his hoody to the elbows, he placed his hands upon the chain and willed the heat to his hands. He watched as the flames appeared upon his hands, the flames themselves weren't to hot yet because he wasn't sure how hot he needed them to be to melt. He decided to change tactics when he had stood there for several seconds with nothing seeming to happen. Instead he took his pointer and middle fingers of his right hand and willed the most heat he could into just them. He watched as the two fingers sliced through the metal like a hot knife through butter.

He let out a deep breath as the flames dissipated and the chain fell to the ground. Henry tried the door handle and felt that it was unlocked, "huh", he muttered as he entered the room. It looked like the back end of a long hall way and he realized that the building he was in was an apartment complex. He wanted to get back onto the street to see what that meta was up to so he decided to do this quickly. Henry stuck out his right hand again and willed the flames to go forth from him. A wide stream of warm fire that tickled his hands engulfed a portion of the hallway that was away from him, he didn't want to burn his clothes after all.

With a contented sigh Henry turned around and walked back out onto the street, finding that the watch party he had left was now growing even larger.

[Sudbrazil]

Charles A. Highcastle
Staten Island, New York
22nd of March, Five to ten

---

“Don’t worry old man” said the voice behind the glass. It trembled and cracked every few words, and yet it was confident, imbued with kindness he had not felt in some years. “It was rotting in a garage anyway. We never drove it much as it had the wheel on the wrong side.”

“I really don't know how to thank you,” replied the veteran holding clumsily onto the smooth slab, “I hope the freight wasn’t too costly, I’ll pay it back as soon as possible.”

“Don’t bother. The family never did much for you anyway. Think of it like an apology.” With these words, the voice wished him a good day. From the other side of the window, Highcastle heard the man fumbling with his telephone. A sense of uneasiness ran through him as he glanced once more at the small portrait. The figure looked ancient with its once flaxen hair, well trimmed moustache and wrinkles as deep as trenches. It soon faded away and gave way to a cropped version of a Turner painting, atop which was plastered the hour of day. His grandson was one of the few family members whose company and care he cherished, and it was a wonder to him that such men had spawned such unbearable children.

The Major paced back to the gym, hoping he would not arrive late because of the call as to do so would have been to dishonour the uniform he wore. But, he supposed it was already to late for such concerns. For the past three days, the Bowling Alley debacle had added itself to a growing list of torments which plagued and poked at his mind. He had agonized over every single detail, every mistake which aggravated the situation. The public venue, the unprofessional behaviour, the firefight, the charge, the grenades, the drones. Even the Chinese consulate across the street. But above all, he condemned himself for accepting the invitation and for his lack of meaningful action. It was all reminded to him as the briefing briefly went over the botched party, as well as more pressing issues. At least TIAMA had a few scapegoats.