Ahhhh! Oh wait, that was just the crazed scottsman dying and not my own fate.
"Does any person have a use for dis fellow?," Lucian asks in his thick foreign accent that sounds like a cross between Chrisoph Waltz and Dracula. "If we are to keep him, we should probably use restraints or sedatives. I have better things to do than to be holding him all of the days and night-longs."
Secretly, Lucian hopes no one does. It would be an easy way for him to get his fix. This one won't be mourned.
Steve, seeing the immediate threats neutralized, begins to assess the security threat posed by prying eyes in the area. He switches his attention to the Helmet HUD's Broadcast monitors. He sees a live feed from they Eye-In-The-Sky News helicopter, and notices several cell phone signals in the immediate area.
It was a calculated risk coming out of the hidden Lair entrance while civilians were distracted by the heist. But returning underground while all eyes are on us would be strategic suicide.
Steve begins barking out commands like he's back "in the $|-|17".
"Preacher and Exile, grab as much gear from Charlie as you can! Get Tartan's head, and make sure Samurai leaves here in his birthday suit. Ember, take out the camera on that chopper, or the whole chopper. I don't care how, just make sure there's no eyes on us. Dalca and Over-mind, lock down the civilians on phones!" Steve points to the direction where he's detecting cell phones.
"I'll give the signal to return to base when all the surveillance has been neutralized."
Steve returns to controlling the Swarm. He Splits them into two, and sends each one out to take out surveillance cameras.
Lucian looks around for civilians on cell phones.
Spotting someone badly attempting to cower behind a car, he brings the brute force of his mind to bear.
Unfortunately, his aim is a bit off. The windshield of the car resonates and shatters.
Preacha nudges the headless corpse of Tartan. "HEY MAN, IS THAT IT? LIKE, YOU AIN'T GONNA SPLIT INTO TWO SMALLER VERSIONS OF YOURSELF? OH S&~#!" His vestigial wings splay and he jumps back from the corpse, spreading his forelimbs and extending his legs to their full height in an attempt to look big. (It is successful.) "YO, LIKE, IS YOUR SON FROM THE FUTURE GONNA COME BACK AND TAKE A SHOT AT ME? I'M READY FOR HIM!"
Preacha spins in place, scanning likely alleyways for chronologically meandering unborn offspring. Meanwhile, the old bug dude says some stuff that Preacha doesn't bother listening to, 'cause what the f#%$ do old people know? Gradually, he comes to accept that Tartan's death really was that anti-climactic and, frustrated, he kicks the corpse.
"MAN, WHY BOTHER LIVIN' IF YOU'RE JUST GONNA GO OUT LIKE THAT? SAVE US ALL THE TROUBLE AND DON'T GET BORN NEXT TIME."
Grumbling, he scoops up Tartan's head -- not because of Steve's instructions, which he didn't hear, but because he wants a snack for later. Ambling back toward the base, Preacha addresses his Internet followers: "WELL FOLKS, I GUESS PREACHA-Z IS JUST ON ANOTHER LEVEL. GONNA HAVE TO FIND ME SOME BIGGER GAME IF I'M GONNA PUT ON THE KINDA SHOW YOU PEOPLE DESERVE. WELL, UNTIL NEXT TIME, THIS IS PREACHA-Z AND MY SERMON'S DONE."
Satisfied with his sign off, he flicks off the GoPro.
Seeing the Crimson Bushi lay down his sword. Exile quickly acquires the duty belt from one of the fallen officers nearby, careful to keeps his eye on the Red Samurai for any change in disposition.
The weapons, equipment, and radio on this belt should come in handy. Exile thinks to himself as he walks over and cuffs Red Samurai. He uses some rope from his bag to bind the Red Samurais legs to the cuffs.
Hey Preacha can you carry this guy back? Exile calls out to the strongest of the crew. He's careful to pick up the Samurai's sword.
"MAN, WHAT DO I LOOK LIKE TO YOU, A STEVEDORE OR SOMETHIN'? YOU SEE A PLAID FLAT CAP ON THIS HEAD? HELL NAW! I AIN'T NO BELLHOP NEITHER. DAMN, SON."
Mid-rant, Preacha spares Red Samurai a glance. Actually, that armor is pretty dope. If I could get somebody to, y'know, make it fit me . . .
"NAW, DON'T WORRY ABOUT IT. YOU GO ON TREATIN' ME LIKE THE HELP, SEE WHERE THAT GETS YOU. BUT I AIN'T MAD, SON. I'LL BE THE BIGGER MAN. HERE, SEE?" Preacha scoops up Red Samurai in his free claw and continues toward the base.
With Red Samurai disarmed, bound, and in the arms of a giant insectoid monster, Lucian feels it's safe enough to release control and does so. "Mister Z., I am letting go of his mind. He's all yours."
Red Samurai struggles against the bonds the entire way back, the fear of being carried by the insectoid clear on his face.
__________
The group makes its way back to the lair, taking care to eliminate any prying eyes that may be recording their retreat.
Once back in the lair, Red Samurai finally manages to speak up, "You...you don't know what you are doing. You don't know what we were trying to stop."
"I vould be interested in that head the big guy. But vithout a proper lab, the best I could be doing is to be keeping it in the refrigerator. My samples are also going to be coming compromised. Mr. Vilmore, I am patient, but my samples, they are not. Vhen vill I be getting the lab you promised? Millions of dollars and years of research are qvite literally rotting in a box under mine bed."
Exile links the police scanner to his battle helmet to monitor broadcasts. I better make sure the cops weren't able to follow us or are able to locate us.
Exile examines the small strong box for any brand marks before going to the computers to research the best way of opening the box, without damaging potential contents inside.
"Seems like the samurai has something he wants us to know about. Are you gonna spill the beans, or do we have to get someone in there to rummage around?" Steve casts a meaningful look at Over-Mind, making sure Samurai catches his meaning.
"As far as your samples go, Doctor, well... you're the doctor. I have resources, so I'll order the equipment." "But YOU'LL have to design it and put it all together."
"I'm going to the lab to start working on these... items... from Tartan. I suggest we figure out what that box is before we take the chisel to it, either by research or from the pajama man over here," says Steve, nodding to Samurai.
He gingerly grabs Tartan's head, with embedded tech, and goes to the Research Lab, places it in the nano-assembler, and begins his microscopic assay.
Steve isn't terribly familiar with electronics besides robotics and cameras, so this neural interface is all new to him. However, he makes some fortunate observations and takes a significant first step into cybernetics. This could be great for Steve and his quest to extend his consciousness into the Swarm. It could also have implications for making a better interface for Over-Mind's robo-shell.
If Wilmore is going to study Tartan's head, this would be the perfect opportunity for Dr. Dalca to prove his worth. He follows to assist. Perhaps he can replicate or adapt the neural link technology to work for Wilmore's swarm. Should be child's play compared to his forced evolution techniques.
Reverse engineering the neuro-technological interface proves to be more daunting than he thought, but he is able to be of some use.
Over-Mind makes quick work of the civilians, mind-controlling as many as he can and forcing them to stomp on their own cellphones or flee in terror. Before leaving the chaotic scene, he spies the Tartan's hammer and hefts it from the ground. His servos whine in protest but they hold. Hmm, a mighty weapon indeed. Maybe come in useful were I to engage with another, ahem, physical brute.
----
Down in the lair, as the two scientist depart for their lab and the alien mantis wraps up his vlog, Over-Mind turns his attentions to the trussed and terrified warrior from the land of the Rising Sun.
"So, Red Samurai, we can do this easy or we can do this the hard way. Why don't you tell us what you two goons were up to just now and maybe we'll keep the big bug away from you. What's in the box?!"
The man turns his eyes towards Over-Mind, and answers with a grimace, "I'll tell you. It concerns all of us," his tone serious.
He shifts his weight to a more comfortable position, "I used to work for Michael Trand, owner of Trand Industries, as a personal private security during the V'sori take over. I keep him alive, he keeps my identity as a meta-human secret. He wasn't fond of us with powers, but with the arrival of the aliens, he found something he hated far worse."
"One of his shell companies is a biotech firm named Mathias Medical, headed up by Charles Mathias. I overheard the two of them one day talking about an 'ultimate solution' to all their problems. Trand wasn't aware that I could overhear their discussion. Mathias claimed that he had bio-engineered a new type of life form, a sort of parasite. He claimed that it would be able to rid the world of not only the V'sori, but all of us as well. And by us, I mean the metahumans. He called it 'Project Thelazia.'"
He pauses for a moment before continuing, "A very unique name, yes? So imagine my surprise when, just yesterday, I came across a communique about a convoy carrying important data regarding 'Project Thelazia' headed through Uptown? Especially since, the last I saw of either Trand or Mathias, they were being cut down by a Dro'gor strike team. At any rate, I don't know about you, but I personally am not comfortable with anything that is supposedly capable of wiping us out, especially when there are so few of us and so many of them," casting a wary nod towards Preacha Z. "That thing is alien, right? Not some sort of mutated freak? I've never seen a meta with such a drastic transformation in all my life."
"I was hoping that whatever data was being transported would be able to be used to destroy whatever it is Mathias spawned. So, as you can see, we are essentially on the same side here, whoever the hell you lot are."
The Channel 4 news team seem to be adamantly avoiding discussing the showdown in Uptown, however the rest of the local news stations are doing nothing BUT flooding the airwaves with discussion on the topic, especially Channel 6.
David Winthrop, news anchor for Channel 6 Eye Witness News, is already talking when the channel comes on: "...got clear pictures of the entire thing! As you can see, whoever this group is, they made short work of veteran thugs Tartan and Red Samurai! A warning to our viewers, the following footage may not be appropriate for all audiences..."
The scene cuts to a helicopter vantage point of the fight, at first zoomed in on Ember taking the brunt of the first heaved car. The fight continues to unfold, with the camera expertly zooming and panning to highlight the entire battle. Every single one of your group are showcased, right up to the point that Ember lobs a ball of fire the helicopter's way, forcing it to change direction and flee the scene before meeting the same fate as Channel 4's own News-Copter.
The television cuts back to David Winthrop, "Our Meta-human analysts are currently hard at work to identify this new apparent team of supers," he says as stills from the video of each of you are put up on the screen, with impromptu names for each of you for now...
Firefly, The Mantis, Count Doom, Robo-Brain, Warrior X, and Spiderbot.
Melanie Crichton, David's lovely red-haired co-anchor, speaks up, "One thing is definitely for certain, David. These meta's are not to be mistaken for heroes. Did you see how none of them even cared about the fact that they took the life of Tartan? They even took his head with them! These men are clearly sadists. When will one of these meta-humans take the higher path in Star City and begin to fight back against this sort of thing, like the heroes of old? When will someone follow Patriot's lead and stand up against scumbags like this in our city?"
David shakes his head, "A good point, Melanie. Hopefully Mayor Stevenson will be able to get some form of SOCORPs back up and running to help protect our citizens from continued onslaught such as this."
The broadcast continues to discuss the scene for several more minutes before cutting to commercial and finally changing topics to national news.
As soon as he hears about a possible virus to wipe out meta-humans Exile puts the box he's examining down.
Better not risk catching anything. Best case scenario it would kill me here. Worst case scenario I might be contaminated and infect my own time when I return.
Turning to Red Samurai "Where were you two heading after you grabbed the box? Are you working with someone who could formulate a cure? We may be more disposed to assisting if you give us ample reason" Exile croaked metallically.
Red Samurai turns to Exile. "Back to our own safe house. And no, we had no other leads on this than what I happened to uncover. Actually stumbled across it by accident. But I knew that it was something that should be addressed, since whatever it is, it survived the war."
"Sounds like a few more people out there in need of a lot of killing, if you ask me." Ember shrugs. In truth, she's stopped paying attention to most of the conversation.
After pausing to think for a moment Exile turns to Ember "You'll be in no shortage of opponents" .
Returning his focus to Red Samurai Exile continues his interrogation "How many are in your cell? This seems like something we may need to unite again against."
The neural contact points on Tartan's hardware seem standard. Not much to learn here. Mr. Wilmore seems like he has this under control. Time for a break.
Lucian pokes his head into the interrogation room. "I vas thinking to be ordering a pizza. Do you fellows vant 'in on that'?" He gives a rye smile, proud to use an American phrase. Yes, I'm assimilating nicely.
After pausing to think for a moment Exile turns to Ember "You'll be in no shortage of opponents" .
Returning his focus to Red Samurai Exile continues his interrogation "How many are in your cell? This seems like something we may need to unite again against."
The man scoffs. "Shoulda known you all were one of those Omega hold-outs. Haven't you heard? The war is over. The V'sori are toast. Omega is dead."
Distracted from the boring talking by the TV, Preacha watches in horror as the stupid news people completely bungle identifying him.
"MAN, WHAT THE F -- THE MANTIS? WHAT THE HELL IS THAT?" Gesticulating wildly with his razor-tipped claws, Preacha stomps around the living area in a frenzied tantrum. "WHAT KINDA JOURNALISTS ARE THESE PEOPLE? MY ONLINE PRESENCE IS IMMENSE!" Rounding on the TV, he jabs an arm at it, accidentally piercing the screen. He continues ranting without noticing the damage. "GOOGLE, M~%$@$%%&#%%S! HAVE YOU HEARD OF IT? TWITTER, YOUTUBE, SNAPCHAT, PINTEREST, TINDER -- MAN, I STILL GOT A MYSPACE PAGE! I'M ALL OVER! HANG ON, HANG ON."
Preacha fumbles awkwardly with his phone before realizing that he's never had to make a call on it before. Calling people. Like some kinda savage. This is what I'm reduced to. He makes his way to the lab and asks, "YO, CAN ONE OF YOU OLD PEOPLE CALL THE NEWS PEOPLE FOR ME? I GOTTA SET THEM STRAIGHT ON SOME STUFF."
Finally realizing that he isn't the center of attention, Preacha takes a moment to read the room. "YO, WHY'S EVERYBODY ALL SERIOUS? AND HEY, WHERE'S THAT HEAD? I GOT THE MUNCHIES."
"Sure, Dracler, I'll eat some pizza. Sounds better than eating tartar-head for dinner, I guess. Just don't go getting all kinds of weird s%$& on it. Not gonna throw in money on a lemon-slice and hashbrown pie. . ." Ember makes her way to the living room, ready to unwind and get a little bit of gaming in while the brains and the brain make with the interrogating.
"" escapes her lips when she lays eyes on the ruination visited upon the television—totally different than the times she's blown it up in frustration, of course. Reacting like any well-adjusted teenager would, she unleashes a couple of explosions and a litany of incomprehensible quasi-expletives at the corpse of what had been the television.
Lucian receives the cell phone from Preacha Z and starts looking up the news network's hotline number. "Vat do you like on your pizza pie, Mister Z? Tartan's head is still full of metal bits. Mister Vilmore is vorking on extracting them, now. I'm sure he'll have no use for the biomass vonce the hardvare is extracted."
He finds the number, dials, puts it on speaker, and turns it all the way up, assuming that he will probably want to hold it a foot away and shout at it at full volume, as is the b-boy custom. He hands the phone back. "It's ringing."
Seeing that he wasn't going to get much cooperation from Red Samurai, Exile goes to find Dr. Dalca. He enters just as Dr. Dalca hands a now ringing phone to Preacha Z.
"Who are you calling?" snapped Exile.
Accepting the phone from the Russian guy, Preacha is about to request some rare and/or illegal toppings for his pizza when the robot guy interrupts.
"OH, YOU WANNA KNOW WHO I'M CALLIN'? MS. MANNERS, 'CAUSE APPARENTLY YOU NEED SOME -- OH, HEY, YO." Preacha turns away, dismissively flipping a claw in Exile's direction in order to have some very loud privacy during his conversation with the news people.
"YEAH, WASSUP, LISTEN. I DON'T MEAN TO TELL Y'ALL YO' BIZNESS, 'CAUSE I GUESS YOU ALL GOT NEWS DEGREES OR WHATEVER, BUT YOUR RESEARCH PEOPLE NEED TO BE LIKE BOILED ALIVE OR SOMETHIN', 'CAUSE SISTER THEY DROPPED THE BALL ON -- WHO AM I? DAMMIT, WOMAN, THAT'S WHAT I'M TRYIN' TO TELL YOU! I'M THE MANTIS! NO, WAIT, DAMMIT!" Preacha stamps his many feet. "NO, I'M NOT THE MANTIS, THAT'S WHAT I'M CALLIN' ABOUT, I'M PREACHA Z, HERE FROM A FAR STAR TO SPIT MAD TRUTHS THAT YOU AIN'T . . . YEAH, I'LL HOLD."
He turns back around, the Girl From Ipanema playing tinnily from the receiver of his phone. "YEAH, SO THEY PUT ME ON HOLD. SO ROBOT GUY, YOU SPELL YOUR NAME WITH A Z, RIGHT? IT'S LIKE X-ZILE? 'CAUSE THAT WOULD BE DOPE."
"Imbecile" rasped Exile in disbelief "They will track the phone number and find our secret hide out. We'll be slaughtered or rounded up and shipped off to labs. You for sure will be dissected and hung up in a some musty old museum or left to rot in a random drawer of a boring old lab. Is that what you want? Where will your dope rhymes be then?" Exile puts palm to forehead.
Preacha flutters his wings in an expressive shrug. "MAN, YOU REALLY THINK THESE DUMMIES CAN TRACE MY PHONE? THEY CAN'T EVEN GET OUR NAMES RIGHT, X-ZILE!"
Robo-brain! Oh how you have been so reduced! Wait... have you fools not heard?! This Trand means to commit genocide, and not the fun kind! No! The kind that effects me!
Over-Mind tries to focus on what Red Samurai and the television news is saying while the space bug, the cyborg, and the vampire squabble. His temptation to try and mind control them into silence was rising but was countered by an itching fear that his psychic faculties had still not fully recovered from being in deep freeze.
So what is in this box, Samurai? Is this the 'cure' Trand has been developing?
It's too risky to directly try and overpower the mantis
Exile abruptly pivots to and storms off to find Mr. Wilmore in his lab. Upon finding the old codger at work in his lab... "We have a problem, the Mantis has called the media. They'll surely trace the call back to this layer. I don't think we can defeat him in combat. Is there anyway you can cut off his signal from here?"
Having some experience in disappearing, Lucian tries to explain to Exile, but it soon becomes clear that no one is listening in their various states of raised emotions.
"Cell phones chatter in the background all the time. It's just the way the system vorks. The only way to get around that is to use a disposable phone. Look, I'm ordering pizza on one right now." Lucian holds his smartphone up and waggles it over his head. "I'll be punching in the address of the building upstairs in just a moment."
"My point is, none of this matters anymore. I'm vanted for var crimes and crimes against humanity. I use my phone all the time. Has anyone come crashing in here to arrest me? No. Why? Because the V'sori changed everyone's priorities. You just have to be aware of your position on the board of the political chess game. You stay safe by making it a very bad idea to eliminate you."
Lucian makes an almost imperceptible, subconscious glance down the hall at the sample case on his desk.
The hold tune stops as another voice comes on the line. "Hello? Sorry for the hold, this is Michael Beam, Analyst for Channel 6 Eye Witness News, I understand you claim to be one of the individuals that took part in the events in Uptown today? Can I get your name?"
Red Samurai shrugs against his bonds, "I don't know, I just heard the code name and felt this was something I needed to act against, or risk dieing to later."
The box is an unmarked package about the size of a large book, with two separate key holes. Thanks to your close inspection, you are able to note that there is a trap mechanism rigged into the container. A poor attempt to pick the locks will release some sort of chemical into the container itself.
Without warning, a video begins to play on the living room television:
VIDEO: 'Monkey uses brain to control prothetic arm'
The door to the lab slams open and Steve rolls out at break-neck speed.
"OK, OK, OK... OK, I've got it!"
He turns to point at the TV. He looks stunned as he notices the spiderweb pattern emanating from the puncture wound in the screen and the dark soot marks that definitely were not there when he purchased it.
"Ember, that is coming out of your salary. If you guys want nice things... OH, WAIT! Here's the good part!"
He gestures toward the TV, pointing out the good parts that can be seen around the technicolor flashes in the damaged area of the screen.
Steve lets the video play for a little while, , then interrupts with an irritated gesture. "OK, enough of this dork... DID YOU SEE THAT MONKEY?! That's the solution! Just a few brain wires and some WiFi, and my spiders can go ANYWHERE!"
Steve looks around, noting the general disinterest and distraction with other concerns. "OK, fine, I get it. 'What's in it for me?' Sure, you may not care about old Spiderbot...", he says, quickly picking up the slick-sounding name given to him by News 6's bewitching Melanie Crichton, "..but what about you, Over-Mind? That body you're wearing is just a tin can with a pickle jar on top. I modeled it after My Favorite Martian like 20 years ago! As far as I can tell, you're moving it entirely through good intentions. Sure, there are some general electrosensors in there, but at best it's working no better than a giant mood ring. Imagine what we could do with just a few teeny wires in that beautiful brain of yours..."
Being used to making company-wide presentations with beholden employees required to stare in rapt attention, Steve is somewhat crestfallen to see almost everyone else still chatting about other things. Like a petulant substitute teacher, he quickly homes in on the item drawing everyone's attention. "HEY! What's everyone whispering about behind my back? Give it here... I mean it, mister!"
Lucian watches the video. It reminds him of the early days of his research.
As the audio becomes a drone under Mr. Wilmore's pitch, something catches his ear. Unfortunately, the damage on the screen is right over his face, but the voice is unmistakeable. "Is dat Alexi? It has to be! I vent to school vit that guy. He vas a hack, but maybe he has made himself of da usefulness, after all. I haven't talked to him in a long time. I have no idea vhere he is now."
Totally absorbed in his phone call, Preacha's only acknowledgement of Steve's arrival is to turn away from him.
"MY NAME? MAN, THAT'S WHAT I'M TRYIN' TO TELL YOU! I'M PREACHA-Z, COME FROM A FAR STAR TO SPIT MAD TRUTHS THAT YOU AIN'T PREPARED TO HEAR, CUZ AIN'T NO PROPHET APPRECIATED IN HIS TIME. MY FLOW IS EXTRASOLAR AND MY RHYMES BE ROCKNROLLA, AND MORE TO THE DAMN POINT MY SOCIAL MEDIA PRESENCE IS INSANE! HOW DID YOU PEOPLE NOT FIND OUT MY REAL NAME? IT'S EVERYWHERE! THIS IS WHAT HAPPENS WHEN YOU SWITCH TO A 24-HOUR NEWS CYCLE, JOURNALISTIC INTEGRITY JUST GOES RIGHT OUT THE F*@%ING WINDOW, I'M JUST SAYIN'."
Preacha falls momentarily silent as the man on the other end, against all odds, manages to get a word in edgewise.
"OH, THEIR NAMES? UH . . ." He surreptitiously surveys the room, struggling to recall any relevant facts about his cohorts. "YEAH, UH, ACTUALLY YOU GOT ALL THEM RIGHT, 'CEPT THE ROBOT GUY. HIS NAME'S X-ZILE." With unexpected patience, Preacha spells the name for the news people. Another bout of silence follows, during which Preacha's body language betrays mounting excitement. He begins bouncing around the room, with little regard for what he collides with. At last, he stills himself.
"YO, UH, LEMME JUST ASK THE OTHERS. Y'KNOW, WE'RE BUSY PEOPLE AND ALL. CONQUERING NATIONS OR WHATEVER, BUT WE MAYBE GOT TIME." Clamping a claw over the receiver, Preacha turns to his fellow villains and proclaims, "DUDES, CHECK IT: THE NEWS PEOPLE WANNA INTERVIEW ME. AND I GUESS THEY WANT Y'ALL THERE TOO TO LIKE STAND IN THE BACKGROUND AND MAKE ME SEEM MORE IMPRESSIVE OR SOMETHIN'. YOU'RE ALL IN, RIGHT?"
The security camera to the main lobby, to those perhaps interested, displays the main receptionist of Wilmore Innobotics currently in a heated debate with an impatient pizza delivery man.
"Oop! Food is here. I'll be right back."
Lucian heads up the elevator to retrieve dinner.
The people in the lobby all fall silent as Lucian emerges from the elevator. He can hear the receptionist saying that no one in the building has informed her to expect a delivery, as was protocol in the business before she realizes how quiet things have gotten and turns to see what everyone else is looking at.
The delivery guy, confused as everyone else, stands and gawks at the strange looking figure approaching. Realizing this was who his delivery was for, he gives a solemn "I told you so," glance at the lady behind the desk, takes his payment, and leaves.
The lady at the desk says, "Uuuummm, sir? Can I help you? What department are you here to see? Do you have a visitors badge?"
"Oh, um.. Me?" Pizza's getting cold. Let's see.. What sounds like something Mr. Wilmore would be interested in? "I'm in the um.. Capacitor Research department, studying fluctuations in temporal physics. I'm part of Mr. Wilmore's new project dealing with trans-temporal vehicles employing de-weaponized plutonium and pinball machine parts. My name is Dr. Emmett Brown..stein. I'm sorry. I must have left my badge on my lab coat." She's too young to get this reference, right? "Anyway, I must get back to the lab." Lucian moves back to the elevator.
Over-Mind regards Wilmore with an expressionless stare that can only be truly conveyed by a robot body that lacks a face.
You mean...this body is only moving through the sheer force of my psychic powers? Egads! Hmmm...I must be more powerful than I ever imagined. And with cybernetic implants... Improved control of this body through implants, you say? I'm listening. What risks to my neural integrity would there be?
The noise of the mantis jumping around the living room and excitedly talking to news reporters finally comes to the foreground of Over-Mind's attention. What the devil is that locust up to now?! Talking with the media! You'll have the authorities bringing the force down upon our brows!
Over-Mind attempts to grab the cell phone from Z's head to no avail, given the beast's mighty height, but all the same he reaches out psychically.
Irked by being disregarded by Mr. Wilmore, Exile stalks towards Over-Mind.
He seems to be the only one with focus at the moment.
Over-Mind can you probe the Samurai's mind for the location of his hideout and any possible allies?