A month has passed since the last official battle of the Alien War was waged. The nations of the world have either splintered into numerous factions, been unified under the hand of conquerors, or dissolved entirely to anarchy.
Star City is no different. Beachhead was utterly demolished from the weight of the assault launched there, not to mention the earlier destruction rained down upon it from the mysterious nuclear attack several months prior. East and Northpoints also suffered heavy casualties and structural damage, though in the time since the battle, thanks to the help of a few altruistic metahumans, the rebuilding process is underway. The V'sori living in Prospect Point either fled with their brethren or put up a last stand, which ultimately led to what destruction rained down on that disctrict. Southpoint held up well initially, but as V'sori influence waned, the fighting between the Family and the Slashers escalated, ultimately ending up with the Slasher leadership being obliterated and their members absorbed into what is now the unrivaled crime syndicate on the island. The remaining districts have continued on as if business was usual, though with a newly found freedom thanks to the defeat of the V'sori, though most fear they may have to deal with the newer alien races that have arrived sooner or later.
Officially, Omega has been disbanded, once the death of Dr. Destruction became known. While most of the individual cells soon broke apart to either loss of conviction to the cause, or to in fighting of the members, some still remain intact.
One such cell remains, the last cell formed by the late Dr. Destruction prior to the war. Its members currently remain hidden out in their lair beneath Wilmore Innobotics, allowing the dust to settle and things to calm as they decide on what their next move should be...
Steve is hunched over his desk for yet another hour of 'research' that looks more like aimless fiddling and mumbling. He liked the chaos of outright battle more than this endless skulking in the shadows. Sure, the Lair is safe, and that's why he built it. But raids are what brings in the new tech. Raiding was easy during open combat. Sometimes, you could just wheel right in while the Supers were fighting. Or have the Swarm pick up scrap from the battle fields. Now that everyone has their doors locked, they're going to need some actual strategy. His body isn't getting any stronger, and he needs a solution soon.
Steve steals a surreptitious glance at Over-Mind's metal hull from across the room.
Surely, he's not putting it to as good use as I would.
...
NO, NO, NO, that will never do. Look at that thing. It has hands like bolt cutters. I'd never be able to use a keyboard with those things, let alone the nano-assembler.
The Exile is the key. But even he doesn't know how his nanos work. If I could just peel a few off... But they're hard as steel, and don't seem keen on being fiddled with.
Steve abruptly slams the lid on the nano-assembler, and hurriedly wheels into the common room.
"OK, LISTEN UP, SLACKERS! We need a plan. We're getting nowhere just sitting around, playing your dumb Stop Stop Evolution. I only put those things in to keep us sharp, but the only foes we're beating are 15 year olds on the leader boards!"
After a few minutes of rambling about how the youth is wasting the internet and technology in general, he returns to a coherent call to action.
"We need more tech. Sure we beat those damn Space Commies, but now we're dealing with Space Mongols! We're going BACKWARD in Space History! And that means we need to be LESS sneaky and MORE agressive. So let's get cracking!"
Ember maintains her lounge of solitude in the Living Room Most Nefarious of their totally awesome and totally boring lair. Across the room, in the corner, a large flat-screen television sits atop an entertainment center. Directing her character with the wireless X-box 360 controller in her hands, she explores the same recycled cavern she has visited a dozen times already on this playthrough. It was infuriating, especially for the sequel to another game that had been so awesome. Most of what Steve is yelling about washes over her without registering, but after a few seconds of consideration she realizes what he's actually wailing about.
"I don't have a godamn clue what a Mongle is, Paps, but if it means we can get out of this basement before I start installing skylights, I'm all for it." She shuts off the console and discards the controller on the couch before rising from where she had been reclined. "I need to find some new games anyway. D'ya think we can hit up one of the old cities for a change? They always have all the best stuff. Z's really hitting his limits with that old scratchy-board. He needs a fresher table, and I need to get a newer console. If we're going to be cooped up all the time, we need something to keep the troops in line, right?"
And maybe I can find that s*@@sausage that swindled me out of four-hundred bucks for an Atari while we're out there.
Ember's words cut Preacha-Z to the core. Indeed, his beats were neither phat nor illin', nor even fresh. Man, ain't nobody gonna heed my mad truths with noise like this at my back! I GOTS to get me a MC, yo, like YESTERDAY.
Preacha-z squeezed his towering, multi-limbed bulk into the common room where Ember, against all reason, was playing something other than Madden, Call of Duty, or Dance Party 12. What was the point if you couldn't share your gaming experience with cool people? Instead, she was playing one of those nerd games with swords and magic and other lame s**!. That girl gotta get her head on straight or she's gonna end up with one of them fedora-wearing neckbeards.
Nearby, another of the humans -- possibly Steve, Preacha-Z had a hard time telling them apart, but this one looked sufficiently close to death to be the strange scientist -- stood, spittle-flecked and expectant. Preacha-Z, having skipped lunch, briefly considered eating the man's torso, but decided, yet again, that this one likely consisted of little more than gristle, bone, and flatulence.
Instead, eager to be on the popular side, Preacha-Z decided to join the general call to action. "Y'ALL KNOW DAT'S RIGHT," he opined in his customary shrieking, atonal bellow. "THIS CRIB'S STILL LACKIN' IN SOME OF THE ESSENTIALS. FOR ONE THING, WE STILL AIN'T GOT NO PORCELAIN PUMA STATUES, AND I NEED ME SOME HIGH-END MUSICAL RECORDING EQUIPMENT. AND THIS . . ." Momentarily uncertain of Ember's gender, Preacha-Z opted for a more general term. "THIS ONE WITH THE FIRE NEEDS SOME NEW GAMES. YOU GOTTA GET WITH THE TIMES, PLAYA! SO A TRIP TO THE CITY SOUNDS LIKE JUST WHAT WE NEED."
Exile slowly became aware of the growing number of voices coming from the living room. Finally they are becoming restless in their complacency. Maybe we can finally begin the real mission.Exile quickly reassembled the rifle he had been cleaning and clapped in a fresh magazine.
As he entered the room Exile could hear that they were discussing the acquisition of new entertainment devices. This will do as long it gets us out the door. Hopefully they can be focused towards a worthwhile target. Regular human tech just won’t suffice. Looking at Wilmore His condition is deteriorating. We need something soon.
b“You’re finally ready for some action?” He said in his raspy metallic voice surveying the crew. “We could go into the city and see what’s left. It’s been a month so most of the good stuff has probably been picked through. If we want anything worthwhile we should check abandoned Vsori bases or find some Omega cell hideouts”
Steve jumps a bit when he unexpectedly hears The Exile's death-robot-of-the-apocalypse voice coming from behind him.
Well, this is just great. The teenage bug and matchstick only want more mind-rotting video games, and the killer test tube baby is walking around with a full clip of live ammo in the living room!
"OK, OK, everybody stay focused. We need a plan first... Ummm... Anybody got one of those?"
Steve cautiously wheels backward until he's shoulder to hip with Exile, conviniently moving him out of the easy line of fire if the soldier's trigger finger should "slip" for any reason. The suggestion to check Omega cell hideouts sounds great IF they're abandoned. What happens if they're NOT implies nothing good about Exile's grasp on long-term loyalty and teamwork.
He's surely only keeping us alive until he gets what he wants. I'll have to make sure he helps me get everything I can before we find whatever it is that he ultimately needs to leave us.
"This big guy right here..." Steve pats Exile on the shoulder, then trails off, carefully checking his palm for any loose nanites he might have scored with the fatherly gesture.
Looking back up dejectedly, "... he's ready for the type of action we need. I think you're right. What you're looking for will be with the V'sori. But in business, you always look to form partnerships before you take on the competition. In this case, I think buying 'distressed assets' makes the most sense. We should raid those abandoned Omega cells. Undoubtedly some of them had labs with robotics, and maybe even rec rooms with video games. Does anyone know of any groups that suffered total losses during the final rounds of the war?"
"NAW, MAN, I DON'T KNOW NOTHIN' ABOUT ANY OF THAT."
Despite his denial and alien physiology, Precha-Z's uncomfortable fidgeting is a clear sign to anyone paying attention that, yes, in fact, he does know something about any of that.
"Probably as easy as finding any places out in the middle of nowhere that got blasted to bits. Or maybe the places in the cities that got blasted after the first blasting." Ember shrugs, then furrows her brow in momentary thought. "Don't you have a lab full of computers without any games that're supposed to find out stuff like that for you? Just bleep-bloop your keyboard in there until it tells you."
" Very well to the computers. Omega was careful to keep cells on the dark from each other. We should contact other super villains to see what tech they might have. I suggest we check news reports and radio traffic to see who we can find " Exile crackles. He scans the others to gauge their reaction towards possibly confronting former Omega operatives.
Warmth was mostly the sensation Over-Mind felt. That comforting tingle had played across his cerebral cortex for the past several hours as his robot body endured the slow repair and recharge process at Spider Steve's web. Err, lair. He should call it "The Web." Yes, that's clever. Over-Mind smiled at himself, or rather, he did whatever the disembodied-brain equivalent of smiling-at-oneself was. Or, rather, that could be confused with the World Wide Web. 'There he is,' the children would say, 'hanging out in the Web.' Why am I wasting brain power on thi-
Over-Mind's revelry is cut short when a burst of static-filled aural input fires into his auditory synapses as the robot body's microphones reactivate. The screeching of the space mantis fills his brain. Bah! Aliens! Everywhere I am surrounded by threats from other worlds! Oh how I long for the days when it was merely humans around. Humans are so much easier to understand, and therefore, to deceive.
Over-Mind's sensory systems came online and the robot body stood. He could now 'see' all of his surroundings as he uncoupled himself from the charging unit and began making his way towards the sound of buffoonery. Time to go play with my toys...
They were talking about what to do with themselves; restlessness was in the air. How long has my suit been powered down? It had been late night when Over-Mind had reached out with a psychic hail and found Steve. He'd remembered Steve from before, when he'd presumably had a body, but he couldn't be sure. It was like meeting someone at a party and you were sure you'd met at college or at that s@%*ty taco stand you worked at to pay for grad school. Regardless, Steve responded and welcomed him into the lair, his newly-acquired robot body in dire need of servicing.
The last thing he could remember before the suit's sensory suite shutdown was Steve's comments about this body being an old prototype he'd built years ago and lost. Or sold. Or something. Point was the homing device in the suit had safely brought Over-Mind to safe harbor. But what kind of harbor would it ultimately turn out to be? Luckily, the old cripple didn't slaughter you as you lay helpless inside this tin can. You're so reckless! You well know that trust must be earned, and then re-earned. And even then, not trusted. Were it not for the haze induced by such fatigue when you arrived you surely could have dominated his feeble mind and performed the necessary repairs yourself! All the same, that Steve didn't finish you off is respectable. Perhaps he will make a fine ally; our circumstances are much in common, great minds trapped within insufficient bodies. It is as if we were meant to cross each other's paths... And Over-Mind stepped into the living room.
Greetings, all. 'The sleeper has awoken,' as it were. Over-Mind's robot body glanced around to see if his telepathically delivered joke had carried the room. Apparently not. Well then, I hear talk of a raid on the City. Smashing! I would relish the chance to really test this fully-functional body.
A mischievous look flashes across Ember's face as she leans forward and hops off of the couch. Closing the distance to where Over-mind stands, she flicks the robotic body in the pelvic assembly and teases, "I don't know about fully functional. But it keeps your brain pickled enough to keep thinking, for sure."
Excitement replaces her jesting as she regards the room at large once more. Her voice takes on a slightly higher pitch as she says, "So let's find something. Pronto! Quick like a bunny! Hop-to you geezers."
" Very well " rasped Exile
These misfits lack any sense of tactics and planning. Tactics and planning wins wars. Tactics and planning increase the odds of survival. I can't fail in my mission to return. I hope our first excursion doesn't turn into our last mission.
" We can monitor radio signals as we travel" Exile continued racking a round in the chamber. " Steve can also do some online investigation as we travel and indicate potential targets as he finds them."
As the former Omegans converse, a news broadcast plays across the screen, local reporter Emily Thornton's face having an unusually serious expression:
"We are receiving reports of some sort of metahuman activity going on in Uptown! This would be the first the city has seen since the Alien Wars! Field reporter James Flannigan is on the scene in the Channel 4 Helicopter, James, what can you see?"
The scene changes to show the Irish reporter sitting inside a helicopter, the city below visible over his right shoulder. "Emily, I'm not entirely certain what is going on right at this moment, but from what I can tell, it appears that Red Samurai and Tartan are robbing an armored car! We are approaching now to give you an exclusive look at the scene!"
The helicopter continues its decent as it rotates around, eventually showing the street below. Their is a brutal fight going on in an intersection, the armored car knocked completely on its side. A perimeter of bloodshed and destruction surround it, as The Red Samurai cleaves through members of the Star City Police Department like a scythe through wheat. At the armored car, Tartan is smashing through the things side panel with a massive hammer, every now and then pausing to throw hunks of the vehicle at policemen who are harassing him with gunfire, to no effect.
"This is first look at metahuman activity in Star City in weeks, Emily, and it is being brought to you exclusively by Channel 4 News!" James continues on, shamelessly plugging the broadcast. In the background, Tartan's gaze falls on the helicopter. The behemoth grabs a nearby SCPD squadcar and heaves it at the helicopter, eliciting panicked screams from the newsman, [b]"HOLY S@~~! Pull up! Pull up!"
Just before the collision, the camera cuts back to Emily in the station, a terrified look on her face. She quickly composes herself and says, "It appears we are having technical difficulties connecting with James, at the moment, but trust that we will keep you up to date on this situation as it develops."
The floor shakes as an explosion on the surface can be heard even in the bunker. Whatever is going on up there, it must be close by.
As the human-brained robot thing started speaking, Preacha-Z found his attention drawn to something more important: the TV. There, what he saw shocked him.
"YO, CHECK IT Y'ALL!" A single, claw-tipped arm, easily seven feet in length, extends toward the news report. "LOOK AT THOSE POSERS. TALK ABOUT SOME WEAK-ASS STYLE. MAN, HOW COME THEY GET TO BE ON TV AND WE DON'T? I AIN'T EVEN GOT A HUNDRED FOLLOWERS ON MY YOUTUBE CHANNEL YET! THIS IS SOME B~$#@@&+, MAN. I GOTTA GO UP THERE AND SET THESE PEOPLE STRAIGHT ON WHAT'S WORTHY OF COMMITTIN' TO FILM."
Mid-rant, Preacha-Z returns to his room, his shrieking voice easily carrying throughout the lair. He adorns himself in his finest regalia: gold chains -- really, too many g@%@+&n gold chains -- and a checked silk pocket square affixed to his carapace with double-sided tape.
He emerges bearing a GoPro. "YO, SOMEBODY HELP ME STRAP THIS THING ON. I GOTS TO LIVESTREAM THIS SHIZZ."
Something between a giggle and a maniacal laugh escapes Ember's lips when the rumblings of the fight above reach as far deep as Steve's bunker-lair. She doesn't bother with anything amounting to an explanation or statement of intent, instead speeding to the bunker's lift, giddy at the opportunity to do something exciting.
As soon as she reaches the parking garage, she races off out of one of the open-air openings that line the building's outer wall and into the sky, a trail of flame and haze behind her. She continues laughing the entire way.
Great, 5 minutes in, and already we're on the defensive. Luckily, it looks like we're just dealing with a couple thugs looking for a cash grab. If they'd been coming to the bunker, we'd have been caught with our pants down. I'll have to put some work into hiding this place better, and soon.
"Everybody get out there and stop those idiots before they blow a hole in my ceiling! And don't put yourself in too much danger. Just chase them off."
Wheeling past the television on the way to the elevator, something catches Steve's eye. The red glint coming from the head of Tartan doesn't look like a magical effect. That's red glass.
And look at those arms. Those aren't gauntlets. They might actually be bionic. It's not as good as having a replacement body, sure. But one immortal body part is better than none.
"On second thought, just shoot at the squishy bits!"
With that, Steve calls the elevator using his transponder and wheels into the nano-lab. He dons his swarm-control tactical helmet and signals to The Swarm to stow in the transport case bolted beneath his wheelchair seat. Cackling with delight, Steve shouts, "Swarm, assemble for transport!" Nearly half make it into the storage compartment before they become confused and start crawling up and over Steve's torso, hanging on for dear life as they climb his wildly gesticulating arms.
"No! I said IN THE POD! Oh whatever!"
Steve quickly herds the straying bots together in his dura-weave laced fatigues, and rolls back to the elevator.
Exile groans as he helps Preacha Z attach his G-Pro. We'll need the big bug to take these chumps down.
As he exits the hideout with the others Exile tries to remember everything he can about Tartan and the Red Samurai.
Unfortunately he can't remember a great deal of information. Still there must be something at least somewhat valuable. Just to be on the safe side Exile attaches the laser sight to his rifle.
"Z if you're able try to leave Red Samurai alive" Exile rumbled "He may have useful information."
"MAN, AS LONG AS I LOOK COOL, I DON'T CARE WHO LIVES OR DIES."
Flicking on the GoPro, Preacha-Z stalks toward the lift while narrating the action to his two dozen or so followers.
"ALRIGHT ALRIGHT, IT'S GO TIME, KIDS! WE GOT SOME SERIOUS ACTION HAPPENIN' RIGHT ABOVE OUR SUPER-SECRET LAIR -- IN FACT, LEMME GIVE Y'ALL A GOOD LOOK AROUND AT OUR DIGS SO YOU KNOW WHAT'S AT STAKE."
Preacha sweeps the camera over his surroundings, adding dismissive commentary to everything he sees that isn't "swanky" enough. He joins Steve on the lift. Looking down at the old, partially-robo-spidered cripple, Preacha adds, "AND THIS LAME OLD GUY IS NAMED STAN OR SOMETHIN'. STAN, ANYTHING YOU WANNA SAY TO OUR LEGIONS OF ADORING FANS? MAKE SURE IT AIN'T BORING."
As the group moves out of the elevator, Ember begins giggling as she blazes off and out the tunnel, not waiting for the others.
The sound of gunfire and shrieks can be heard coming from nearby to the West, it shouldn't take long to get to the scene.
As Ember arrives at the scene, she can see quite the field of chaos below. There are a large number of SCPD officers either wounded or clearly dead, being drug by their comrades or altruistic citizens from the scene. Nearby, a cop is pulling a screaming James Flannigan from the crashed Channel 4 News-Chopper. His arm is clearly broken.
All around the intersection, SCPD cars have formed quick blockades to serve as cover, with the remaining officers continuing to harass the villains in the intersection. Red Samurai stands atop a car, having just eviscerated another unfortunate cop. Tartan continues to try to rip open the overturned armored car.
"Hold your fire!" is cried out from an officer below Ember, "Another Meta is on the scene, hold your fire!"
The officers all cease fire, and the sudden pause garners the attention of Red Samurai and Tartan. They stare quizzically at the newcomer as the officer calls out into his radio, "Where are those HK supplies, damnit!?!? We need back-up now!"
Tartan turns to the new arrival, chuckling as he says, "Heh, hey Red, check out this little hottie. HA! Get it? Hottie? Hahaha!"
"Quiet!" Red Samurai points his sword up at Ember, "You! Don't you meddle in our affairs, little girl," he says, "Go back wherever you came from if you know what's best for you."
He then levels his blade at the officers and spins in a slow circle, "SAME FOR THE REST OF YOU! ANY OF YOU WHO DO NOT FLEE NOW, WILL NOT BE SPARED!"
"Ain't that just the Pedobear and the Bloody Tampon, villains extraordinaire! Knocking over armored cars like a couple of two-bit nobodies, just to remember their roots I'm sure." Ember cracks her knuckles, lining up a shot on Red Samurai as she continues her monologue. "But, as one meta to another," she says, shooting a sour look to the news team, "I'll give you one chance to apologize for being an insufferable d&**#ead before I decide to ignite you and show the world how red you could be."
__________
"So be it," snarls Red Samurai as he hops off of the cop car. "Tartan! Deal with this nuisance while I do your work!" he calls out, and then, moving faster than any normal human, sprints off behind the other side of the armored car.
__________
,
Ember frowns at the retreat of Red Samurai. "Guess the Tampon joke was a little too fitting."
Turning instead to Tartan, she extends her right hand before her, left hand gripping her right elbow as if to secure or steady it. She presses the middle finger and thumb of her right hand together, preparing to snap her fingers, before calling out in a faux-masculine tone over the crowd, "" her Roy Mustang impression evaporates after she snaps her fingers, and she calls out in her usual, manic voice ""
The click of her fingers is immediately drowned out by an explosion that engulfs Tartan completely, rocking nearby vehicles and sending shrapnel flying from the force of impact. Ember ascends higher in the sky to avoid retaliation and flames spring to life around her, curling around in a roiling inferno.
Steve, though hard of hearing, is able to pretty clearly make out what the Preacha is saying, because of the sharp, almost mechanical sounds he uses to replicate speech. He casts an irritated glance at the tiny camera swinging from a gold-plated nickel chain around Preacha Z's neck.
"Cameras are for watching our enemies outside the Lair, not for filming inside. You kids have the exact wrong idea about privacy, and it's going to let our enemies gain intel about our defenses."
He looks again at the lens spinning wildly as Z practices his fly gangsta stances.
A recording of the fight wouldn't be bad, though. It could help us with tactics down the line.
"Here, let me help you with your 'swag'. It could be a little tighter... yo."
Steve uses Z's whack ass gold chain and a spoke from his wheelchair to fashion a chest-mounted rig that should be mostly stable during the fight (Mechanical Genius). Mumbling something vaguely grandfatherly, he wheels himself toward the street.
As the fire dissipates, Tartan lowers the arm he had raised for cover, and snarls through gritted teeth, "You. Little. B$&@~!"
He snatches up one of the overturned cars and hurls it at Ember. The Buick slams into the girl hard, the analogy of "like a truck" coming to mind...
Steve pushes his wheels as fast as he can.
As he nears the exit to the tunnel, he looks aboutt for safe cover, behind which he can view the battle field. Planters or dumpsters if possible.
He sees a freshly abandoned gyro truck, and begins angling toward it.
Two birds with one stone.
The Swarm, already several feet ahead of Steve, continues to surge forward.
As it crosses the threshold into open air, Steve slides down the visor to begin interfacing. A green and white display not much better than an oscilloscope shows the terrain that's being actively mapped with the Swarm's rudimentary rangefinders and motion sensors. Running up on something with such big feet doesn't seem like the right move. Steve pilots it orthogonal to the battle ground, hoping to spot the other Super.
Ember manages to roll with the worst of the incoming squad car, spinning away from the descending vehicle to sail to a nearby building's roof. "I asked for ketchup, not tartar sauce!" Both of her hands are bathed in flame when she lands, summoning another explosion that rocks the street below.
______________________________
______________________________
"GRRAAAAGGGHHH!" Tartan cries out as he burns beneath Embers fiery onslaught, though he remains standing.
Red Samurai emerges from the armored car, and calls out, "Alright, I've got it."
He looks around and spots Ember, then turns to Tartan and nods.
__________
The deafening explosions bring back memories of Exile's former life as a prime soldier. He could feel the bio-nanites begin to surge. This is what I was made to do. This feels right. Long dormant power propels Exile towards cover to take up a good firing position.
Got what, exactly? wonders Over-Mind as he sees the Red Samurai emerge from the armored car. Let's find out, shall we?
Let your pitiful mind quaver under the might of ...the Over-Mind!
Red Samurai clutches at his head with his left hand as Over-mind attempts to control the warrior. He looks around and soon notes the source of the mental assault, evident by the energy pulsating around the brain-in-a-jar several yards away. In a blur of superhuman motion, he is suddenly right beside the psychic, taking two swift slashes at the mentalist, who narrowly avoids the attacks.
Tartan staggers back and forth, still reeling from Embers attack.
__________
Reeling as he backs away from the superior swordsman, Over-Mind considers his latest predicament. Curses, must still be foggier than I thought. The time in isolation before uploading into this robot body must have dulled my psychic abilities, but not for long!
While attempting this, Over-Mind reaches out with his telepathic calls Someone please distract this walking can opener so I can get inside his pathetic brain!
The warrior grits his teeth as he glares and yells at the robotic telepath, "Get out of my head!"
Exile finds a target in the Red Samurai. He can't allow the crimson slicer to cut down the only allies he has. Exile takes a chance to fire on the momentarily still warrior.
AP2
The shells bounce off of Red Samurai causing him no distress what-so-ever.
Tartan shakes off the battle fatigue and shell shock he is experiencing, and heaves the nearby mustang at Ember. The throw falls short, however, and the car becomes lodged in the side of the building...30 feet up.
__________
Steve knows a blender when he sees one. The best approach is to Paralyze them, to neutralize their ability to chase down targets, specifically Steve. He quickly moves behind cover.
He then navigates the swarm back into the perfect position between all his allies, and sets off a neurotoxin cloud.
"ALRIGHT Y'ALL, GET READY TO BE IMPRESSED!"
Preacha-Z leaps through the air in a surprisingly elegant arc, claws extended overhead. He lands in front of Tartan, bringing his arms down toward the big guy's head with all his might. With the added force of his jump, his limbs streak downward, falling just short of his target. Instead, his claws dig furrows into the street, sending small bits of rock flying in every direction.
Straightening to his full height, Preacha says, "HEY MAN, DO ME A FAVOR AND DIE QUICK, 'CAUSE YOU AIN'T REAL CAMERA-FRIENDLY, NOWHAIMSAYIN?"
Accounting for the introduction of Preacha on the scene, Ember heaves another fiery blast behind Tartan in the interest of not incinerating the otherworldly hip hop aficionado dominating the street below her. Aiming and precision have never been her preferred method of operation, however, and she ends up pulling most of the punch her blast had to offer. On the bright side, Tartan's figure cuts an impressive looking silhouette against the explosion behind him.
______________________________
All the policemen flee as the monstrous Preacha Z arrives on the scene, dropping their guns and running as fast as they can away from the area. Red Samurai becomes visibly shaken as well at the sudden appearance of the creature.
"K-k-kill it Tartan! Kill it quick!" the swordsman calls out as he tries to focus himself against his current target and get away from the now disturbing insect-like robots swarming all around him. The terror seems to force him into a higher urgency in his attacks, as he manages to completely outflank Overmind and is clearly prepared to deliver a devastating series of strikes against the mentalist...
__________
Benny Soak for attack 2
Over-Mind suffers 4 more wounds and dies.
Dr. Nosferatu arrives fashionably late on the scene and rolls his eyes at the pointless mess everyone has made. How is this going to get me my lab? Now we've revealed that our hideout is near by. Lucian tries to help dispel the situation by stepping into the mind of Red Samurai. To grease the mental wheels, he calls out to him, "Hkhey.. ninja guy! Do you realize who you are dealing with?" and for a moment, lets slip his true face.
Now that he's quivering like a child, lets see if he's left the back door open.
Dr. Nosferatu then continues looking for Wilmore. He's pretty sure his samples are starting to spoil. Time is of the essence on getting a proper lab.
Reeling as he backs away from the superior swordsman, Over-Mind considers his latest predicament. Curses, must still be foggier than I thought. The time in isolation before uploading into this robot body must have dulled my psychic abilities, but not for long!
While attempting this, Over-Mind reaches out with his telepathic calls Someone please distract this walking can opener so I can get inside his pathetic brain!
Exile finds a target in the Red Samurai. He can't allow the crimson slicer to cut down the only allies he has. Exile takes a chance to fire on the momentarily still warrior.
The shells bounce off of Red Samurai causing him no distress what-so-ever.
Tartan shakes off the battle fatigue and shell shock he is experiencing, and heaves the nearby mustang at Ember. The throw falls short, however, and the car becomes lodged in the side of the building...30 feet up.
Accounting for the introduction of Preacha on the scene, Ember heaves another fiery blast behind Tartan in the interest of not incinerating the otherworldly hip hop aficionado dominating the street below her. Aiming and precision have never been her preferred method of operation, however, and she ends up pulling most of the punch her blast had to offer. On the bright side, Tartan's figure cuts an impressive looking silhouette against the explosion behind him.
Steve knows a blender when he sees one. The best approach is to Paralyze them, to neutralize their ability to chase down targets, specifically Steve. He quickly moves behind cover.
He then navigates the swarm back into the perfect position between all his allies, and sets off a neurotoxin cloud.
Dr. Nosferatu arrives fashionably late on the scene and rolls his eyes at the pointless mess everyone has made. How is this going to get me my lab? Now we've revealed that our hideout is near by. Lucian tries to help dispel the situation by stepping into the mind of Red Samurai. To grease the mental wheels, he calls out to him, "Hkhey.. ninja guy! Do you realize who you are dealing with?" and for a moment, lets slip his true face. The horrific visage, however, seems to not phase the warrior, at least not when compared to his reaction to the arrival of Preacha Z.
After what Red Samurai has seen, it's not hard to convince him that he's not going to win this fight. Dr. Nosferatu directs Red Samurai to toss his sword away, lay face down on the ground, and give himself up.
"ALRIGHT Y'ALL, GET READY TO BE IMPRESSED!"
Preacha-Z leaps through the air in a surprisingly elegant arc, claws extended overhead. He lands in front of Tartan, bringing his arms down toward the big guy's head with all his might. With the added force of his jump, his limbs streak downward, falling just short of his target. Instead, his claws dig furrows into the street, sending small bits of rock flying in every direction.
Straightening to his full height, Preacha says, "HEY MAN, DO ME A FAVOR AND DIE QUICK, 'CAUSE YOU AIN'T REAL CAMERA-FRIENDLY, NOWHAIMSAYIN?"
Red Samurai immediately obeys the mental command of Dr. Nosferatu, tossing his sword aside, and laying face down on the ground with his hands outstretched, as if he were being arrested.
__________
__________
__________
Tartan grips his mace and snarls at the insect that dared to attack him. "Finally something close enough to smash!"
He raises his large hammer up behind his head and says, "I'm gonna smash you like a...a...well...YOU KNOW WHAT I MEAN!"
The hammer crashes down into the pavement, creating a huge crack between the claw marks Preacha Z had left, but nothing more, as the momentary pause for banter gave the alien plenty of time to evade the heavy handed but slow attack.
__________
Ember continues rocking the streets with fiery explosions, careful to avoid catching Preacha Z in the destructive tantrum. She manages to find a sweet spot once more and Tartan is engulfed in a blast that could incinerate a Buick. Over the din of combat, Ember calls out, "BENJAMIN MOTHERF++$ING FRANKLIN "HAWKEYE" F%%$ING PIERCE JR.!"
______________________________
Over-Mind snaps out of the malaise that had crept over him. Good God, I just had the most horrible vision of my own slit-up demise! But now the source of my downfall has himself, fallen down. Is he now under my control? Over-Mind commands Red Samurai to show him what he has found but the warrior doesn't move. Very curious, perhaps he is surrendering?
Then the chilly countenance of Dr. Nosferatu comes up on Over-Mind's visual scanners. Oh, it's you. Fashionably late as always, good Dr. he remarks. Glad you were able to take advantage of his mind I had so recently weakened with my own psychic onslaught. It might do to find out what exactly this warrior from the far east has found in this silly heist of his
Shyiiit, this is embarrassing. My legions of two dozen fans don't follow me to see the world's weirdest road crew tear up blacktop! I gotta turn this thing around before somebody starts live-Tweeting about how lame my stream is.
Largely unconcerned with the explosions flinging debris and shrapnel in every direction -- though pleased with how it will look on camera -- Preacha dances nimbly around the large oaf.
"YO MAN, THAT WAS A GOOD WARMUP, BUT LET'S DO THIS THING FOR REAL. REMEMBER, THIS IS FOR POSTERITY, SO WHEN YOU DIE MAKE IT LIKE . . . EPIC!"
So saying, Preacha lashes out again with one of his claws.
"UUUUNNNGGGGHHH!" Tartan grunts as he is knocked forward from the force of the blast. As he starts to rise, his eyes glaze over, now under the control of the Over-Mind.
However, PreachaZ seems not to take notice (or likely not care), and brings down the razor edges of his claws down across the fallen man's neck, cleaving his head from his shoulders.
__________