"We need a new television. Should probably get a few spares this time." Ember offers wryly from the couch. Her obese cat paces back and forth momentarily on top of the furniture behind her before ultimately settling on a precarious perch.
Preacha plays little-kid keepaway with the brain robot, planting a claw on its dome and holding it at arm's length. Otherwise, he ignores the robot's struggles while trying to coax firm answers from the rest of the crew . . . Until he finds his usual preoccupation with superficial BS pushed aside by the mighty mind powers Over-mind.
Over-Mind reaches out with his psychic tendrils and what seems like a weak attempt suddenly pulls his consciousness forward, like tumbling into a well. Suddenly the bizarre neurology of the Zigranis bombards all of Over-Minds senses. He finds himself awash in new colors never before conceived of by human vision, feels the pull of subtle neurological compunctions to conquer, dominate, and consume. All of the world seems at once pathetically trivial and joyously entertaining.
"Holy tap-dancing Christ, this is incredible!" shouts Preacha-Z in a cadence and accent not quite his own. The giant space-bug swings it's head around staring at everything around him. Soon the burbling from the other end of the telephone reaches his audio receptors, and Over-Mind detects the strange echo-y sonar-like impulses of Z's sense of hearing. "What?! Er...I mean, sup, err, FOOL! I ain't no jibber-jabberer. I plays it cool like, uh, old school...word." Z struts back and forth, even starts climbing the walls with grace and ability, and is soon hanging from the ceiling, phone against head, as he continues spouting what can only generously be called 'rhymes.'
"YO, DOG-- DOGGY, I AIN'T PLAYIN' WICHU. I AIN'T GONNA STEP TO NO INTERVIEW, uh, WITH THE MAN! I BE PREACHA-Z, BADDEST BUG IN THE GALAXY. Hmm, nice, that sounded pretty good. Now, uh, WHAT YOU FOOLS NEED TO KNOW IS ME AND MY CLIQUE BE RUNNIN' THIS HOOD, HOMES. WE DON'T GO TO INTERVIEWS, WE BE CLANDESTINE AND S&~!." Preacha seems to listen a bit longer on the phone, awaiting a response from the news folks...
Exile puts palm to forehead.
Unbelievable. I was hoping the brainbot would put this fire out, but now he's painting a giant target on our back. We had better invest in some base security.
"Pizza!" Lucian drops a stack of boxes onto the coffee table, sits down next to Ember, and starts rifling through the boxes to find his first slice. "So, I vas thinking ve could hit a hospital or something. Bio labs are somevhat rare, but hospitals are a dime a dozen. I'm looking for a chryo-cooler, primarily, the kind you vould deep-freeze umbilical cords with. But there is being the added bonus of hospital have the drugs. Pharmaceuticals."
"Straight from hiding in a bunker to raiding an active hospital, eh? Sounds like a great way to bring down the hammer of justice on top of our heads... Speaking of staying inconspicuous, I suggest the monstrous aliens, brains-in-jars, and war criminals stay out of the lobby. Technically, this place is off the books, but I'm pretty sure most employees suspect it's down here. Still, I don't want to be putting up neon arrow signs pointing directly to this elevator. I have a trusted assistant who can bring any deliveries down to the bunker. Order whatever you want, but PLEASE, put it into our requisition client on the computer over here, and mark it 'SPECIAL DELIVERY - C/O MAYBELLE'."
"Now, as far as the lab equipment goes, I have an idea. The video I showed you earlier is from a company located on the island. They've been pretty quiet in recent years, but they still seem to be operational. Now, It's tempting to try a raid, and it would probably pay off quickly for little effort. But if we establish a relationship with them, it may pay off much bigger in the long run, especially considering there aren't many active terrestrial-centric research labs still in operation. They have stuff we want - equipment and tech - and we have something they want - live human(ish) test subjects. I'm thinking we can negotiate a merger. Is everyone on board with that?"
"Let's be honest here. The hammer of justice is going to come down one way or the other. We've been made on TV. They know what we look like and have a glimpse of what we can do. Not only that, but we will be perceived as a primary threat after Preacha Z telling the new's station that we own this area. Our best bet is to hit a place far from here so that the authorities can't pinpoint our location" crackled Exile.
Good point, Exile! thought Over-Mind aloud. Pausing in his pacing across the ceiling, Preacha Z suddenly barks into the phone "Listen up, homes, Z be outtie 5-thoutie. We the Omega have helped oust, err, f+#@ up the V'sori, you feel me? So we want y'all to back on up. We got you in check. The bomb. Z, out!" and with that Preacha Z releases the phone which tumbles to the cement floor and shatters.
Over-Mind releases Preacha Z.
Suddenly in control of himself once more, Preacha stares in horror at the shattered remnants of his highly-customized, latest-gen phone. Worse, however, is the awareness of the opportunity that has just been stolen from him. I coulda made it! I coulda been HUGE! And I was willin' to let these jokers tag along, too, and what do I get for my f#~$in' largess? BETRAYED.
Rounding on Over-mind, Preacha flings wide his mighty arms (knocking over a lamp and incidentally smacking Ember in the face) and spreads his wings. There is a focused look in his eyes never before seen by any of his cohorts, a flicker of purpose and drive usually lacking. He bellows, "YO MAN, WHAT THE F&%+?! IS THAT HOW IT'S GONNA BE? YOU GONNA STEP TO ME LIKE THAT, HUH?" Preacha stalks forward. "MAYBE I OUGHTTA TAKE THAT BRAIN OF YOURS OUTTA THAT CLANKY-ASS BODY AND STICK IT IN THE F%#~IN' TOILET TANK, HOW'S THAT SOUND?"
Seeing things might go south fast Exile discreetly moves to the door way. He pulls a grenade, making sure to hide it behind his body.
Just in case
Ember reels from the errant blow momentarily, standing with a confused look on her face as she attempts to puzzle out what the hell just happened to her. It dawns on her pretty quickly, the giant mantis-alien-thing bowing up like one of those silly birds she had seen on the Discovery Channel. Unfortunately, dousing the flames of discord simply isn't in Ember's repertoire. Her eyes narrow to slits of molten fury, and her veins begin to throb with a glow like that of the sun. She manages to keep level enough not to unleash a pyroclasm on the room of once-Omegans, instead offering a couple of utterly ineffective kicks against one of Preacha's numerous stalk-like legs.
Her voice is high pitched and full of anger when she screeches, ""
"Now now, Z. I was merely, uh, helping you." Over-Mind broadcasts, putting his robot hands assuredly in the air. "It's like when courting a female, you've got to remain mysterious and exciting. Nay, a bit dangerous. You were just now running the risk of revealing far too much about yourself, you've gotta keep the proverbial babes wanting more, don't you see? Can't put everything in your first interview or they'll never want to interview you again. I've got your back, my home dog. Woof."
Gradually, Preacha's various appendages draw inward until he is once more spindly and not overbearing. Antennae twitching, he seems to consider for a moment before replying, "I FEEL YA, BRAIN-BOT. GOTTA LAY THE GROUND WORK, BUILD UP A FAN BASE THEN -- BAM!!" Once again, he flings wide his arms, but everything available to knock over is already on the floor. "DROP THE ALBUM, AND FOLLOW WITH A MULTIMEDIA BLITZ THAT PIG HUNTERS IN THE F#**IN' AMAZON ARE GONNA HEAR ABOUT! YEAH, THAT COULD WORK. ALRIGHT, WE COOL."
Preacha extends his mighty claw for a "fist" bump.
Inwardly, however, he considers: This mothaf@!%a thinks I'm gonna fall for that? Hell naw! The Z don't countenance psychical manipulations of any kind, 'less they helpin' him get wit' da honeys. Brain-bot better hope he's useful in gettin' me the recognition I deserve, or else I'm stickin' him somewhere way worse than the damn toilet tank.
Seeing that the situation has been diffused for the moment Exile discreetly holsters his grenade.
That was close. These hot heads could start a massacre at any moment. I had better be more careful in dealing with them.
Listen to me! boomed Exile We all have our own agendas, but as the world is now we can't survive or fulfill those agendas on our own. As soon as the regular have regrouped they will begin hunting us down again. We must strike while the iron is hot and make the must of this chaotic situation. Personally I don't care if the virus wipes out this planet, however pursuing this could benefit us all and bring each of you one step closer to your own personal goals.
Turning to Dr. Dalca Clearly whoever is working on this virus is very skilled in genetics. Would it not benefit your own research to steal theirs? Even if the research is useless imagine the equipment they must have.
Shifting to Mr. Wilmore Of course this research and equipment may be the solution to your own problem. If anything it could at least boost Dr. Dalca's ability to help you.
Then to Over-Mind Who knows what else they maybe working on. Perhaps a way to clone bodies. Imagine being in your own body again.
His glowing gaze then falls on the large insectoid You want people to recognize you. You want the world to kneel at your feet. Imagine how many would worship you if you were to save all super powered being on the planet from the coming plague. You would be the undisputed Big-G. His voice dropping to an ominous level Now imagine that all super powered being are wiped you, but you survive. All those super fans gone. Now imagine the virus mutates and infects regular people. As time goes on your fan base shrinks more and more until there's no one left but you. You and only you with no one to hear your dope lyrics. Then imagine no more bling and no more foxy ladies. Only silence and obscurity. Not even a VH1 to do a pop-up video or behind the music special.
To the little pyro Think of how much security they must have. Think of how much there will be to burn and destroy.
Then addressing the group as a whole I know what I'm going to do gentlemen. What will you do? The choice is yours.
Exile then becomes still.
"Eat pizza." Ember responds deadpan, reaching for the recently delivered box of food.
"Agreed.." Lucian grabs another slice and holds it up in a makeshift pizza toast/salute to Exile. "..on both counts." Lucian takes an emphatic bite.
Seeing his speech at least had some sort of effect Exile puts a plan in motion.
Very good gentlemen. Now let's get to work. First we need to dig out how Red Samurai got his information and anything he knows about the people behind this box. I leave that to you Over-Mind and Dr. Dalca. If we can't find any more useful information then we may need to examine the cargo van it came in, van's crew, and their equipment for clues. That means raiding a station.