Lance casts out his mind from a convenient location less than a mile out, trying to find the GCPD server room.
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"Yeah, no offense, but piggybacking on an Austrian robot isn't my idea of a good time. I should be able to keep up easy enough on my own." "I just don't know where the server room is in the GCPD. My trips to Gotham have always been pretty short."
"...Well fine. Somebody else come up with something then."
"Get me near the GCPD and we'll see what they know.
"I'm up for just about anything. Spent so much time sitting around and eating prison food, I'm afraid I've gone soft."
"So why bust ME out?" "I get what you're getting at with the "drug", but seems like you'd be better served getting someone with a better working knowledge of how the nanomachines actually WORK than just someone who knows how to use them, and looks good doing it." he shrugs. "But I guess I owe you one either way."
Lance hops out of the chair and smiles. "You know, I never took you for the terrorist sort." he pauses "Not that I'm complaining. Even with that mask on you're the least scary woman I've seen in a while." He shudders slightly as he thinks back to Killer Frost and Dunwich's carnal relations.
Lance throws off all pretense of being asleep and cycles through his options, running through mental simulations as quickly as possible. Finally (almost a full 6 seconds later, just as Knightingale's flurry of attacks has finished) he settles on one. "Looks like we're hitting a bit of turbulence! You guys better hang on." he says, and winks at Knightingale and the robot.
He interfaces with the airbus, takes a bare moment to familiarize himself with its inner workings, and sets about making the inside a very unpleasant place to be. The ship yaws up, down, side to side, and he tries his best to make it do a loop de loop (though alas, it nearly stalls and he lets that one go). Knightingale and Golem are nimble enough to keep their footing or grab on to something sturdy. Lance is securely fastened inside a metal and plexiglas cage, bolted to the floor. Many of the guards...are not so lucky. The fortunate ones are bumped around, knocked over or out by being rattled around the inside of the bus. The less fortunate ones go tumbling out the open door, screams snatched away by the wind, except for those who can hear their terror echo through the radio links in their helmets.
Gravewound locks the plane's controls, sending it spiraling towards the ground. If it's at all computerized/electronic, that includes the ejector seat. Despite trying to play asleep, Lance can't help but smirk a little.
I think someone's trying to bring this plane down. That wouldn't be fun with my nanites offline. Then again, no other way out of here. This pod is some ridiculous tech. Gravewound decides to flip the coin, and tries to disable a plane's controls. May as well speed this up, go for the undamaged one.
Gravewound comes to again, and perks up as best someone who has been made deathly ill can. He tries to pass it off as simply rolling his head in his sleep, and begins feeling around. I can sense, can I touch? He strains against the suppressor and tries to see if he can get inside any of the machines around.
Gravewound, a little loopy, wonders how someone can look handsome with a full mask on.
Lance grins. "Worth a little shock." he says, cracking his neck a bit as his nanite regeneration kicks on. He then casts out his datalink to find whatever machine is controlling these arms.
"Keep those arms off me for a second while I wreck these wires!" Lance says, and since he decides finesse hasn't served them well SO far, he'll just start ripping wires from the hull, focusing on the emitters and whatever is between him and the next one.
Lance feels a slight twinge of alarm at the warning lights, but fights it back. "No guts, no glory." he mutters and brings the piece of wall smashing down on it again.
Lance sticks one of the shards in the hole and gives it a tentative twist, to see if it will budge any.
"I can hear it, but no eyes on it yet!"
"Break me off a chair leg to use as a crowbar or something, I might need it!" he calls down. Assuming they do, Lance scrambles as quick as he can for the source of the humming.
"The doors are electronic. You turn that thing off and we have no problem getting out." "Even with a deadbolt lock or something, I think we have enough firepower to bust it between us." "I was fine sticking around when it was the best option, but if they're going to be zapping us any time someone goes a little crazy...f+&+ 'em."
"The hell do you think he needs from you? He could take anything he wanted!"
"AAAAGH!" Lance screams as he's electrocuted. Lance's nanomachines fight valiantly to shrug off the electric surge, but they're so inhibited at this point that it's all they can do to keep him conscious. He sways, almost falling out of his chair, struck by a sudden sense of vertigo.
"Thought you had plans? If something like a little head ripping sends you running for the hills you don't have the stomach for anything big."
Lance is basically in the same boat, but just sits calmly where he is. "Why are you people trying to STOP him? Follow the man or get out of his way, this is THEIR problem." he says and points at one of the cameras.
"Plans for what? If you're in here, you already f+~$ed up. They know you now, you're on the radar. You bust out and all the 'heroes' are on you before you make it out of the county. And if you do manage to get away, they still have countermeasure for your powers now. Anything you try better be damn creative, because you've only got one shot before it's right back here. Except next time it won't be such comfortable accomodations. They might put you in a glass box and leave you to rot alone." "May as well relax, serve your time, and get out early for good behavior. Then you can slowly drift under the radar again and carry out whatever plans you have when nobody expects it."
"We were just wondering abut the first inmate stupid enough to try and use his powers with the collar on!" Lance calls, and waves.
"They had me hack into a 'secure system'. Trying to evaluate my abilities, apparently. I tormented their lackey for a while and then gave them the file they wanted. Think they're still trying to puzzle out what I did."
At dinner: Lance seems much more relaxed now that he's had his "fix". "Seem weird to anyone else that they're using us for stuff like that? Seems almost like they're trying to see what we're capable of."
Lance heads to his bunk without a fuss. Plenty of time to ask questions tomorrow.
Lance's pride wars heavily with his desire to keep his head down and serve his time. He mulls it over for a moment, and as he does so he begins to seethe. This is really all they think I'm capable of? They think I'm some two-bit hacker? With a thought, Lance pulls up the needed file, and sets it to the side for now. And now for a little fun. He spends his time determinedly f!+%ing with the guy on the other end of the computer, turning his own "challenges" against him even faster than his so-called opponent can manufacture them. Lance always leaves him just enough leeway to code his way out of the problem, but never lets up, producing more errors, layers of security, and other measures every time the man tries to do something. Once he feels the man has been punished enough (or, more likely, he gives up or phones the guards), Lance smugly procures the file as commanded.
How CSI: Cyber thinks hacking works: Lance cracks his neck. "All right, enough playing." He flexes his mental muscles, imposing his will on the machine. Give me everything. Full Administrator rights and access.
The computer, presumably, yields under the onslaught of Lance's nano-enhanced digital connection, yielding its secrets.
Gravewound: Lance leans back and crosses his arms, then closes his eyes. "Hope you don't mind. Keyboards just slow me down." He takes a quick stab at the security on the computer, testing to see how much effort this is going to take.
If he can manage it, he goes digging around for other information while he's there, anything else interesting that might be hidden on the computer. Might be able to gain some leverage while I'm in here.
Gravewound: Lance relaxes slightly, as if a mild irritant he'd barely noticed had been eliminated. "Yeah, I can manage it." he cracks his neck and fingers as he extends his sense, testing what range they've given him.
Lance suddenly remembers he has an Eidetic Memory, and wracks it for any recollection of these people.
Lance stays up with Demoniac, grateful that he's not the only one who has no need to sleep. "Useful on a stakeout and such but damn do I get bored." he remarks one night.
Lance shrugs. "Not like there's anything else to do."
"Who hasn't?"
"Sounds like some real bad luck."
"I've got fifteen. Attempted murder. Assassination, really. Judge went soft on me because I was 'corrupted' by Deathstroke's influence, and I didn't succeed on my mission anyway." "Lance Harper. They call me Gravewound on the outside."
"To be fair," Jimmy points out in a conversational tone, "we don't know that Dunwich is immortal. Any more than we know you lot aren't, anyway. Have any of you died ever?" He glances around at the group expectantly, waiting to hear when the last time they died was. "I caught a bullet right through the heart a year back. Took me a week for the nanomachines to fix the damage. Guess technically I was dead. No heart or brain function." "Still seem to age though."
"Well, there's two immortals here, ask them to put their hands up."
Lance snorts a laugh. "He won't last long."
Lance shrugs (away from Demoniac's hand) and hands Piper the tray.
"If you're looking to keep a low profile, you're going about it the wrong way."
"Anybody know what the hippy did to be thrown in here?"
"I make it a point not to talk to the guards."
"You must be new to the prison game if you're asking that." "They could put us back in gen pop, that's already worse than this cushy appointment. Or solitary. Or a good old fashioned beating with a stun baton." "Or hell, we 'resisted arrest'. Maybe we get shot. 'Oops, had no choice. It was him or me'." "Lots of worse things than being somewhere with less people, decent food, and reasonably comfortable beds."
"Lance Harper. My master named me 'Gravewound'. Neither one liked me much apparently."
"...Riiight."
"Patty or link sausage? I'll take the bacon if it's not patty. Hold the side of Hopelessness."
Lance cracks to whoever's listening. "Guess they decided if so much of the country was going to be in jail, they might as well make us comfortable, eh?
Lance just sits quietly, with nobody to talk to.
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