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"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."
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.
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 SHIT." Preacha seems to listen a bit longer on the phone, awaiting a response from the news folks...
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.
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!
So what is in this box, Samurai? Is this the 'cure' Trand has been developing?
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?!"
Ahhhh! Oh wait, that was just the crazed scottsman dying and not my own fate.
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 Assuming Tartan is still up: Over-Mind then turns his attention to the battered bruiser and reaches out.
Benny Soak for attack 2
Over-Mind suffers 4 more wounds and dies.
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!
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!
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 shitty 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.
By that I mean "type everything in a word-like app first then paste it in here"
Over-Mind has sufficiently acclimated to this post-body lifestyle and is ready to crush all that oppose him!
NOTE TO EVERYONE: Do not type anything but quick notes here. The dumb board resets your token every 10 minutes.
Aww, Neal, so sweet :D Been running Slipstream here with some of my Magic friends and let me tell you, that setting is ripe for cool weird characters :)
Oh man, evil psychic brain in a robot body! (Ignore Grimlin above, Over-Mind is here to stay!) Also, Chip's bro joining in sounds great. |
