T'haam had seemingly trailed off and, perhaps, didn't catch what Radorion had said to him.  Curious as to what had caught everyone's attention, he stepped out into the living room to see what all the hubbub was about.  They were about to play some sort of game on the TV, evidently, which piqued his interest - he had never actually seen a computer game before coming to the tower.  Sure, he had used computers before, but never for anything recreational.  There was a satisfying crunch as he bit into his apple, ready for the competition to begin.  Unfortunately that would not come to pass.

Without warning, the alarm began blaring throughout the premises once again.  

[color=seagreen]"Aw, man..."[/color] Radorion lamented with a mouth full of partially chewed fruit.  

The team, informed of the robbery in process, spared no haste in response to the crime.  Radorion was lagging a little behind Atlas as he had snagged his munitions-resistant weave and a white mask reminiscent of a masquerade.  Both had been left hanging on a hook just inside the bay door leading into the hangar. 

Radorion made his way up the ramp of the jet a bit haphazardly as he removed his hoodie and slid his resistant cross-weave shirt over his head.  The shirt fell down over his bare chest, hiding the many scars across the chiseled contours of the eighteen year old's breast and abdomen.  

[color=green]"Damn I look good in spandex."[/color] Marcus admired himself a bit too loudly.

The thought hadn't yet crossed his mind, but as he sat down across from Atlas and Fortress and pulled his hoodie back on he must have seriously looked out of place.  Everyone else was in elaborate, colorful spandex or armor and here he was in an orange and white hoodie and jeans.  

Sure, it didn't scream 'hero,' but at least it didn't whisper 'villain' like the tattered and singed cloak hanging on his wall...