Interacting with: [@GreenGoat] The broadcast seemed to be intended for Japan, but ultimately it also covered the Korean Peninsula, Taiwan, and parts of China and Russia. At exactly 1900 Tokyo time, all televisions in the affected area abruptly stopped displaying whatever they had been set to, instead showing a blank black screen. Music played softly- some recognized it as a piece from Wagner's [i]Götterdämmerung[/i]. The funeral march played at the death of Siegfried, the greatest of all heroes. WHO ARE THE CHAMPIONS? A block of text in both Japanese and English asked. Photos and film of victims carried out of the rubble from both the hotel and more recently Chūbu Airport. MURDERERS. More photos and clips, of Champions refusing interviews. The funeral march climbed in volume. LIARS. Film of the splinter group announcing their seperation from the larger group. HYPOCRITES. Film of both the Champions jet and the Cochran family jet taking off, minutes before the explosions at the airport. COWARDS. Wagner's brass soared. PEOPLE OF JAPAN, VICTIMS OF THE WORLD, YOU WILL BE AVENGED. THEY WILL PAY FOR THEIR CRIMES IN BLOOD. THE PHALANX SWEARS IT. With a final triumphant swell of brass and timpani, these words lingered on the screen a moment longer before the broadcast ended as abruptly as it began. Normal programming resumed immediately, leaving more than one person desperately confused- and others desperately concerned. Attempts to trace the broadcast were immediately flummoxed. Someone had very cleverly manipulated satellite and internet systems to hide their tracks. It would take a true technological genius to pierce the morass and find exactly where this Phalanx broadcasted from. Someone like Maxwell Donovan. [b]OFFICE OF THE PRIME MINISTER 1901 LOCAL TIME[/b] Interacting with: [@BlackSam3091] The Prime Minister nodded sagely, before rubbing at his temples. "Thank you for coming to speak, Your Highness. We had hoped more of you might attend, to make a case against what we might do. We find their absence disheartening, to say the least. They have no interest in defending themselves from criticism. Simply put, we had hoped to understand your side of the tragic events that occurred last week. We are government officials, we cannot pretend that we are familiar with the duties or responsibilities of the superhero community. It was our hope that you might perhaps enlighten us, to make us understand why so many lives were lost. . ." The PM gave a prolonged sigh. "Your Highness, our duty is first and foremost to the people of Japan. All of us in this room have sworn an oath to work towards the welfare of this country, to preserve the peace and prosperity that has made us a model among nations. We deeply respect your commitment to justice, but unfortunately that commitment has run counter to our duty to preserve public safety. Our citizens have voiced their displeasure, and it is our duty to listen. Accordingly, it is by joint decree of both this Cabinet and the Diet that the organization known as the Champions, as well as all offshoot and successor groups, are declared illegal. No Japanese may join you. You have 24 hours to leave the country or face arrest." The PM sighed heavily, and regret was plain on the man's face. "You led a country at one point. You understand why this is necessary," he said flatly, speaking to Odysseus man to man. "Please, try to see it from our perspective." [b]RIMBAUD BUILDING OMAHA, NEBRASKA, USA 815 LOCAL TIME[/b] Interacting with: [@Renny] At Mach 10 it took less than an hour of flight to reach Omaha, Nebraska, flying back into morning. It was the beginning of the day in the Midwestern city. In years past, several big companies had chosen to move out of New York, Los Angeles, and other larger American cities. Supervillains always seemed to be targeting those cities, destroying good real estate as part of whatever fiendish plan they had, and that drove up the insurance and property values. More and more companies were finding it better to build their fancy and expensive skyscraper in Wichita or Mobile or, in this case, Omaha. The Rimbaud Building was one such new addition to the cityscape of the city, a black glass and marble monolith rising above the flat prairie towards the Midwestern sky. The building, like the street below, was bright and bustling with workers just arriving at their job. Closer examination revealed several polished black marble balconies adorning the penthouse office, and one door in particular open and welcoming. This door led into a spacious office suite, taking up much of the top floor and decorated in tasteful dark colors- more glass and black marble, with the rare splash of color. Reynard was waiting for God Fist inside, in his same stylish black suit and designer sunglasses. "Good, you've arrived," he said pleasantly, the needlelike points of his teeth briefly visible as a smile crossed his face. "Ms. Hobs will see you now." He led God Fist through a door labelled „Office of the CEO“ without knocking. Inside, a fortyish woman was bent over a chess set made of the same black marble and clear glass that seemed to dominate this entire building. Her face was furrowed in concentration, she hardly seemed to notice God Fist and Reynard's entrance. She was beautiful in that careful, elegant way that requires intense preparation and forethought. Her pale skin was a sharp contrast to her uniformly dark clothing. It seemed the only color on her entire person was her intense green eyes, which seemed to glow in the early morning light. "Do you play chess?" she asked quietly, still looking down at the board. "I find it wakes me up better than a cup of coffee in the morning. It's stimulating to look at something, consider and control every possible outcome. It teaches you to avoid surprises in life." She looked up at God Fist and smiled pleasantly. "Here's an example. Let's say you're this knight." She reached down and made one simple, innocent move with the black knight on the board. "Seems simple enough. But look at this," she said with an excited wave to the rest of the board. The knight was now threatened by several of the white pawns. "Exposed to the enemy with no friends for protection. Free to be destroyed at White's whim." She laughed abruptly, before shaking God Fist's hands. "I'm sorry, you must think I'm an old idiot. I invited you here all the way from Japan and I'm talking about my hobbies before I even introduce myself. I must be star-struck, I babble like a teenage girl every time I meet a celebrity. Lilith Hobs. Can we get you anything? Coffee? Tea?" She looked over God Fist's youthful features. "Soda, maybe? Reynard will get it for you. C'mon, let's chat." Lilith sat down in one of the comfortable black leather armchairs that littered the office, waved for God Fist to join her. Reynard stood at attention, looking more like a watchful guard than any kind of assistant. "When I bought this company, it was nothing. Just a handful of guys working out of a garage in Council Bluffs. Now Milton Aeronautics is one of the biggest aircraft manufacturers and defense contractors in the world," Lilith said. "I'm not trying to brag. Just stating facts. I have money and power, sure. But in a moment, a flash of light or a bite from a spider or whatever it was that happened to you, you were given the capacity to change the world, to be a force for evil and good. In a second, you gained what took me twenty years to build. In the snap of a finger, I seemed irrelevant. That was new to me. Intimidating. And to be honest, a little exciting." Lilith leaned forwards, her brilliant green eyes open wide in honest wonder. "What a truly, truly incredible thing. I mean it. It really is wonderful. 'How many goodly creatures are there here! How beauteous mankind is! O brave new world, that has such people in ’t!' I have followed your career and that of your comrades with great interest. Trying to think of ways you might be of service to a higher power, a higher goal than just fighting purse snatchers. Superheroes such as yourselves are the best path to utopia- a planet of happy and prosperous people. No war, no strife, no hunger, no misery.” Lilith leaned forwards and very gently touched the back of God Fist's hand. “So imagine just how much it hurts me to see you and your friends under attack and at each other's throats. Small minds who don't see your potential, your capacity for good. Jealous and fearful minds who distrust your power. And worst of all, those who profit from misery.” She shook her head. “I know you have made mistakes. I can't pretend otherwise, and I can't imagine the guilt you feel. But there are still people who need God Fist, and the rest of the Champions. I can help you. I have friends all over, more money than I can spend. I can put them at your disposal.” She smiled effusively. “I might ask a favor once in a while in return, but nothing big. Nothing illegal, of course. Things for the good of everyone.” “What do you say?” [b]LANDING STRIP ANDAMOOKA, SOUTH AUSTRALIA, AUSTRALIA 120 LOCAL TIME[/b] Interacting with: [@Sterling][@Iktomi][@RumikoOhara][@arca9][@DFTBA][@MrDidact][@TheHangedMan][@dragonmancer][@EkkoRhodes] “That landing went better than I thought it would,” Gant d'Argent commented lightly, checking his heavy gloves and boots. In truth, the landing had been a near disaster- landing in pitch darkness on a dirt field with a large jet was not a recipe for success. It had been thanks to the skill of their pilot that they had got there in one piece. “Well, let's review. It's a small town, around 500 people. Most of them work in the same opal mine, so it's close-knit. This means any outsiders will stand out immediately, so all we have to do is ask around. If anyone's even awake, that is,” Silver Glove mused to the team. “I'm mostly worried about the Splinter, it's more than possible they've gotten here at the same time as us. And whoever else might be trying to get their hands on Tinhead. Or us, for that matter. I don't think those explosions at the airport made us too many fans.” With that, Gant d'Argent climbed down the stairway out of the plane to the packed dirt runway and immediately assumed a fighting stance. It might be paranoid, but in this business it was wise to be prepared for anything. He was immediately blinded by dozens of headlights clicking to life, as well as the sound of numerous shotguns being pumped threateningly. “Good one, Ulysse,” he muttered to himself. As his eyes adjusted to the light, he could make out a few more limited details of his immediate surroundings. Not enough to tell if the Cochran jet was also on the runway, or any other details about the town around him. But he could definitely see the motorcycles, and the armed men in leather vests pointing guns at him. Around forty of them. A motorcycle gang. He squinted through the headlights at their patches. Hellhounds MC. Of course. One of the Melbourne gangs Tinhead Ned had victimized back in his heyday. They had learned about Andamooka and had come here to exact their own vengeance. Of course, it seemed they would settle for fighting superheroes. Gant d'Argent looked at the forty muscular men holding shotguns on him. “Put down your guns before I get angry,” he said. “We have you surrounded,” one of the Hellhounds yelled back. “You poor bastards,” Gant d'Argent said calmly. He rolled his shoulders, shook his fists before assuming his boxing stance. He didn't bother to look if the rest of his team was backing him up. “Any volunteers to go first?” The standoff between the superheroes and the Hellhounds seemed ready to erupt into violence, but the opportunity never arrived. Instead Tinhead Ned arrived. “Well, well, well,” an electronically distorted and amplified voice boomed out over the airfield. Everyone looked up to see the figure standing about fifty feet away from the bikies. Tinhead Ned's armor was clunky and graceless, a flat gunmetal gray and a cylindrical helmet that reminded people of a bucket. But there was no mistaking the vast arsenal of weapons the armor contained. Somehow, Ned Dryden had slipped past the police, bikies, and superheroes and dug up his armor. “So what do we have here?” Tinhead Ned bellowed, clearly enjoying himself. “On one side, a bunch of maladjusted murdering larrikins. On the other, a motorcycle gang. All out here beyond the black stump and just begging for a beating. Strewth, it must be Christmas already.” Tinhead Ned reached out, grabbed underneath the bumper of a parked panel van he had been standing besides. The servo motors of his armor groaned slightly as Tinhead Ned lifted the vehicle over his head without apparent effort. “C'mon mates, let's have a catch,” he cackled evilly as he hurled the van at the assembled group of Champions. Not even bothering to see where it landed, blue flames erupted beneath Tinhead Ned's boots, lifting him into the air. Speakers built into his armor began to broadcast a song. “Joker and the Thief”, by the Australian band Wolfmother. “Come and get it, ya fuckin' drongos!” Tinhead Ned called. His wrist and shoulder mounted weapons began to take aim.