[b]UNDISCLOSED LOCATION[/b] Interacting with: [@GreenGoat] One of Donovan's many monitors chirped quietly, before the screen went blank. Softly, seductively, music began to play, accompanied by a soprano voice. A piece from the Puccini opera [i]La Boheme[/i], “Musetta's Waltz” to be exact. The blank screen changed to an image. A man hunched over in a leather armchair, wearing a long and flowing gray cloak with the hood raised. It was difficult to tell, but the man underneath seemed to be unnaturally tall and broad. “You wanted my attention, you have it,” the cloaked man said to the camera, his booming and deep voice a stark contrast to the delicate soprano he spoke over. “We have made a point of being difficult to find. Our computer expert assures me that it would require a truly extraordinary talent to detect her efforts, much less leave a calling card. As you say, it would be in our mutual interest to work together to save the world from those who call themselves Champions- or those who once did.” Detailed instructions for a meet suddenly began to arrive in text format- one representative to be met by two Phalanx members the following day in the city of Vladivostok, at the Maxim Gorky Theater. Very public, very crowded. “I warn you, though, the Phalanx will not operate in an atmosphere of distrust,” the cloaked figure said. He raised a hand, pulled a red rose from a vase beside his chair. The music swelled as he lifted the rose to where his face must be underneath the cloak. “I respect your genius. I respect all of my colleagues- individually they possess great virtues. Beauty, passion, courage, and so on. But just because I respect these things does not mean I hesitate to destroy them.” The rose wilted and died in his hand, drooping as petals turned dark and fell. Like weeks had passed in a second. The soprano sang on underneath his words. “We look forward to meeting you tomorrow. I am sure it will be mutually beneficial.” [b]OMAHA, NEBRASKA[/b] Interacting with: [@Renny] Reynard handed a soda to God Fist before stalking off into the corner. He continued to stare watchfully. Unperturbed, Lilith Hobs went on. “I'm so happy that you want to help. Really, I am. One of the ideas I've had is making it clear to the world that there are nonviolent uses for your powers, ways your strength and toughness can aid scientific research rather than just beating up criminals. For instance, I have a team down in Peru at the moment who might need your help.” She pulled herself closer to God Fist, picking up her tablet off the table and showing him pictures. “In 2007, there was a meteor impact at the little village of Carancas, right at the border with Chile. At first they thought Chile was invading. The strange thing about this meteor was that after impact people in the village began getting sick. Nothing serious, no one died. Official word is that the impact knocked loose arsenic deposits in the soil and it got in the groundwater. And Peruvian officials also claim they've recovered the rock.” She shrugged expansively. “My scientists disagree on both counts. I think that meteor is still in the bottom of that crater, and I think something about it is making people sick.” “It's simple, really- I'd like you to head down to Peru and meet up with my science team to help them recover that meteor. Your advanced physiology should be proof against whatever effect it has on people, and your great strength should be helpful in digging it out- it's rough terrain there, very difficult to get a backhoe or anything. My guys have been digging with shovels and picks.” “What you get in return is press about you helping advance science. It's not much, but it's a start, right? Working for the betterment of mankind in a new and peaceful way.” [b]CHIYODA, TOKYO[/b] Interacting with: [@BlackSam3091] The minister who had tried to interrupt stood, his fists clenched and ready to deliver a tirade of his own. The nameplate revealed him to be the Minister for Justice- Odysseus could dimly recall hearing of him as an outspoken conservative and generally anti-superhero. “What do you care of human affairs, of human suffering?” the Minister of Justice demanded angrily. “What do you even know of it? You superheros think you have the right to ride roughshod over all of us, like we're some kind of peasants! You kill our people and you have the gall to stand before this august body and tell us we're at fault?” The man was turning red, shouting. “We have been generous in merely banning you from the country! I might remind you, Your Highness, that Japan still practices capital punishment for the crime of murder, and you are all guil-” Suddenly, he stopped. Everything stopped, frozen in place, still as statues. The Minister of Justice was immobile, speaking no words in the middle of his tirade. If Odysseus squinted, he could see flecks of spittle hanging in the air in front of the man's mouth, somehow immune to gravity. Time had completely stopped. [color=palegreen]“Kill them.”[/color] Ogata, the balding bureaucrat who had fetched him from Nagoya, suddenly stood beside Odysseus, grinning up at the Greek. The only person in the room able to act. Ogata's English was suddenly flawless, his voice two octaves deeper. And his eyes, rather than brown, were a deep emerald green. [color=palegreen]“You don't have to take this abuse, Oddie. You're a king, and they're nothing. Draw your sword and hack them to bits. You can do it. There's only a few armed guards, you've faced much worse odds. Cut them to pieces and declare yourself the new ruler of Japan. It would serve them right.”[/color] Ogata looked at Odysseus with his vivid green eyes, a grin on his face. [color=palegreen]“C'mon, Oddie,”[/color] he wheedled. [color=palegreen]“Kill them all. You know you want to. You want to have your own country again.”[/color] He stood on his tiptoes and gave Odysseus a gentle kiss on the cheek. It burned, prickling his skin. “-ty of that exact crime!” Suddenly, unexpectedly, time was moving again, Ogata was standing back in his place with brown eyes instead of green. His energy spent, the Justice Minister took his seat once more. [b]ANDAMOOKA, SOUTH AUSTRALIA[/b] Interacting with: [@RumikoOhara][@Sterling][@dragonmancer][@Banana][@arca9][@GreenGoat][@DFTBA][@Iktomi] The situation devolved, as it usually did. Silver Glove threw himself at the nearest bikies. He smashed both of his feet into one's chest, nocking the man over his machine. He ducked a swung shotgun butt, aimed a swift jab right between that man's legs. Grabbed the falling shotgun out of the air, threw it as hard as he could into another's face. Three down in as many seconds. Not a bad start. Then things got weird. As he righted himself, he felt a touch on his shoulder. He whirled to confront whoever had come up behind him, and found himself unable to stop spinning. Like he was standing on ice. “[i]Zut alors![/i]” he cursed mildly as he caught another bikie with a spinning backhand, the momentum sending the man staggering. The Jack must have given him a dose of Friction's powers. Wouldn't be the first time. If he used them smart, he could make this work. Then things really started going wrong- the bikies were suddenly filled with the desire to impress Friction with feats of strength and martial prowess- in their thuggish minds, the best way to woo women. “Hey, let's show the lady who the real men are around here!” one of them yelled. The rest shouted agreement, revved their bikes, and charged directly on Gant d'Argent and The Jack with motors roaring. Launcelot's voice was in his ear. “We're in Andamooka,” he said calmly as the bikies roared towards him, shouting to be heard over the sound of their motors. “A little help might go a long way.” Meanwhile, Tinhead Ned took several hits all at once. A nimble flier, he managed to dodge the incoming van- but the exploding bullet to his chestpiece knocked him down, and the flying quarter left a sizable dent in his chestpiece as well. He could feel his joints locking, and the armor was becoming hot and uncomfortable. Ned was no fool- he had kept abreast of the world's superheroes and he knew the scantily-dressed one was easily the most dangerous one here. There was a sniper somewhere, and he was dimly aware of another fight- he thought he had seen a huge teddy bear but dismissed it as a trick of what little light there was. Ned knew he needed to act quickly before his air filters or joints locked up completely. Using his on-board targeting, he quickly stood and sighted on Friction. “Smile, you bloody Sheila,” he said. He fired his wrist-mounted machine pistols at her- 9mm bullets weren't going to do much, but they were a distraction to what counted. And what counted were his shoulder-mounted Tesla coils. They let off massive arcs of electricity right at Friction as she advanced on Tinhead. “It's not the volts, it's the amps, darling! Read 'em and weep!” he gloated.