[h2]Alessa Heather: PRT Headquarters[/h2]
Messiah was glad to be able to set a good example as second-in-command, even if it was a minor precedent all things considered. Shortly after this, Sonar began speaking in words that were not his own, clearly the leader of the group and one of his lackeys. From the sounds of things, there were twenty one in total, though only the boss had any sort of parahuman power available to him... even so, the gasp Epsilon made as a result was clearly one of fear.

Messiah didn't have time to say anything to the girl before the elevator doors opened, revealing the lobby for the PRT headquarters, some agents, and a few guests with cameras. Faced with cameras whose images would probably be ruined by the light coming from her eyes, Messiah simply waved to the crowd as they cheered, paying attention to Sonar as he announced who their opponent was: Eyeblight, who could transform into a sort of scarecrow at will, as well as causing significant distress in those who looked at him. Strong, but potentially very weak to her particular ability... which was exactly the problem, in this case. In that state, she suspected she'd have to actually set him on fire to cause any harm to him at all, and she didn't know whether he had any safeguards against something like that. She certainly didn't want to kill him accidentally... though against the normal humans, a persistent wave of heat like a sauna would be enough to render them less viable in a fight, if she could make them sweat bullets until they passed out, or at least induce heat exhaustion. Not heat [i]stroke[/i], though. That would be too far. Not to mention the potential ways in which that could negatively affect her own team members, perhaps moreso for the costume, since it wasn't like Messiah could prevent friendly fire with a wide-area effect like that...

Speaking of teammates, Ira still seemed a bit on edge, staying near the back as the group began to move out. Considering her relative lack of abilities outside of her Tinker power, this was fair enough; even so, it occurred that perhaps she needed some encouragement. Messiah fell back to her, placing a hand on one of Epsilon's shoulders and asking 'Hey, you doing alright? You seem nervous,' whilst also letting out just a little bit of heat, a sort of warming pad in order to help calm her ally for the upcoming fight. She would have smiled in a reassuring fashion too, but the light and all. Indeed, she hoped she wasn't blinding Ira too much at this proximity, though she consciously re-angled the direction of the light from her eyes to try and avoid this.

[hr]

[h2]Raymond Haywood: Icehouse Hideout[/h2]
50% bonus. If that meant 50% of the initial $100000, that was another $50000 for a single target. Rarely was any hit so valuable.

That was about as far as his thought processes got before the man walked into the room, in full costume, complete with what appeared to be armour plating, and emitting an aura of intense chill from his person. Of course this was a fifty thousand dollar hit, Headhunter realised. Normally, he was taking out opponents from more than a kilometer away with an anti-materiel rifle; here, he was all but trapped in close proximity to a target who could almost certainly freeze him solid with a thought, who he might not be able to reliably kill with the relevant weapons, and the idea began to manifest as mild claustrophobia. Finishing off his water and pulling up his face scarf, he continued his checks on the rifle as Love Craft made flirty smalltalk with the target, noting the androgynous character's own mislabelling of their power, at least if Broker's assessment of it was correct. As far as first impressions went, the strange white-haired teen seemed a little over-friendly, to put it mildly. Attractive, at least by Raymond's metric, but excessively touchy.

But that was neither here nor there. He had a job, and step one was getting in position. Putting the rifle back over his shoulder, he waited until Love Craft was done with their spiel, then stood to shake the target's hand, introducing himself in a suitably ironic fashion: 'I am Headhunter. I hope our careers together will be long and illustrious.' Whether or not the handshake was taken, he then took himself over to the wall just behind the target, leaning against it non-chalantly, and waited for an appropriate moment when the target was paying no obvious attention to him. Perhaps another one of Chatterbox's prolonged rants would give him the opportunity he needed...