"Hijack"
Near Kinko's
"Outta my way!"
@KaijuBaragon

---

Jason cursed under his breath as his shot missed. He looked back up the street to see the two supers escape. His fist slammed down onto the concrete. "Goddamn it!" Jason yelled out, frustrated that his quarries got away. He was not stopping until he took at least one super down tonight. Clicking the safety back on, he took a mental note of how many bullets would be remaining within his magazine. It was always a good idea to keep count. He also changed the firing mode to burst in case he ran into those two by chance and would require some close up engagement. However, his attention was stolen by the metallic slam of a door and the man from earlier.

Jason whipped around and immediately raised the gun at him. He had to be cautious, especially as this guy was in the vicinity of the two supers. He could be involved or another super himself.

"You there. Shooter. Who are you?"

The voice was... slightly off. Everything about this guy's outer appearance seemed to be spot on, but there was a certain echo to his voice, almost like he was hearing it through the other side of a phone call or through a PA system. If Jason played his cards right, he could get some evidence to open fire if he was indeed a super. It was odd how he was at the shop and here suddenly too.

"None of your concern..." Jason said beneath his mask. This guy seemed unarmed for the most part, but Jason couldn't be too careful. "Sir, I will only warn you once. Outta my way..." He said firmly, slowly and cautiously approaching the man, keeping his sights vigilantly trained on him.

Douglas Song

News 41 Broadcast Station - Alleyways

The wait, just as the pursuit, proved all the worthwhile as a figure drifted so faintly to the window of the broadcast station. So they did manage to get inside, Song noted, but it was not long before the silhouette utterly vanished; apportation, perhaps some form of invisibility or phasing too. It had the man cross his arms, sleeves riding to his chest as his head canted to one side, pondering the events he bore witness to. At least his intuition was as keen as it ever had been, which only raised the question now of what to do with it; obviously their activity was criminal, trespassing, breaking and entering, probably some form of petty theft, but that wasn't the problem at its core, it was how to do something about it.

Walking across the street casually, the black clad figure maneuvered about with as little haste as he displayed before, happening to come upon an alleyway. As it were, his sense of direction was about right; the two men seemed to favor the side streets and anything that kept them out of the open. Not an unreasonable tactic if one was attempting to be somewhat subtle as they had been, although the running betrayed their activity. So by the time Song came down that same path, illuminated by the licking flames of the barrel fire, he soon noted the stoop people and vagrants minimally milling about.

Standing just between the two buildings that led down this way, the sense something was odd or off became more evident; people slunk off into alcoves, others down narrowed paths, some back into huddling among themselves, and then of course back to the warmth of the fire. Song adjusted his hood more and looked back toward the ground. Someone, rather two someones, had shunted these people back to their lives with a newfound sense of aimlessness, more than there already was. Walking past the drifters, turning a shoulder now and again to avoid a collision here and there despite not so much as laying eyes on them, the third hood kept on his way; just as he imagined, they ignored him for reasons inexplicable.

There was a novelty to the experience and it made the man's tailing of the duo easier, though things took an odd turn.

Some ways deeper down the narrow street, one made ever so faintly claustrophobic by the looming buildings, did their follower come upon a figure slumped on his side, seizing and convulsing, one who no less closely resembled a member of the two seen earlier. There wasn't much hesitation in Song, in fact none at all, as he then drew closer to the man and went to crouch beside him, reaching a hand out...

@Metronome

Creep Bros
Location: News Station 41: The Eye Tags: Douglas song

Black Mask glanced at his watch. It had almost been a minute now; they were starting to get longer each time. He leaned back against the cool brick behind him, hidden in the shadow of the building and a dumpster. He was tired, his eyes growing dangerously heavy. He had almost nodded off when he heard the ever so quiet sound of shoes on rough concrete. His eyes popped open.

There was a man crouched over Raker, and Black Mask couldn't tell if he was trying to help or hurt. It didn't really matter, did it? Mindraker had stopped seizing, but was still unconscious. His limp form laid lifelessly on the cold ground. The only sign he was still alive was the slow rise and fall of his ribs, just a bit too prominent under his too-big hoodie.

Black Mask lunged. He seemingly materialized out of the darkness, aiming a hard kick at the man's side.

Douglas Song

News 41 Broadcast Station - Alleyways

The ambusher had the advantage of surprise, materializing out of the veil of darkness that he had faded into, but Douglas Song was perhaps as much of a bewildering experience all his own too. This manifest as the moment the kick was launched, the blur of an attack in motion, the third man that had joined the earlier pair rolled backward, and from his supine position upon his back, staring up at the black clad attacker, he leapt to his feet and was standing already. The acrobatic display wasn't an exceptional feat, at least not superhuman despite being physically remarkable, though it were a fair indicator Song was no drunkard or streetperson.

There he stood idle for no longer than a breath, raising a brow, before breaking the clinch range with a push that sent them both sliding backward, shoes grinding against the ground as friction struggled against their unexpected movement. Following the space of a few feet being made, the outstretched arm and hand of the interloper, the so called "Golden Tiger" whose fingers were flexed in and thumb cocked back, dropped to his side and the other arm chambered at the hip fell to rest along with it. Strangely the motion hadn't much more a sensation than just being pushed despite the apparent force involved, that which was enough to send two grown men backward.

Either way, Song looked from the standing masked man, whose seeming "lack" of a face gave no obvious emotions, to the other limp on the ground. When he returned his attention to the conscious member he spoke plainly, fingers releasing their slight tension as he relaxed entirely.

"Your friend isn't well."

He expected no response, masked criminals either were tremendously vocal or not at all; it mattered little one way or another as it were.

@Metronome

Creep Bros
Location: Super secret evil villain liar

Black Mask grunted as he was shoved back. He took another step forward, fists balled and ready to swing, before he thought better of it. He knew what Raker would say: this isn't the time or place for a fight. Especial with said Raker slumped on the ground. Mask glared at the man from behind his facade and stalked over to his comrade. Black Mask crouched down beside him and rolled him back a bit. The hooded man stirred ever so slightly, groggily regaining consciousness.

Black Mask took this as a sign that it was okay to move him. He scooped the lanky villain up and turned to give the other man one last look before he headed off down the alley. Once he reached the end, the two vanish in a cloud of black smoke.

Mask reappeared the next street over. He would have to go back and get the equipment on his own. Right now, he needed to worry about getting Mindraker home before someone else decided to confront them. As with before, he took the back roads and alleys, keeping to the shadows as he approached the hideout.

The villain slunk onto a very old residential street, one nestled in the ghetto of the city. It was filled with mostly crack houses and meth dens. One of the many boarded up townhouses sat empty and dilapidated. The former home loomed over the street, looking every bit like an old ghost haunt. Black Mask went around to the overgrown garden in the back and slipped inside. There was a door that sat half on its hinges that led into the basement of the home. Said basement was clearly the only part that was being lived in. The wooden stairs creaked in complaint as Mask slowly descended them. The dreary dwelling was just barely lit by a street light shining though a small window from outside.

There was an old mattress, the springs that stuck out having been taped back in place. It was covered with an old blanket, and a comforter on top of that. Furniture was made out of plastic milk crates and boxes. A lantern sat on the makeshift night stand. Black Mask laid Mindraker down on the mattress and tossed the blanket over him, then plopped down on the foot end. It was cold, no heater and poor insulation. On worse nights, Black Mask had seen his own breath down there. He honestly didn't know how Raker lived here. Maybe because he didn't have any other choice.

Raker seemed content to rest for now, and Mask wished desperately do to so as well. Unfortunately, it was supposed to rain in the morning. If he wanted that equipment to be any good, he had to go back for it immediately. He let out a sigh and stood, heading silently back towards the stairs.

Agent 021, alias “Hotshot”.
Location: Holding site Alpha-10, [Data Restricted]
Time: 23:00
Interrogation of suspect identified as "Philip John C. Colter".

---

Richard slid his hair back to the back of his head. The unkempt sweat that had build up on his raven black hair had made it slick, greasy and sticky. He was still wearing his suit but his headgear was off. He moved his sight to the left where two agents in suits guarded a medical ward. Inside was a man who miraculously survived his car flipping over at 110 kilometers per hour. He had bruises, lacerations and a fractured femur from what the doctor told Richard. Dr. Weathers called it a "kiss from lady luck herself". Philip John C. Colter, the man who was getting complimentary ice cream inside the ward, was conscious but he complained of excessive pain. That just made Hotshot's next job all the more easier.

As he was staring at the one way mirror, observing the felon they caught, he couldn't help but notice a figure moving towards him. The figure was bulky, crunched with each step and was glimmering silver. Chang's focus changed towards this figure with his brow raised in a questioning manner. The figure waved and Richard couldn't help but smile. "They're making you wear a suit now?" He asked.

The person in front of Chang answered. "The chief wants to try different interrogation tactics." Chang just chuckled. "Come on cosmonaut. Let's get this over with." Chang placed on his headgear and walked towards the door with his partner for the day.

Hotshot entered first followed by the silver suited field agent. Colter spent the longest second looking at the both of them before bellowing into laughter. "What? Yah' guys are gonna spook me to fuckin' death or something?"

The agent just stood by the door while Hotshot moved towards his bedside. Colter stared down Chang through his visor. Chang smirked under the mask. He liked this guy. 'He had guts to say the least' Chang thought to himself. Then Colter spat at Hotshot's chest. Any sort of sympathy went out the window at that point.

"So what? You got da' good cop over there and da' bad cop over here huh? Gonna offer me a deal to get out of da' big house?" Colter asked with a giant grin on his face. Hotshot didn't move and neither did the agent behind him. A minute passes and Colter just looked at the both of them. Studying their reaction. However he also felt the faint rise of temperature around him. "Prepare to eliminate Mr. Colter agent 21. Make sure to leave no identifying body parts."

Colter's eyes grew. He gave the agent a look of horror. Then his attention turned towards Hotshot who was already grasping his wrist. Hotshot's hand was unbearably hot. Like touching the side of a heated stove. "You can't do this to me! I have my rights!" Colter yelled. He struggled against the grasp of Hotshot. He grabbed the partially melted ice cream next to his bed and threw the slurry onto his wrist. It only provided mild relief.

"I can talk! Sweet Jesus I wanna talk!" Colter pleaded. "They paid me to do stupid stuff! Take da' heat away from somebody! I needed to get everybody's attention! I can give you da' place they're meeting at!" He yelled.

The intercom system came to life as soon as Colter finished his cries for help. "Agent 21, agent 05, stand down. Exit the room and wait for further instructions." Hotshot dropped the man's wrist. He gave him what would be the equivalent of a sunburn. Richard exited the room pleased with himself. The other agent took off her head gear and gave Richard a sly smile. "I would say that went better than expected." She said.

Scorn / female / 29 / Villian
Location: Rival Gang Leader's Home

"Lovely house you have," Scorn stated her foot tapping against the floor of the house ",Nice cliche rundown look. Very incognito, not suspicious at all." Currently the rival gang leader was face down, one of Scorn's lackey's having his foot on his neck and a rifle barrel in his temple.

"I gave fair warning to clear out a week ago. This is now Reaper territory but you didn't listen now look what I have to do," Scorn sighed waving a hand over a corpse of one of the gang leader's recruits who had tried to fight back ",Such a waste but actions have consequences. You don't listen, I have to clean house. So now you cockroaches need to be exterminated." She got up from the chair she had been sitting in and walked over to the downed rival, motioning to the current member of her gang who was towering above him to back off. He did, at which point Scorn quickly grabbed the leader by the throat and lifted him up.

"Time for you to sleep," she whispered squeezing slowly, her clawed hands piercing into his skin as she slowly watch the life drain from his eyes. She dropped the lifeless body and wiped her bloodied claws against one of the nearby walls.

"Torch the house, make it look electrical," she ordered one of her gang members ",Find any other loose ends and chase them out or put them down." She turned and left out of the house leaving her crew to take care of her orders. The gang leader had hardly been a challenge. Merely a simple nuisance who thought they could squeeze their gang on her turf. They had been gravely wrong. It had been disappointing. She wanted a challenge, another superhero to put her wits against, another villain to antagonized. Yet it seemed the side of town she was on simply was in for a dull night.

"Perhaps we should rob something," she thought to herself ",Perhaps the nearest jewelry store or bank. That would sure bring someone along."

Talos stood steady as the gun was raised at him. Bullets might cause internal bleeding, severe injuries or death in those made of flesh and blood, but Talos had been shot at numerous times before. Nothing a bit of tinkering couldn’t fix. But he didn’t feel like having his mask broken, the elastic material was rather fragile. Talos didn’t see the masked man shooting at him a logical path for the man to take, so he doubted that he would do it. But there was no telling what humans could do. They were strange creatures, after all.

And then the man spoke, his voice slightly muffled behind his mask. ”None of your concern,” he said. The man then stood up. That gun he was holding was a fine piece of weaponry indeed. That could be put to good use. Then the man stepped forward. ”Sir, I will only warn you once. Outta my way…” he stated firmly, before he began to approach Talos, clearly heading for the door. The android extended a long arm blocking the entrance down onto the lower floor. He didn’t want this man to go anywhere. He heard very faint shuffling noises coming from down below, perhaps the men from earlier sharing Talos’s curiosity. Hopefully this man would be done with before they crept up.

”I’m afraid I can’t let you do that. Answer the question.”

Jason tutted. This was starting to get annoying. He had better things to do than deal with this guy. Although it was mostly for show, Jason stopped in his tracks and unclicked the safety. ”I’m here to finally clean this town. Rid it of it’s infection and cut out it’s tumor. Is that the speech you wanted?” Jason growled. He began to gesture to the side of the doorway with the barrel of his gun, hoping that he could make his way past the guy.

It was such a pain. Although, while most of him wanted to keep in pursuit, a small part was intrigued. The man’s voice struck a certain chord of uncanny valley. It was close to being correct, but slightly off. Unsettling a little, but nothing that would distract Jason from his goal. He needed to find out what this guy was. ”You fit that description? Because I won’t spare a second thought to take you out.” He threatened, raising the barrel of the gun in line with the man’s head. ”Now, move!”
Talos cocked his head to the side slightly as the masked gunman audibly unclicked the safety on his weapon. Likely just a show of force. Why would the man risk exposure for his crimes with such a blunt and obvious attack? Despite the gun appearing to have a suppressor, someone would likely see, especially after the earlier attack. It just wasn’t logical, at least in Talos’s eyes. Then the shooter began to speak. A very impassioned speech, things about how the shooter intended to “clean” the town. From what Talos had seen, definitely with a great deal of blood and violence.

The gesturing of the gun did not do anything to make Talos back off. He stood strong and firm, blocking the metal door consistently as the shuffling noises from below continued unchanged. You could cut the tension in the air as the two stood firm in their goals. Then the shooter became more aggressive. The man clearly threatened Talos now, and as he did, the android shook his head. Then the man lined the barrel of the gun up to Talos’s head. Seems like the man wasn’t taking the logical route after all. However, if Talos ran, he left himself open to being shot in the legs, which could bring him down. In the man’s confusion he could steal the gun and make an escape.

So, Talos stood firm, now unblinking as the barrel of the gun stared him down, just like the shooter.

”You heard what I said before. I will not move. Who are you?”

Jason smirked beneath the mask. This guy seemed pretty calm with a gun pointed at him. It definitely struck him out as an innocent bystander. Whether he was human or not was a different matter. Time for Jason to try and probe out some information as they were clearly in a standoff. Jason couldn’t risk a shot at this point. He didn’t have enough evidence to clear this guy, or condemn him. However, the range should provide an advantage in case an engagement happened.

”Let’s be as civil as we can. It’s only fair if you answer a question of mine first. So why don’t you introduce yourself first. huh?”

The gun continued to be pointed into Talos’s face. Talos was no longer blinking, as mental power was going into analysing this situation and the most conceivable ways for Talos to emerge from this on top, with the gunman dazed, or perhaps even dead. Despite his aggression, however, the man didn’t seem unhinged. He seemed very much cool, cold and calculated. This was going to be rather difficult. Then the man asked a question. Talos’s mind was instantly diverted to coming up with a name to use. His name recalled back to a shop that he had seen on the street, some sort of restaurant. Jack’s, it was called. Then the brand of the beer bottle he had broken over the man’s head.

”My name is Jack. Jack Foster. Once again, who are you?” He said, still unblinking.

Jason couldn’t help but chuckle at the coincidence of the man’s name and his own callsign. ”Hi Jack. I’m Hijack.” He joked. This ‘Jack’ seemed to take a while to answer the question. Was it a fake name? He could get a guy to look it up if needs be. ”Now we’re acquainted, care to move?” Jason asked.

Talos cocked his head once again as the man chuckled after he answered his question. Talos wasn’t sure what was so amusing, but he stood stone-faced as the man finished up his short laugh. Then the gunman gave Talos a name. Hijack. Well, he clearly had some kind of persona. Hero, villain, or vigilante, it certainly wasn’t a given human name. But once again, Hijack asked Talos to move. And still, he stood fast. Now Talos was becoming impatient, and wanted to speed things along.

”I guess you could say we are. But no, I’m still not moving. Hand me the weapon, or I will take it off you.

Jason was getting impatient as well. It seems this guy wasn’t going to go down without a fight. However, there was a way he might be able to get past him without killing the guy. They stared off for a few more gruelling moments before Jason suddenly maneuvered his aim downwards, at the same time switching his fire to single shot. He squeezed the trigger, and the bullet splintered into the man’s shin. Not sparing a second, Jason quickly slung the gun onto his back and made a dash to the doorway, attempting to jump past Jack, even if it meant risking a tumble down a flight or two.

Talos stared coldly at Hijack as the gunman stared straight back. There was suddenly some movement from the masked man and Talos braced himself before a bullet slammed straight into his shin. He let out a metallic screech as the bullet revealed the metal underneath. Then Hijack was making a dash for the door. Talos lunged forward at the darting individual and grabbed his shoulder with a firm hand. He stared down at Hijack, with wide, unfeeling eyes, as wires flopped out of the hole in his leg.

”That was a mistake, wasn't it?”

Fuck. How was that guy still this strong? In fact, he was way too strong to be a regular human. He looked down, seeing the splayed wires from the bullet wound. He was… a robot? Cyborg? This guy could be as strong or stronger than a Super. With the grip this so called ‘Jack’ had, it became harder and harder for Jason to gain some ground.

As his M4 was across his back, there was no way he could reach for it now. With a free hand, Jason reached down into his holster and pulled his Beretta out. This was going to be loud, and would definitely draw attention. He knew he should’ve put a suppressor on that too. Oh well. He raised his arm up, and planted the barrel of the pistol into the jaw of this machine. He pulled the trigger and fired, hoping the shot would hit a mainframe or something. The gunfire echoed down the stairwell and throughout the streets. It was sure to draw attention.
Talos began to grip Hijack harder as the man looked all around, down, then back up. Talos could see him searching around on his back, probably looking for the large gun that he could see. But Talos could visibly see that the man could not reach his gun, it was too far away. Relaxing, slightly, Talos wondered whether he should throw the man off the roof or down the stairs. But before he could do anything, a smaller handgun was pressed into his jaw. Talos didn’t have much time to react before he felt a shot rip through the side of his face. His neck reeled back, and he released his grip on Hijack, as he felt his ruined mask. With a steady hand, he scraped off the ruined right hand side of the mask, as the silicone dropped to the floor.

He turned back to Hijack, most of his mask now gone, revealing his true face. A human skull embedded with black metal pieces, although a large portion was now cracked or missing. Void-like black eyes, bored into Hijack as he stood, pushing bits of metal and back into his face, glared down at the human.

”Pathetic sack of… flesh. You won’t live to see the dawn.”

Hijack staggered back from the sudden release, but once he came to, he trained his pistol straight back onto him. However, it seemed he revealed a side this ‘Jack’ didn’t want him to see. It seemed he had revealed a horrifying visage of bone and twisted black metal. This… cyborg was pissed about it too.

”Shit…”

Douglas Song

News 41 Broadcast Station - Alleyways

There was no motion for Song to step forward, to so much as up the ante, and it seemed like it was appreciated. The mysterious masked figure reconsidered, seeming to realize his opponent was not as overt a foe as he first thought. That much was true, the apparent martial artist wasn't all too concerned about their minor crimes, really, truthfully, seeking an answer at the moment - after all, they seemed to be some larger web of activity or interest and as an old saying paraphrased went, "Never interrupt your enemy when he is making a mistake." More was to be gained at following up in another time and place than forcing a here and now.

Nodding slightly with tip of the chin, Song permitted the man to take his fallen companion away, sharing only one final glance before the two shadowy figures disappeared into the night, one in tow by the other. At least now he "knew" who they were, both distinct enough yet nondescript, just as his own disguise. The choice of a mask for one and a sack for the other were very specific, maybe evening meaningful. It would help in the time to come, although Song regretted he was unable to revive the man and perhaps earn a bit more information from them. All the same there was an understanding of why the other intervened as he did; they cared about one another enough to defend their own.

Just as the Golden Tiger suspected, the pair vanished in a puff of inky smoke the moment their feet met the end of the alley.

"Thank you." Song commented in reply, satisfied with what he had come to understand before turning in place and observing the darkened street he had followed to this place. The only illumination there, other than the yellowed bulbs of a few tiny lamps at the street itself, cast the shadows of the vagabonds and miscreants on to the walls. They all seemed to be mostly normal again, compared to whatever had happened prior.

While there was no desiring or looking for trouble, the fighter wouldn't stop himself short if they so happened to step in and intervene. After all, he was not opposed to liberating their dollars from their wallets if they were foolish enough to bother another strange figure to their grungy home on a night like this. Comfortable in such a decision, he adjusted the hood of his coat, glanced about where his attacker and the fallen figure had been, noting nothing, and returned the direction he came...

@Metronome

Cole Walker, alias Mr. Nil
Location: Mr. Nil's Bunker, Lower Southwest End
Time: 2:49 AM
Currently in the process of researching for a theory.

---

Among the many derelict buildings in Centerville's Lower Southwest End, there was a specialized bunker. It was painstakingly crafted during the 1950s when fears of nuclear Armageddon were high, in order to house around fifty people for at least ten years. It was stocked with non-perishable cans of food, a water dispenser, and bare, spartan bedrooms. However, after the Cold War was over it was abandoned, still stocked with all of its essentials, and left to rot.

That was, until seven years ago, when the vigilante known as Mr. Nil made it his home. Making it into a utilitarian outpost, it was stocked with bulletin board after bulletin board of tacked on notes for various conspiracies, a 'monitor room' with multiple computer screens all synced into various cameras around the city, and the pièce de résistance, the research center. Stationed in Mr. Nil's bedroom, all it contained was his bed, a desk, and his laptop. To most it would appear that it was just the bedroom of someone who can't afford nice things, but no, in this room a lot goes on.

Currently, the conspiracy theorist was typing away on his laptop, a bulky, beat up thing running Windows XP. His mask was set off to the side, Cole's bloodshot blue eyes staring intently at the screen as gloved fingers danced across the keyboard. Delving deep within the vast place known as the internet, the fedora enthusiast would be pleased to find a wealth of knowledge on this theory. An article proposing it here, a leaked image here, it was all falling right into place.

Soon, the world would know.

Soon, they would know the truth about the crop circles.

Soon, they would know that the GIRL SCOUTS WERE BEHIND THEM ALL ALONG!

"Breathe... Breathe... Don't get too excited." The ex-military man muttered to himself, slowing his racing heart. He always got a little... Hyperactive when thinking about his theories. Perhaps it would be best to just relax for the night, let off some steam.

Cole nodded to himself. Letting off some steam sounded good.

With a sigh, he grabbed his helmet and slid it on.

Cole closed his eyes.

Mr. Nil opened them.

Setting off from the bunker, the man walked through the city streets with hands in pockets, searching for crime. This being the southwest end, of course there was crime, and he didn't have to wander too long to find it. Not even a street away from his lair he heard a scream emanating from a nearby alleyway, that of a woman. Probably a rape, maybe a mugging, or both.

The moon cast his long shadow through the alley way, and glinted off the steel blade held to the young woman's throat. Mr. Nil walked forward slowly, confidently, grabbing the lid off of a garbage can. The burglar turned, finally noticing the masked man, and his eyes widened. Before he had a chance to react, the lid was thrown like a frisbee at him, nailing him in the nose and causing him to fall backwards. The woman ran, still screaming, and Mr. Nil knelt down beside the man.

"Criminal scum," his mask included a voice modulator, deepening it to an unnatural quality, "you are too weak to see the light. You are compromised, corrupted. Failure as a human being." The masked man raised a fist, bringing it down hard on the man's face, knocking him out cold. The vigilante hogtied him, leaving behind his black and white calling card before going to a phone booth to get the police to the location to haul the man off. They wouldn't find him on their own here, barely any cops venture into the lower southwest end.

Not long after the vigilante made his way back home, content that he had let off some steam. He made his way into the food storage, a seemingly endless stock of canned corn, green beans, baked beans, peas, and yams. Grabbing a can of baked beans, Nil removed his mask and became Cole, opening up the can with his pocket knife and grabbing a fork to dig in. Taking a seat in his room, he ate, staring intently at his computer screen.

'I'm gonna get those damn girl scouts,' he thought to himself, 'their lies will be exposed.'

*Raunch* *Raunch* *Raunch*

'... Damn these are good beans.'

Black Mask/ Unknown/ Male/ Unknown
Location: Ross Park District

Black Mask slunk back towards the surface and into the orange light of the street lamps. The air was getting heavier; it was about to rain. Any light from the moon was choked out by clouds, and a light fog started to settle from the bay. He made his way back towards where he'd stashed the equipment. He avoided the local gangbangers who were out and about this time of night; he didn't need any more trouble. From the looks of it, the D-Gen gang was trying to expand their territory into Ross Park.

He came upon the news station, then slunk back to the alley where he'd put the bag on a rooftop. Black Mask ported up there and grabbed it, hauling it onto his shoulder and porting back down. This shit was heavy as hell; this better be worth it.

The masked man looked both ways before walking back out into the open. He didn't want any other thugs seeing him and thinking his loot was worth stealing. He headed back towards the house. Honestly, it felt odd being out on his own. He didn't do a whole lot without Mindraker there to cover his ass.

Jon Graves started awake as his phone buzzed off the short nightstand to fall to the floor. Swearing under his breath, Jon grabbed the offending device and turned off the alarm. Squinting into the darkness, the young man sat up on his mattress, sighing as he looked out the window to the low light of the dead-of-night city. No stars tonight. Weatherman said it might rain. No matter. There was work to do.

Reaching over to a nearby charging port, Jon unhooked his prosthetic arm from the charger and began to affix it to his stump. The advanced prosthetic had been a gift from the surgeon who had worked on Jon after the accident; upon hearing their family's financial situation the doctor had set up a fund so that Jon could afford prosthetics when he needed them. Upon the young man's decision to embark upon this nighttime life of vigilantism, Jon had emptied the fund and bought the most advanced arm available. He'd needed the best tools. Finally finished, Jon flexed his mechanical fingers and stood up, kicking his mattress aside to get at the supplies underneath.

A set of dark clothes, a purple bandana wrapped around his face, and a dark purple hoodie later, Overclock lit his desk lamp and checked himself in his mirror. The only remarkable feature left were his icy blue eyes. Slipping on his black boots, Overclock patted his hoodie pocket to confirm his staff was folded down and stored away. Finally he stood up, pulling on a single black glove over his flesh-hand before moving to his window and stepping out onto the fire escape.

Looking down at the alley below, Overclock sighed as he stretched his arms. Time to crack some skulls till the sun came up, then to sneak back home and get ready for the office life. But for now... Now he could do whatever he wanted.

Overclock stepped off the edge of the fire escape into open air.

Twisting and tumbling through the air, Overclock grinned as he felt the wind sting his eyes. Flipping over quickly, he landed on his feet in the alley below, feeling his muscles suddenly charge with absorbed energy. Chuckling to himself, the young man sprinted out of the alley, heading for the line between King and Ross, his job for the night to keep his block safe from the gangs and drugs bleeding over from the slums...

Dinah McBride / female / 21 / hero
Location: the Streets of Centerville; A Room She Probably Shouldn't Be In
Interactions: @KaijuBaragon @GingerBoi123

Dinah reached the top of the stairs, a hallway stretching before her. One of the doors was open, she could tell because of the dim light spilling into the hallway, though it was blocked by the tall silhouette of a man. She edged as close as she dared, back pressed against the wall in an effort to stay in the shadow as she listened to their conversation. She moved the black and white scarf around her neck up over her nose to muffle the sound of her breathing, the last thing she wanted was to be caught eavesdropping.

"-spare a second thought to take you out. Now move!" was the first thing she heard, the voice angry and cold as steel, but still calm. This was the shooter, she guessed.

The second speaker was closer to the door, no doubt the tall man she had seen enter in the first place. "You heard what I said before. I will not move. Who are you?" the other demanded. His tone and speech pattern were very strange. Not incorrect, on the contrary, a little too correct, but she couldn't decide why.

She remained perfectly still and silent as she listened to the rest of the conversation, her interest now piqued. The shooter identified himself as Hijack, the other as Jack Foster. The former made a quip about it that the latter didn't seem too amused by. She might have snickered if she wasn't afraid of being heard. Although, after the self proclaimed Hijack fired a silenced shot, she jumped slightly and clenched her fists, waiting for a yell of pain that never came, instead she was met with a horrific metallic clang. The sound of boots on the floor came dangerously close to the door before they were abruptly halted. Someone was about to get seriously hurt.

There was a brief moment where she considered dashing out as fast as he legs could carry her, let these two fight it out. She didn't know anything about them, what kind of agenda they had, it was none of her business. Besides, what could she do, throw golden - she looked down at the trash on the floor - beer cans at them? However, her compassion and curiosity overcame her and she leaned sideways to peek around the doorframe, just in tie to watch a masked man fire a bullet into his attacker's mouth. The sound coupled with the severity of the action caused her to gasp, a hand flying over her mouth as she watched, wide eyed, as the tall man shoved the shooter away from him and peeled the skin away from his face to reveal metal, wires and bone. Dinah had seen terminator, but this was a whole other level of messed up. That thing was going to kill this Hijack guy, and her too if he got the chance.

Neither seemed to have noticed her presence yet, so she made a split second decision, ripping the glove from her left hand as she turned the corner and brushed her fingertips downward across the cyborg's shirt and pants, before attempting to dart back out into the hall. The fabric her hand had come into contact with suddenly began to solidify and change color, the once soft material quickly becoming cold and hard and spreading until it had turned to solid gold. Now, gold was a soft metal, but maybe it would be just enough to slow the cyborg down so that he could struggle free, giving at least her time to escape.

Sanctum/Jack Rollins
Location: On the sidewalk smokin’ a blunt
_{neverforgetkinkos}
Interacting with: @metronome

Jack released the cloud of smoke into the chilly night air as he leaned againts the wall of his apartment building. He felt his body relaxing, his daily stress dissipating into the night air. He put it up to his lips again when something caught his attention. The man he saw earlier when he was walking home from the Centermart down the street. He was working with the one in the news, Mindraker. The tustle at the kinko’s caused quite the commotion. The city was alive tonight, and it could possibly get livelier. The man was lugging a bag on his shoulder, something heavy, might be part of a villainous plot. No probably not, but Jack was having a boring week.

He watched the man walk past him before reaching a hound out towards the bag. He waiting until he could almost feel it inside his mind, establishing a link, before ripping it from the man’s grasp and pulling it into his. ”You. You’re working with that mindraker guy, eh? Well he’s a criminal, and that makes you one. And I’ll tell you no one messes with my city.” He stared the firgure down, eyes attempting to bore into the thin layer in front of the man’s face. ”Nah i’m just fucking with you. But what’s this for?” He asked, holding out the bag in front of him. He didn’t know who the man was or what he wanted, but he was stealing from a Kinkos. That’s what heroes are for right? To protect Kinkos.

Alex Strong - Atlas
Downtown Centerville

---

Alex was hanging around downtown for the day and going to different shops to look at what was on sale. It was a nice day and he hoped that it would be a peaceful one where he didn't have to do some hero work for a change. It seemed that over the past couple of months there was quite a bit of action when it came to heroics and Alex was having to take on the criminal element of the city.

He in truth wanted to see his father, but do to the fate of all titans he was imprisoned and thus unable to see him or his mother. This was hard for him to live with, but he had to, his father would have wanted him to be strong and not let these things get in the way of his growth.

Alex was just about to enter a game store when he heard some screams and then the sound of gunshots. He didn't even have to look to know that it was crime happening and that meant his heroic identity was needed. Alex quickly rushed into an alleyway and said the magic words of power.

"By the power of Atlas! Give me your might!" he shouted and a bolt of white lightning struck down from the sky. Stone Smasher appeared in his hands right before the bolt of lightning struck him and Alex was then engulfed in a bright white light. It lasted for about a moment and then it faded and Alex now dressed in his Atlas battle armor and helm stood ready for combat.

He quickly exited the alley and looked for the criminals responsible for the gunshots. His eyes spotted four armed thugs who were coming out of a bank carrying bags full of cash and Alex immediately made his move. He leaped into the air and came down upon the goons with a swing of his club. He slammed his weapon into the ground between them and it created a shock-wave that knocked them off their feet.

"What the f***?!" one of them shouted as they aimed their guns at him and opened fired. Alex quickly moved and began dishing out some punishment with his club. Not wanting to kill the robbers, he held back his strength and beat them into unconsciousness. One however managed to get up while the others were shooting and got into their getaway vehicle, which was a black car.

When the criminal turned on the vehicle and started to drive away from Alex, the hero dropped club to the ground. Alex then clapped his hands and it released a powerful wave of force. He focused the shockwave to a single point and that point was the fleeing robber's rear tire. It smashed the wheel off of the vehicle and the car immediately came screeching to a halt.

Atlas gave a bit of a bore look and walked up to the crashed vehicle. He pulled of the door of the car like it was nothing and tossed it to his side. Alex grabbed him by the collar and dragged him from the vehicle forcefully.

"Okay! Okay! I give!" he shouted scared as Alex held him up.

"Good. I have little prescience for petty thugs like you" Alex replied and dropped him with the other criminals and waited for the police to arrive to take them into custody. Once he gave his account of what happened to the authorities, Alex left the crime scene and when he was able to slip away from the crowds of onlookers he transformed back into his normal self.

Another good deed done and another bank robbery stopped.

Black Mask/ Unknown/ Male/ Unknown
Location: Ross Park District Tags: A soon to be flattened Sanctum

He was halfway home before it began to sprinkle. Great, now he was going to be wet and cold. Tonight had been a pretty shit night, honestly. And, to push him just that much closer to the edge, some kid decided it would be okay to mess with him. The moment Black Mask felt the bag slip from his shoulder, and heard the kid's voice, he saw red. His hands clenched into fists again. He knew Raker always insisted on running before fighting, but Raker wasn't here, was he?

Black Mask whirled around on his heels wordlessly. He swung his arm with his weight, driving his fist right towards the punk's face. He honestly hoped to make his head bounce off the wall behind him.

Douglas Song

Mountain Park Street

Drifting between the meager dwellings of the transients, little cloth and metal tents, strewn about sleeping bags, passed out addicts, the third hood found them disinterested in him but back to their usual ways. They were unabashed in their drinking or the bit of gambling with worn-in dice against concrete, betting what little they had and putting it on the line. They ignored him for the most part, a few giving sidelong looks and a few others menacing the moment they felt the stranger was too close. Keeping attention from them, not so much as showing his eyes, the outsider of Douglas Song to their little community quietly vanished, rounding the corner and traveling further away from home.

Storm front moving in and free of his potential adversaries, Song at last trained his eyes to the distant sky, surveying the horizon that was the roofs of buildings. The wind was chill, dropping in temperature by the minute. A downpour was certain at some point, but the wandering bodily shadow cared none about it. If it were to rain, may it pour, if it were to blow over, might he be dry. What was on the man's mind now was finding someone in the act; he had success for the future, though the moment's ends were thin. Daylight was in a few hours and there was a bit more cash he would prefer in pocket than that of others.

Traversing further south in the city, now further than before, the wandering soul began to loop back around again, taking another street over and placing him deeper into the border between Glenn View and Mount Hush. While it was peaceful here, the odd sound of a gunshot or yelling was off in the distance. Most stores however, what few, low income ones there were, were locked as tight as one would think for their side of town; barred windows, reinforced shutters, riot grid anchored over the face of the building and locked tight to the ground. Some even had vehicle barriers, metal or cement pylons in front of them, all of which were in various stages of "artistic evolution" thanks to the the tagging they endured.

A few men having a smoke outside an idling car noted the stranger, eyeing him carefully, but then left him to be. Not because the average height of Song was anything impressive, the man himself somehow ominous, or any bodily threat clear, just that whatever business they had, if any other than boozing and smoking, wasn't with him. Now a few blocks over from Sanders Street, Mountain Park, having covered a fair bit of distance, things were "well" until...

Sanctum/Jack Rollins
Location: On the sidewalk not having a civil conversation
_{youregoingtoregretthat}
Interacting with: @metronome

The stormfront was now upon the two characters in the brisk night, rain starting to slick up the sidewalk as they stood to each other. The masked man whirled around and in an instant he was upon Jack. He swung with his might at his face. Jack had little time to react and was clipped in the face as he was moving out of the way. He lost his balance, feet slipping out from under him on the wet pavement. The man swung hard, too hard. He swung with frustration and annoyance and anger, and that would be his downfall. ”So it’s like that? Whatever.” Jack regained his stance, dropping the bag with the contents giving a clatter as it hit the concrete. Hopefully whatever wasn’t too expensive. just don’t let me get in your head. He spoke with a chuckle through the brief connection he formed.

Sanctum wasn’t up for a fair fight. He didn’t know if the masked man was a meta, or if he too possessed powers, but he sure wasn’t about to find out through an ass beating. Jack felt his mind latch on to the man. He wiped the blood off his cheek and swung his arm out throwing him into the air, aiming for the lamp post behind him. If he had to turn him in with a broken back so be it, morals weren’t exactly his thing.

Talos raised both his hands as he got ready to wrap them around Hijack's throat and squeeze. This conflict would end here tonight. Perhaps he could use some of the man's bones to rebuild parts of his face. That would be a fitting punishment for the annoyance the gunman had causes him. But before he could carry out the deed, he heard quick, light footsteps running along the roof. He quickly turned to see a girl running straight towards him, looking determined but nervous. Before he could react, her golden gloves were off and fingers were running down him his mind worked to understand what she was doing. Talos was confused... and then his shirt and pants, and the thin layer of silicon that it was attached to, began to change. Transmute. Yellow washed across the materials as he touched them. It was... Gold? He whipped his head back around to the girl, who was now heading back nervously.

He tore off his silicone gloves and dug his hands into the metal, which had now fully become its target areas. He tore firmly with his hands, ripping off all of the silicone suit on his arms and torso. This revealed more of his true, twisted metallic form. The legs were next, until the only skinsuit left was on the side of his face. Then he set his metallic eyes on the shape quickly escaping out of the door. He glanced at Hijack one more time, before he left the man. He'd probably see him again. Then, he would certainly finish the gunman off. And he would enjoy it.

But now he focused back onto gold girl. He took fast heavy steps after the nimble girl as she dashed away through the door again, trying to catch up as quickly as he could.

Douglas Song

Mountain Park Street

... all until a group of men loitering about a car caught sight of him. Three of the five figures, those kneeling beside one of the wheels, stood slowly. The other two, both by the trunk of the sedan, lookouts as they were, began speaking among one another. The interloper and stranger kept on his walk down the cracked sidewalk despite the glares and bolstering they did; a series of subtle metallic ringings striking out by the tire, the thieves picking up of their tools.

Song paused then in his stride and came to a halt, as of yet to look up at the quintet of young men. Some of them wore bandannas about the face, another a partial mask, and the last nothing more than the brim of his crisp hat, that which still bore a glinting sticker on its bill. The standoff was drawn-out, laden with a sense of understanding that they had been caught in the act. They spoke a bit among one another and fanned out on each side of the car, some brandishing tire irons, slim jims, another a ratchet. The tallest among them, the one with hat, lingered back a bit, seeming to size up something about all of this was off; his four cohorts however, did not.

"Not sure why you stopped, probably about to regret it."

"Wrong side of the street, man. You could'a left."

Those words, among others began, to fill the late night air though the black clad man interfering chose to do only one thing. He reached for the zipper of his coat and shed the black hoodie, casting it to the corner of a building, still keeping the white cowl over his head. The four aggressors paused - it was a strange gesture, perhaps just as strange as some random Asian man far out of his own neighbor hood showing up to pick a fight while wearing a fairly ornate jacket under another one. Song finally looked to them as they stood there, a bit delayed.

"First." The Golden Tiger commanded, to which they looked at one another in even more baffled gawking.

The "first" were two on the left, followed by the far right, and by the time the first swing of the metal pry bar came, the interloper had dropped into a low, wide set stance. He pivoted in on the leading foot, completely avoiding the blunt weapon's impact, and snapped the base of the leading fist into the attacker's throat, sending him heaving into a heap, gasping for air. The second attacker, seeing the back of their now intended victim, swung wide and wild the tire iron, two of its four rusted prongs rushing past the Golden Tiger who, with preternatural agility and insight, leaned back to the point he was almost a perfectly parallel with the ground before snapping back up.

Off balance from the weight and awkwardness of his own weapon, the second man stumbled and prepared another attack while the third man brought down an overhead blow with the slim jim, wielding it like a makeshift yet blunted sword. Song merely stepped into the attack, sending the man's forearms crashing into his shoulder. Instead of a scored hit against the Golden Tiger with a weapon, the martial artist delivered a flurry of some seven short, tight punches chambered from the waist to the other's abdomen, sending him staggering back. Not content to disorient the attacker, the Golden Tiger leapt and spun, the first of the bolley kick catching the man in the face, the second striking into his side before the recipient of the attack even hit the pavement; another attacker fell, truly unconscious.

The second man, wheeling around once more, swung with an uppercut, leading with the tire iron, only to have the target step back out of the way as his own weight and momentum carried him through and past. The last of the four attackers followed, charging in at what he saw for an opportunity, drawing back to punch mid-charge and only finding himself coming to roaring halt as the monk dropped low; a single, enormous strike of the tiger's paw to his sternum took all the wind from him - the blow amplified by literally running headlong into it. Song, his most recent attacker collapsed on the ground, pivoted again to catch the falling bite of the tire iron and chose to defend against the last standing attacker's blow at the wrist. The sudden jarring through the man's arm and up hiss shoulder, caught at a nerve through the counterattack, only made him howl in pain and twist his body in toward Song.

At this point the dubiously christened hero only twisted the man's arm and rolled under it, stepping in and behind him, pinning it to his back until it gave. Weapon dropped, clattering to the ground, the pair stood there for no longer than a thought; the man went to beg to spare his arm, but by then it was much too late. Twisting back around, once more in front of his attacker, the Golden Tiger swung the man forward until the arm gave and his opponent rolled over his back - Song leaning forward - ensuring the tire iron's bearer slammed into the concrete. Releasing the now limp, broken arm of the final felled figure, it dropped beside the groaning man, loomed over by the still standing white, gold, and black marauder.

The fifth man took a step back, lifting his hands in submission.

"'Ey man, like, you beat my boys to sh-"

Having wisely stayed out of the conflict, the Golden Tiger gave a single nod.

"Your money."

"My what?"

"Your money. Give it to me." Song said as he did not so much as flinch or twist, allowing the eerie stillness of his posture speak for him alongside the miserable sounds of four very broken thugs.

The man started to reach for his wallet, hesitating, but committed when he soon realized things were not going well. The Golden Tiger had more demands, his eyes beneath the white cowl sizing up the jacketed figure as he handed over his cash. There was no sense of danger or urgency, the other four were not going anywhere any time soon, but the last man had something else, something the martial artist was going to relieve him of other than his cash.

"The gun." His voice added, icy cold as he slowly closed his fist about the contents of the wallet.

Needless to say, the man complied as well, slowly lifting up his shirt and carefully withdrawing the smooth black metallic finish of a handgun. Looking away, ashamed he either hadn't the courage to have pulled it or that he was being robbed by a man with no weapons, he placed it in the other free hand Song had put forth while the original had gone to pocket the cash. The Beretta's metal grip fell into the Golden Tiger's palm and he ferreted it away into the sash under his jacket, that which rode tight against his abdomen.

"Leave. Take them."

Aghast, the hatted crook of the pair shuffled past, hands still up by his shoulders. All that the fighter did then was collect his jacket, layer it over himself, and disappear into the night before the storm.