Alessa Heather: PRT Headquarters
As Protean explained his form, showed himself off, and generally gave himself over to intimidating Epsilon as much as he could, Alessa became more and more uncomfortable with what she was doing. But, it would be best for Ira to learn how to fight a superior foe now rather than in a more dangerous situation, and it would certainly do Alessa some good to try and learn how to ignore the nagging voice in her head that said "hurry up and go save her, you monster!" If she followed it, she could get herself killed trying to save a life, which may or may not do some short-term good, but in the long run... no, Ira had to learn how to defend herself, or in a real situation like this-
'You've all failed.'
-wait, what?
'Everyone failed the test. How sad. Messiah, you will need to rethink how best to support your team.'
At first, Alessa was just confused, slowing to a halt at Protean's words. What was... what was the test? Should they... should they
not have let Ira try to face Protean on her own? Were they supposed- was that the goal the whole time? To help her despite being told not to? What was the lesson there, to not leave teammates out to dry? What if Ira had really been on her own, and Protean was a legitimate threat to her life? That was an equally important lesson, surely, to be able to rely on your own skills when nobody else can assist you! And what about, say, not charging headlong into an unknown situation? What if-
Before she could get herself any more internally worked up, Decoy's voice began blaring out of the loudspeakers in the gym, declaring that a prisoner transport had gone awry, and two of the heroes had been injured in the process. Immediately, Alessa's mood was down, for yet again, a situation had turned nasty that she couldn't intervene in, that she couldn't possibly have gotten involved in, and it
sucked that she couldn't be everywhere at once. If she could, she'd have been able to help. Why, oh why couldn't that be her ability, like... well, she supposed like an advanced form of Dean's ability, now that she thought about it. Something to let multiple versions of herself exist at once, fight foes at once, and so on and so forth. And yet that'd leave her without the power that made her so effective, and...
And there really was no point continuing to think about it, was there? That was what had gotten her worked up about Ira's case to begin with, and it was what made her fall into cycles of negativity like that.
At least the injured heroes are being taken in for treatment, is the thought she tried to stick with as she began to hurry on after Protean, toward the interrogation room. If it was rethinking how her team was organised Protean wanted, figuring out exactly who these people were would be a good start.
Raymond Haywood: Highway Robbery -> Icehouse Hideout
Raymond liked to think of himself as a patient man. However, it seemed Gamble was giving Chatterbox a run for his money, as far as who deserved the name in question... and he'd assumed Chatterbox might quietly suggest to Gamble that his constant chatter was, in fact, annoying everybody. He assumed incorrectly, and so continued to be as subjected to the man's mindless blathering for the drive as everybody else. He'd have to have words with James- "James", he reminded himself- once they had a quiet moment together.
By the time they got back to the safehouse, he was about ready to crack Gamble's head against the nearest wall to make him shut up. However, it was surely unnecessary at this point, since they'd only need to put up with it for a few more minutes, at most. Which rather made him envy the man in the room next to the Broker - what seemed to be an all-black motorcyclist's outfit, of course, save the stylised heart over his chest, and the odd glow in the helmet where his eyes would likely be. He'd only need to listen to Gamble for a short time, lucky bastard that he was. Apparently, this was to be Love Craft's replacement, an understudy of the Broker's.
'I can't help but agree with Chatterbox here,' Raymond muttered, only to find he was being somewhat drowned out by Gamble's continuing utterances. Not that it mattered, since he assumed everybody else in the car felt the same way by now. Instead, he forced himself to raise his voice to "normal" levels, asking 'And who exactly are you, "understudy"? Do you have a cape name yet?'
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