Miles is an assassin. He sees Silas' powers as incredibly deadly, probably much more so than Silas himself. There is also literally no defense against it other than a strong will, a will which is at a disadvantage since the target is asleep. Every other power he can actually fight to varying degrees. Not Silas', though.
"Roger that, captain," Miles responded, equipping his gear. Step one, get the visor working the way it should, and by that, Miles was sure to maintain the music trickling into his ears. He had often been asked, why listen to music in the middle of a conflict? Surely it added nothing and rather stole attention from that of which sought to slay him. Miles' answer always remained the same. 'If I am going to die, I'd rather have something nice to listen to as I go.'
"Ka'Van just cushioned a bus from going splat," Shrike commented, entering the battlefield with a sense of excitement washing over him, "I'll focus on the bird, let's hope it's allergic to bullets." Despite the joke leaving his lips, the agent sounded ironically monotone, much like he always did. Though, one is quick to learn that reading between the lines with the boy will get you further than listening to his tone of voice, as it will surely lead you astray.
Feeling most at home upon the rooftops, a wire shot out from Miles' bracer and pulled him towards a skyscraper with ease where he rolled back to his feet upon touching down. Spinning around, the agent took a breath and braced his rifle, allowing the visor to do its work. On his own, Miles was an excellent shot, but his visor offered another layer of technological assistance, locking onto his target. For an ease of function, it also offered a nifty hud directly linked to his health, and firearms. It proceeded to display how many bullets remained in his clip, as well as his stamina and physical capability. So far, so good. He was at a hundred percent and hopefully, this battle wouldn't be drawn out.
The assassin's teammates could handle the ground units without an issue, but as far as Miles was concerned, he was the primary ranged assault trooper among them. That bird would not make a habit of remaining close to melee combat, leaving the mutant a prime option of counter-attack. "Engaging," Miles finished, pulling the trigger to fire a burst of three armor penetrating rounds into the flying machination. Indeed, they managed to tear through its armor but did little in stopping this engine of destruction. "Got its attention," the marksman stated over the communications device built into his headgear, "proceeding with combat."
No more words were needed before a plasma blast headed straight for the boy. With wide eyes, he leaped aside before meeting the full force of such a devastating attack. Rather, it tore through a large chunk of the ventilation device Miles sought shelter behind. "Okay, I don't get along with plasma," Shrike tumbled back to a standing position and unleashed a salvo of bullets onto the foe. He could clearly see the effects as sparks emanated from the impact, but it was far from enough. This creature was heavily armored, and while he attempted to seek out a weak spot, even his visor had a hard time managing the feat. This Zookeeper, the genius behind this construction had focused heavily on armor, and he had succeeded.
With another concentrated blast onto the roof, Miles was forced to dash towards the metal door leading into the building but was quickly knocked back by yet another plasma strike. It connected with the door, nearly blasting it from place before sending the boy to his back. There was no time to focus on the pain echoing throughout his scrawny form, warranted by the shockwave. No, Miles maintained his focus on the task at hand. With the door now on its hinges, Miles was able to slip through the gap with ease before sliding down to the next level, using his frequently handy wire.
A restaurant awaited him, one full of onlookers with massive windows allowing view of the city. "Head downstairs," the agent commanded, his voice quite robotic behind the surface of his visor. Even so, he did not sound alarmed in the slightest, almost casual in the way that he spoke. Though in a sense of panic, the civilians followed instructions given by a figure of authority. Heroes had that effect on people, indeed. It was a good course of action one might say, as a familiar enemy made its presence known outside the windows, blasting its plasma beam through the thin, reflective surface.
Leaping behind the marble coated bar, Shrike turned to see the bartender still present, given little time to escape, unlike the customers. "Y-you're Shrike!" The man commented, equally excited to be in such a close proximity to a Horizon hero as he was terrified of a villain's minion close behind.
"Hey," the boy raised a hand in greeting. "that's a big bird," he motioned over his shoulder as he reloaded his gun.
"B-but you'll beat it, right!?" The bartender tried, earning a short pause from the agent.
"Probably," Miles retracted the charging handle to load a first bullet into the barrel. Before the civilian was able to answer, the marksman extended his arm and shot the wire into an adjacent wall to gracefully pull him across the floor as he aimed his rifle at the bird. Wasting not a moment, the agent emptied his clip into the beast before jumping through the window to dodge another death beam shooting from the bird's mouth.
Switching to his sidearm, Miles fired another five quick shots into the monster before grappling his wire to the next roof and fluidly reloaded his weapons with Imprinted ammunition. This was where his power truly shone. "This makes me miss recon missions..," Shrike sighed, seeing the fatigue level visible on his hud. Tapping the side of his headgear, he shifted the song he had been listening to, to something more upbeat. "You awoke me, unleashed the fire in my heart..," Shrike hummed softly, raising his rifle to once more fire a hail of bullets shredding the beast's armor.
Switching its methods, the machination charged Miles where he stood, attempting to ram into him at full speed. Sprinting forth, the agent quickly dropped to the roof floor, sliding across its length as he braced his rifle and riddled the bird's underside with bullets before rolling back to his feet. With a graceful twirl, he released the rifle before drawing his sidearm. "The fuel in my fire won't run dry..," he continued, singing along softly as he pulled the trigger, once, twice and three times to see the armor penetrating rounds tearing through what remained of the bird before it dropped lifelessly onto the rooftop with a crash landing. "I came for a fight, yeah, until tomorrow's mine..," he finished, dropping to his back with a heavy breath. That pain was starting to really settle in, now.
The debate concerning freedom is somewhat of a constant within the tower. Indeed, talk of rebellion is unacceptable, but philosophical conversations cannot be hindered, lest one hopes to squander personal development in the heroes themselves. Indeed, Miles often found himself at the butt of a question hinting towards his upbringing as a weapon. He had never known freedom, not like most. Created in a test tube, he was brought forth using science of the most maleficent kind, all to bring death and destruction to key targets. The perfect assassin, they called it. Yes, Miles had been part of the tower for the past twenty, full years. On the streets, he was called The Agent, given his repertoire of abilities. Of course, one should not expect that action figures of the boy sold very well. He wasn't one of the more flashy individuals. He could neither shoot beams from his hands, nor his eyes. He had other abilities at the ready, and one should never discard his vigilance.
Yes, on the subject of action figures, fans were quite abundant for the heroes of New Horizon. Miles, or Shrike, had been quite curious of the matter and sometimes found himself delving into the more awkward forms with a soda in hand, and cat on his lap. Worthy of cringe, he could not help but read the fan fiction brought forth by these people of a mundane pursuit. The most recent update was pairing Wraith with Phoenix Dawn. Light and darkness, as it was. Unable to stifle his laughter at the sight, Miles cleared his throat, a set of slender fingers running through his cat's fur as he chose to forward the scene to his fellow heroes. Ironic, in a way. This quiet, mellow and withdrawn young assassin did not appear to be of the mischevious sort, no, not at all. Rather, it is as they say. Watch out for the quiet ones.
'This is wrong..,' Phoenix stated, feeling Wraith's hand tracing the length of the light bringer's arm, 'we can't do this...'
There was a short pause before Wraith spoke, 'then...,' the alien responded, 'I don't want to be right! No more talk, before their lips brushed against the other's, and Miles' downed a heavy swig of his soda.
"To be fair, it's better than the last one," the boy stated, looking down to the cat playfully pawing at the keyboard of the mutant's laptop. He enjoyed sitting in his bed, being all but lazy in a pair of boxers, a soda in hand and fanfiction in front of him. Yes, he had come across some starring himself but they always tended towards the more typical variant. Shrike was portrayed as a shy, withdrawn young soldier, brought into the strong arms of another as a heavy blush coated his cheeks. It wasn't exactly wrong, but who wanted to read realism?
Stretching his arms with a soft yawn escaping his lips, the mutant perked at the beeping sound emanating from his watch. He was being called. "Welp, time to work," he closed the laptop before lifting Wraith, his cat, and dropped the furred critter back onto the bed. He proceeded to slip into his clothes, before making his way down the corridor and towards the briefing room. Giant animal robots? Well, at the very least, this job never got old. There was always a variation in those who wanted to bring disaster. What was this man's misery brought form? Was it a personal disappointment? Did he simply want to make a statement? Was it that he had been slighted by the government? Miles still recalled the man who brought forth absolute destruction because of a love affair. Indeed, people displayed conflict in varying ways, each one ending up at the tail end of Shrike's scope when endangering others.
Dropping to a chair, the assassin hugged his knees where he sat, a common position for him, as he listened to the briefing. A sniper rifle would not do well in this scenario. One shot could never end this threat. He needed something with more rapid-fire, something for a war zone. That was where he was headed.
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