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    1. solokolos 10 yrs ago

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Ayyyy lmao.
Email is Solokolos@protonmail.com
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Nora

The scent was wrong. Nora was following Creep, and despite the crowd of interesting villains, she was still caught off guard by the scent. She had been to many bars and this didn’t smell right. Purge sitting at the table he was could’ve explained it, but it didn’t seem correct. The next thing she noticed was that no one could see her eyes. Nora was two steps in when she realized her power was not registering anyone present. She stopped the dress swinging forward for a moment before stopping with her.

”The games already begun, huh? Stopping powers. Well I’m out then, I know the risk that carries for everyone present. I’m going, Creep will have to be the sole representative of the Rockers. Please don’t stop me, or the value of this neutral meeting will be underminded further than it already has been.”

Her voice was much more matter of fact than normal, and anyone paying very close attention might be able to tell that she seemed genuinely worried. Even though she was used to not using her power, being without the option even frightened her to her core. It was something too near and dear to her everyday life. She turned around, walking towards the door. Nora’s library of nodes was gone too, not as if the pages were blank but as if there was an empty lot where the library had once been.
Ira:
Protectorate Headquarters

@ProPro

The young tinker stayed silent for longer than was normally expected, trying to process this all. Half of her wanted to leap forward and say something obvious like ""You're a woman?!" but her heart wasn't in it. Instead she gathered her thoughts before speaking, the flame of anger still burning away deep inside. "Why did you let him use his power?" She chose Japanese this time, as Decoy was the only one she could speak to in her native tongue. It was strange though, connecting this person with Decoy. The image she was used to was not present, replaced by something theoretically more solid.

Before Decoy could speak, she spoke again. "You knew, you knew and you let him use his power while he was with the Wards. We're supposed to be a force for good, and you decided his life was forfeit in every dimension but this one? Who are you to make that decision?" It felt wrong to be questioning her teacher's authority, but she was pissed, and not quite thinking straight.
Ira:
Protectorate Headquarters

@ProPro

The young girl felt like a weight was crushing her chest, each breath a struggle. Decoy wasn't responding, and the others were chiming in with their own two cents. Ira caught the tone, but not much else. Alessa was mad, Evelyn sounded distressed, but she felt bad enough herself that she couldn't raise her head off the table. The director spoke up, and she caught a small part about official reports being due the next day, but it went in one ear, out the other. The director stood up, and Ira noticed she hadn't heard him sit down. He moved to the door, and slowly the various Wards left. Lillian spoke a bit from the doorway, and Ira stood up, moving to leave the room. Her eyes were crusted with tears, but she felt like trying to wipe them away would break her composure. A familiar voice spoke to her in Japanese through the communicator, prompting Ira to move towards and up the stairs.

Navigating the building was second nature, though she soon found herself in an unfamiliar wing of the building. Ira lifted up her eyes just enough to see the numbers passing by. 4716, 4717, 4718. That was the room number Decoy had said. Ira walked up to the door, twisting the door handle, and the handle turned all the way. She pushed, the heat from inside making the door feel heavier than it actually was. Ira peeked her head inside, her hand reaching up to finally wipe away the dried tears.

The thing that fully woke Ira was being asked for her passcode. The young intern glanced down at his sheet as Ira approached, and struggled visibily. "The prompt is. . . Um I-I can't pronounce it," he mumbled, pressing on the mic clipped to his chest. She sighed, and spoke up.

"Aleph, Dalet, Dalet, Aleph. Stuck between the devil and the sea. Umm one is The monarch of never forgiving? I have a couple more, but I'd need the prompt you can't read." She said, seeming more sassy than usual. He nodded hastily as a voice buzzed in his ear. Ira continued on, arms crossed and pressed against her chest.

"It was in japanese!" She heard him mumble behind him, incredulous.

Zoning out, she came to when the director spoke up. She listened carefully, and then kistened to Lillian's hasty response. Ira set her head on the table in front of her. "Get me out of this. We need to talk, you said it yourself." She said into her mic, just quiet enough that the director would not hear.

Hermes:
Laying the Groundwork

Jaunt groaned along with Inkscape, getting more tired of the quips every second. Ignoring Protean as best he could, he instead focused on the door. "I don't feel comfortable teleporting right inside that door, so we probably should take it head on. I don't wanna get mixed up, if you catch my drift" Jaunt said, glancing between the two of them with vague interest. He moved out of the way, looking at Inkscape's handiwork with a concerned look scribbled across his face. A bit more quesy at the sight than most would expect a former policeman and mercenary to be.

Inkscape nodded, motioning for Protean to open the door and for Hermes to flank the opposite side as he was standing.

Inside was abandoned, a control room full of screens and mechanical equipment. It was a little cold, maybe sixty degrees Fahrenheit, with a slight whirling sound underneath the electrical buzz.

The room was darker than the rest of the warehouse had been, both because of the black equipment and walls. The lights were stunning greens and blues, blinding to at.

In all the mechanical, electrical vibe of the room there was exactly one thing that stood out.

A vanilla envelope sat off to the side, plain as it could be.

Following the hand motions quickly, he flanked, and once the two were inside, took a more aggressive position by teleporting ahead of them. Spotting the envelope, he said out loud "I should bring that to somewhere secure shouldn't I?" he knew most of what people expected of him. He watched his two teammates, power ready on the "mentally push to teleport" phase that would close the distance, then put him in a vacant holding cell at the PHQ, envelope in hand.

"Yes. We're extracting, that's what we're here for." Inkscape said in his calm voice.

"That's it, really? I expected something a little more.... Important looking?"

Jaunt teleported partway through the word yes, appearing in the room after a short pause with the envelope in hand. "Mind if I take a look with you Decoy?" He asked, looking up at the camera over his shoulder. His hand gripped its bottom right hand corner, and as he waited for a response, he studied the plain looking thing.

Jaunt's comm went off. "Hermes, there a situation that we need to address. Good job tonight, go ahead and head home. Protean and I will handle getting that Intel processed."

No fun. Jaunt tossed the envelope on the table, and activited his mic. "Copy that. He said, activating his power again. Gone, he would disappear off the cameras, and three minutes later he was in his home, taking off his new costume. There was an empty spot where his other costume used to be, the safe fully open. He tossed the gun into the closet. Investigating it during his off hours had revealed it didn't even have a firing pin. It made him feel safer that they trusted him not to replace it.

On his bed was a single piece of paper, folded so that it stood up perfectly without falling over from any idle air movements. In flawless script he could see "Jaunt" written on it in black ink.

Picking it up, a short message was wrote in the same perfect script.

You are to find and deliver the man known as Gamble to me.

-C


Playtime was over, it seemed. The chase began. He picked up his cellphone, and typed the numbers quickly. "Hey, it's Jaunt. I'd like to call in a favor.

The young tinker noticed again that her mask was missing, and this time it stuck. A loud sigh escaped her lips. She climbed into the the PRT van, and found herself sitting next to Elliot. He sat down, and slowly fell asleep beside her. It was understandable, it'd been a long day. Ira watched him go from awake to fully asleep, feeling a stab of guilt that she knew already belonged to Decoy. She wanted to tell him, to wake him up and tell him the atrocities he had committed. The fact that she couldn't speak made her respect and hate Decoy that much more. Ira rested her head against the back of the van, her eyes sliding shut against her will. She tried to fight it, forcing her eyes back open, only to have them close a few seconds later. It was in vain, a deep dreamless slumber overtook her.

Nora

Sarah Reiter and Amon Relmeral

One Night in Hell

Arc 2, day 1
Time: 7:00 pm
Walking past most of the line, she grabbed a more cute than hot Prae's hand near the front of the line. The cool air cut across and through her dress, and she looked up at him smiling. "Hi there. Do you mind if I pretend I'm your girlfriend for a bit? I'll buy you a drink~" Sarah said, also trying to go for cute. The boy had very light hair, trending towards the younger side, even with the Prae advantage. He didn't seem too intimidating when it came to ambient vis, and she knew she'd be even less impressive to him. The dress fit her even better out in the wild (so to speak) than it did in front of her mirror. Sarah tried to ignore the fact that she had to look down to see the Prae, focusing instead on being overly affectionate.

Amon raised his eyes at the flashily dressed girl, somewhat literally in this case as she was taller than him, and figuratively, because it was quite a surprise. "Well I would ask if we have to pretend but I'm also not an ass. How about I buy you a drink, you pretend I'm your boyfriend and we call it even?" Amon asked cheerily. Frankly she seemed a little clingy, but he didn't really mind much at the moment, after all he barely knew her so it wasn't fair to judge.

She laughed, quietly, while nodding her head in affirmation. "I feel like you're on the losing end of that deal, but I won't complain loudly." Before they could continue, the bouncer motioned them forward, and waved them past quickly. He didn't seem to notice the mismatched couple, and Sarah didn't seem to care either. She gave him a bit more room once they were past the door, walking beside him, as opposed to against him. "What's your name, by the by?" She asked, watching him with a gentle ease surrounding her. The word to describe her was probably comfortable. Sarah was in her element here.

"Amon's the name, ligh- well you'll see what my game is later. What do you need a fake bf for anyway, isn't half the point of these things to candoodle Miss... ?" Amon asked casually as they approached the bar to buy each other drinks instead of buy drinks for themselves like normal people. His eyes scanned the crowd for official looking people and also people likely to throw him out. He was planning on doing something flashy to get attention and make his subsequent request for a job more appetizing, it would be a bit of a shame if he got thrown out beforehand because someone thought he was doing something aggressive.

"Oh my god, you actually used the word candoodle" She said, a half-snort half-laugh escaping her mouth as they approached the bar. "My name is Sarah, and I just wanted to skip the line with an excuse to talk to you." The girl said, seeming honest. It was easier for her to get the attention of the bartender than Amon, though she also had a bit more sex appeal. He was lacking a few inches in one of the places it counted. Ignoring that train of thought, she turned to him with the bartender walking over. "What would you like, my white knight who saved me from the cold?" She asked, smiling wide at her own joke.

Amon found himself laughing as well, Sarah's impulsive reaction contagious. "Hey, it's a good word." he said, mockingly defending himself from her unjust mockery! The two of them took a seat and Sarah quickly got the attention of the bartender, albeit not hard to do in that outfit. "I'll take that compliment, though I warn you I'm even more interesting then I look. A martini with a twist will do for me; and what does the damsel in distress desire?" Amon asked confidently, his speech smooth and measured, casual banter like this came natural to him at this point.

She hadn't actually considered it beforehand, but a martini did sound nice. "Your Damsel would also enjoy a martini," Sarah said, nodding at the bartender. Turning back to Amon, she smiled. "You said something about light earlier? You're Prae, so I'm guessing you're a magic man?" Her voice was curious, clearly wanting him to continue that train of thought from earlier.

"Magic man is as apt a description as any. I'm a wandering performer and I've wandered here, looks like it could be a fun place so I'm thinking about putting on a show, to convince the staff I'm a worth hire for however long I'm sticking around for. " Amon said flippantly. His plans were no secret so he didn't mind talking about them, after all the rest of the crowd would be unprepared for his surprise so it wouldn't ruin it to tell one person.

Another giggle escaped her lips. "That's your plan? Am I mistaken, or is it not normal for people to start showing off their talents in crowded clubs? I can play a bit of violin, should I just start preforming over the music?" Sarah asked, clearly not meaning harm by the teasing. "Despite my negativity, I hope you do well for yourself!" She said, the bartender suddenly sliding the two drinks across the bar's top. She slipped some cash out of her pocket, and slid it across the counter. Taking a sip, she enjoyed the taste. Amon's alcohol choice and the drink itself.

"Hm, is it really that odd? I figured it was a good way to get attention. Do you think just applying would be a better idea? Most of the time I just do my thing and people throw some money at me." Amon shrugged and grabbed his glass, taking some of his own money out to pay for Sarah's. He shook his glass around a little and the clear drink swirled around for a bit: then there was a tiny flash of light and it became a swirling vortex of colors like that of a far away galaxy, sparkling purple and blue twined around each other. He took a sip of the colorful concoction and smiled. "I figured I could brighten the place up a little."

Bemused curiosity lit up Sarah's face as she watched the contents of his glass. "Again, the best of luck. I'm going to find a friend, but it was nice talking to you. Do you want to exchange phone numbers?" She asked, then laughed a bit to herself. "Not to sound like a character in a Pokémon game"

Amon set down his drink and it returned to normal. "Of course! I'd be sorely amiss as to forgo the chance for further conversation with such an alluring damsel, though I think I'll drop that nickname for it as I get the feeling its really rather unfitting. " Amon flicked his wrist and his phone rolled up his sleeve into his hand: though it would appear more as though it had teleported there. "I think I'll take you advice and your number if you're be so kind."

Taking his phone, she quickly entered some information into it, and turned off the screen before handing it back. "Text me, I'd love to talk to you again," Sarah said, placing the phone on the bar top between them, before downing her martini. "I'm sure I'll see you again" Standing up from the bar, she moved further into the club without looking back.

The phone returned to Amon's sleeve without him bothering to look at it, "Sounds good, you can count on it." He said cheerily and take another sip of his martini as Sarah walked away. Guess he needed to find the employer of this fine establishment. He waved the bartender over.
Nora



Iron filled her throat, choking her, The smell had finally reached her, and now it was fight between the iron pushing down her throat, and the bile pushing up. Ira's eyes burned, the tears collecting on the goggle-like frames of her mask. A crisp voice cut through the noise, finally someone speaking a language she could understand. Decoy. He was sticking to his guns, defending his decision in a roundabout way. If her teammates hesitated in killing the clone-the people. If they didn't fight with full intention of winning, they would die.

After this though, did they deserve it? Was it okay to kill civilians who were mind controlled to save your own skin? It wasn't their fault, they were given a command from Martyr. She remembered that from their talk. The name; Martyr. Oh god. She reached up to pull her mask off, and was pulled suddenly by the soldier accompanying her. The sudden lurch tore a burning sob from her lips, the tears splattering against the hard concrete. Gunshots kept splitting the air, making her flinch. "My mask isn't in my hands anymore," the thought passed quickly, fleeting and forgotten soon after. She kept moving forward after Reynolds stopped, before the wall fell apart. Blinking, she pushed past some kid, and breathed air that wasn't suffocatingly stale. In English she said to her live transmitter "What the fuck Decoy?"
Nora
Denver Streets

The sun was still high in the sky as Visage departed from the Rocker's headquarters. So much work done in one day, without so much as a second wasted. It was a very refreshing feeling, though she had no time to revel in it. That would ruin her streak after all.

She moved, drifting from one alley to the next, as she retraced her steps. Ducking down after a few minutes, she made sure she was alone before she continued. Hidden where two buildings meet was a black canvas bag, sharp bits of rough clothing visible from where they poked against its edges. It was slightly damp on the bottom from where she had stuffed her jeans. Again, Visage glanced around, before slinging it over her back, and continuing her walk though the Rocker's territory.

She wanted to laugh, to giggle and hug herself, it was just so damn exciting. Restraint had been so difficult, the urge to plant a node on Furnace, on Protean, on anyone and everyone ever present. But no, she had to do this right. A master power demanded control, not just of others, but of one's self as well. Detecting if someone had been compromised by a master power was just too easy, as the precaution taken by Director Kens had proven, but there was an out. Dormant master powers were very hard to detect, and weeding candidates that were compromised by that sort of power out of potential missions was near impossible to preform with 100% certainty.

Her power could turn into a virus, with compromised individuals unknowingly spreading nodes. It was a bit of a giveaway that they couldn't see while she was preforming her limited clairvoyance, but it was still a useful tool. For a major amount of time, she had considered countering perfect responses to her powers, assuming that a full swat team would be going against her, equipped with tinker-assisted vision.

That wasn't the standard fight however. She would slowly become a known entity as her career continued, leading to more and better responses to her presence at any given fight. That's where the importance of misinformation came from, investing in security by obscurity. From the simple stuff, like keeping information about her powers off parahumans online, to interfering with Watchdog.

The city had melted around her, her thoughts consuming her. Steps and countersteps ran parallel tracks in her head. In all honesty, her minute predictions weren't very accurate. Visage was willing to accept that too, but her broader insights weren't particularly bad. She knew, for a fact, that caution would help her more than recklessness. If the specifics escaped her, so be it.

Thinking about it, the Vegas capes were the ones to emulate, with all the ones worth noting being largely poorly understood. Fighting unknown entities was very difficult, and so she had to adapt to that lifestyle. The largest disadvantage villain groups had were resources. When push came to shove, it was easy for the hero side to ask for favors. From the villain side, letting fellow teams lose encounters also meant less competition, and a good chance of gaining territory.

Nora reviewed her knowledge of Purge, from the many message boards she had visited. He had a mafia aesthetic, but it wasn't 100% confirmed he was from any actual mafia family. At least not personally confirmed. Taking information found online with a grain of salt was important. The amount of salt she had to take to weigh against information about his power was very small, however. His power seemed to be a thinker, specializing in hiding his presence at a crime scene. Any crime that was known to be associated with his gang lacked any and all evidence. Gone without a trace, every time. The lack of evidence lead to a lot of speculation, with the most popular theory agreeing with Nora's current view at the time. All-in-all he was a careful B-lister at best. Then again, many people might call the Rocker's B-listers. It'd be hard for Nora to make a counter-argument to that, honestly.

The world filtered back into focus as the bar loomed in front of her. Mask still clinging tightly to her face, she walked forward, already having planned out her entrance. The street was clear of cars when she crossed it, sprawling out into dinghy streets in both directions. She opened the door swiftly, letting it close from its own weight behind her. The bar had few people this early in the day. The place looked barren, the thin chairs scattered around the tables not helping that aesthetic. There were seven tables, by Visage's count, and not a single person sat at any of them. The bar held two people, gruff, strong men. Their clothes were nicer than the shitty beer in front of them. Probably old vices, like the menthols one of them smoked.

She stuck out, plain and simple. She sat next to the one on the right, and only her confidence stopped them from trying to sate their curiousity about her immedietly. She orderer a martini, and the bartender couldn't be hassled to ID her. She turned towards the men, eyeing them directly. "Are you Purge's lieutenants?" Visage aeked, her voice steady.

Hermes:
Laying the Groundwork

@Old Amsterdam

An audible groan escaped Herme's lips as Protean made his quip. Pushing forward, he took a step before teleporting to two of the most active guards. He grabbed their sleeves, and focused on one of the cells. Pushing past the mental barrier, he teleported again, and stayed suspended for longer than he expected. Just as he wondered how far he had actually pushed himself, he appeared in the stark white cell.

That was farther than he remembered.

He teleported again, as soon as he could, choosing the safe position he had watched from before. It seemed to take less time on this one, but he tried to ignore this fluctuation in his power. He reappeared, and again focusd on the room. One had been trying to escape in his direction, but the mover grabbed him by the collar. Dragging him back, he threw him against a wall, before kicking him in the face. Out cold. He walked forward, looking nonchalantly upon Protean's work.


Everything was happening so fast, Epsilon was feeling overwhelmed. It was Martyr, she was sure, The Community had twisted him, and she felt a similar grief to losing Sonar in the field. Everyone fought back so damn readily though, working together while she just watched from afar. She shut off her nullification field, gazing over the large number of Deans. Then something caught her eye, a Dean surviving a car being thrown at him, as if he had a different power than the rest. She pulled out her goggles, the white noise of everyone around her getting louder and less intelligible. A sea of green met her, every Dean glowing as brightly as. . . Messiah. As Protean. That wasn't right though, the goggles didn't react to squirrels, it didn't react to rocks, it shouldn't react to Master minions.

Epsilon collapsed onto her knees, bile burning her throat.That doesn't make sense, that doesn't-they're meat mush, they're-they're not. She remembered a passing moment, talking to Dean about his power. He was so uncomfortable throughout, and when she proposed testing the clones he seemed appalled at the idea. The noise was reaching a crescendo, and Epsilon was struggling for breath now.

""They're people." She mumbled, her voice too low for the live mic to pick up.
Nora
Protectorate Headquarters and Rocker's Headquarters






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