The plan was carried out with brutal efficiency, which became quite literal as Thunderbolt laid into the Doctor with far more savagery than was necessary. Though, perhaps not less than the bastard deserved. However, he had little time to dwell on that as Patriarch was put on screen, whom he scoffed at. The bastard had the city in his hand, but it would all be quite temporary.
This other cape though, they could be problematic. Turning his attention there, Chatterbox held back, forcing himself to listen to the man's words rather than begin planning for new eventualities. Apparently the man was also
Doctor Dean, in a fashion, at least...an alternate version of them. Strange, it must have been something similar to the clones of him and Whimsy they'd dealt with after the warehouse.
This, on the otherhand, seemed beneficial. Perhaps they could use this...Chivalry. Perhaps they could bring him to the Broker or he could enthrall him. Either could be quite advantageous. He smiled and moved to close the distance, perhaps get a handshake and give a greeting. That way they could start a dialog--....
The thought trailed off into silence, replaced only by the wailing sirens. A dreadful sound, not just in pitch and volume, but in what it symbolized.
An Endbringer attack."Fuck."
He broke out into a cold sweat and turned to his teammates all his schemes briefly forgotten."What do we do?"
For once he was utterly bereft of anything to say. He was stricken by the situation and likely still quite in shock by it. The gravity was just too much. After all what could he possibly--....
Thunderbolt spoke and the words—his name—rang through Drake's head for a long moment, as if suspended in an infinite echo chamber. He ground his teeth, his jaw clenched, his eyes focused and he let out a shuddering breath. He'd stepped onto this path, there was no turning away from it."You're right."
He responded simply before he switched communication channels and simultaneously rattled off orders and tapcode to his many...many thralls and inductees. Those within the airport would begin organizing themselves and moving towards the evacuation points in as fast, but calm, a manner as his control could manage.
Chatterbox had begun organizing the evacuation.
All across the city people got calls, texts, and other notifications. Responding swiftly they made calls or bid others nearby to go to the bunkers. Those at the outskirts of Denver packed up and started driving—well before panic could properly settle into the population. The empowered of the mastermind's cabal made contact with as many people as possible, seeding their influence and smoothing the edges of every interaction they could. They were often as loud and commanding as they could manage without seeming terribly strange. Then again, given the circumstances, people would be too shellshocked or preoccupied to notice.
With their Master's help, many more lives would be saved without combat intervention than was typical in situations such as these.
Of course...in the longterm, there very well might be a price to pay for that blessing. So perhaps, rather than a gift, it was an exchange.
A freudian bargain, perhaps.
Only time could tell and that mistress was often silent.
Things went so fast that she was really only able to translate what had happened a few moments after. Confoam Grenades—multiple???—went off, her projection acted, two guns were fired and ultimately Protean was contained. Moments after all that her projection noticed the widescale attack that the traitor had been about to mount. They'd only avoided it very
narrowly. It was something of a miracle and she found herself forcing a long, deep breath—having forgotten to breath for a moment there. Relief flooded through her and she even felt her anger and disgust with Protean assuaged somewhat, fading into the background. With things taken care of pretty neatly, she stood from her crosslegged position and dismissed her projection, which swiftly shimmered and then flashed out of existence, becoming once more a silver glow in the air. As she made her way through the halls and to her team Decoy contacted them.”Wards, there’s been a new development you need to see!”"Oh,"
Evelyn said as a projector activated on the wall near her. Relief was quickly replaced by bile in her throat and a clenching of fists. "Patriarch,"
she growled, before choking on her own disgust. Forcibly she calmed her breathing, making it even and slow. Gradually the anger relaxed and settled into something cold in her chest. Her jaw remained clenched, but her fingers relaxed.
From the villain's words she understood one thing, the man had corrupted Denver. Still, it wasn't beyond saving, she reasoned. In that moment she vowed to save her hometown, her city. She promised to save it from people like Patriarch and those who had allowed him to remain in power.
At the thought, the light of her projection shifted, and then slid into the ground only to surround her in the next moment, wreathing her in faint silver-blue light.
The tyrant kept talking, but she was done listening.
Evelyn continued on her way back to her teammates. After maybe a minute she arrived to see blood...lots of blood, and the Director at the center of it. Her eyes widened and she ran over."What happened,"
she demanded, but the Director was already losing consciousness. Mouth gaping, Evelyn took a step back and Lillian stepped up, trying to staunch the bleeding and help the man while she floundered for an explanation.
Then came the sirens, accompanied by a sinking dread, and followed swiftly by cold fury.
Evelyn knew what she had to do."I can't help here,"
Evelyn said, turning her back on the Director. He was corrupt anways, just like the rest of the PRT."I'm going, I'll leave comms on."
Then, her shoulders squared, she walked into the elevator, pressed the button—using her projection to sense which one without turning—and let the doors close without a single look back at her team.
She was going to get a vantage point and then use her projection to help evacuate as people arrived to help fight Behemoth.
After all, an Endbringer was the greatest evil wasn't it?
So who better than her to fight it?
Waiting, hoping for good news, Outsider hovered just outside of the building. Then the screaming started and the sound of flames. He frowned, then something far worse occurred. Sirens. If he'd had a face his eyes and mouth would have opened wide, but as it stood he merely got a whole body shiver, which was saying something due to his size. Flashes of memory struck him. Drowning, screams, the struggles of his grandfather, the sheer destruction as water drowned a big part of his ancestry, his culture, and then the long wait after the pain—both mental and physical—of that fateful experience.
He couldn't swallow down the terror and having been dull for so long he found himself paralyzed by it. It was not until Sylph called out to him that he snapped out of the stupor. Delayed a moment, he finally acted, tendrils snaking into the building where they reached Eyeblight's human guise. Precise waves of force burst out from the tips of his tentacles, blasting away the flame even as one tendril socked him over the head hard enough to knock him out. Then one massive limb wrapped itself around Eyeblight like a cobra, leaving only enough space for him to get air, before hauling him out the window.
With the villain dealt with, he turned his mind to the greater problem. Now, steeled against his fear and able to rationalize that this wasn't Leviathan and that he wasn't that helpless boy anymore, he flew up somewhat."Sylph, we need to get Eyeblight to the PRT where he can be safely contained, but I can do it faster than you. You should evacuate whoever you can to the safehouses in the city."
He didn't wait for her response, but instead stretched his senses to the brink, oriented himself, and then blasted into motion—though slower than usual so as not to give Eyeblight a concussion. Swiftly he accelerated, holding the bastard against the underside of his form, still entombed by a limb. His acceleration didn't decrease as he kept flying, pushing his Vessel as fast as he could. Soon he reached the point where he could sense the HQ, at which point he slowly started decelerating. He arrived safely, touching down just outside. Gingerly he used one of his head tendrils to open the PRT building's door. "I'm leaving Eyeblight here, he's unconscious and needs to be detained immediately."
His hollow voice boomed with an alien authority as he snaked the tentacle directly into the building and then laid Eyeblight inside. That done, he closed the door just as gingerly, turned, and shot into the air almost like a bullet—blurring as he suddenly accelerated all at once.
He was on a mission and his first goal was to get as many civilians as possible to the bunkers.