Gothic's Ultimatum - RPG

@ananke

Gothic Slums, Brahma Brotherhood Shanty Town

He strode forward, the Baabda Beast. Scar tissue marring flesh he covered with armored adornments and an onyx leather coat. He breathed in, his mask, forged from titanium and ceramic composite armor, filtered the toxic gases and the stench of rotting and burnt corpses, of the disagreeable chemicals left from his two week old attack on Gothic. He breathed out, clutched his collar and continued his march. It hurt to walk. It hurt to blink and breathe. It hurt to do the little things. Every time he dared move, his shredded muscle tissue swarmed his body with agony, as if razor sharp crystals had been left to sting him for every twitch.

He'd yet to fully heal. It hardly mattered though. The endurance of a monster would allow him to do battle again, should he need to. Injuries upon injuries prevented him from harnessing the full brunt of his brutish power. Still he refused to wear the power ring wrestled from Connor. The lantern would come, searching for his ring, in anger, in desperation, but on Satar's presence was not where it would be found. It lie deep within this broken down base of operations, compiled of scrap metal and recycled materials. Here, the Baabda Beast would rely on what he'd always relied upon, his tactical genius. His ability to lure his foes into his game-plan. Behind him trailed a crony, an unassuming character, slender, well groomed, broad-shouldered and the countenance of an elder statesman. He was no combatant, his was a brainier quality.

His was the mutant power to remember.. everything. He forgot no detail. He couldn't. His brain? An extraordinary biological search engine. The Baabda Beast's plans knew no piece of paper nor hard disk. "If we are to fail today", Satar began, his deep voice echoing, its timbre hanging with a gravitas replicated by his thick, Lebanese inflection, "We will target Gothic again. They can delay it as much as they like. But this city, it will be mine. We will need reinforcements. Raiding Maverick again is not a realistic option at the moment. Instead, we will target the League of Shadows. We will wrestle control of it from its leader, and we will turn the League's assassins into the Brotherhood's soldiers". Pausing, his eyes, pale gems of crystal blue, darkened. Gone was the psychopath cold, and in its place? Rage.

"We will target Abigail Aensland. The virus spreading the disease of the slave morality", the disgust, it seemed tangible in every word he uttered. "She embodies the worst of the slave morality. Her values.. kindness, humility, sympathy.. moral goodness, they are all social fabrications. Lies used by the weak willed to hold back the great men of this world. The lies that lead one into making distinctions between good and evil. She binds herself to rules outside of herself. They say she even refuses to kill. Abigail, the slave, she spreads the disease of the slave morality, and in her wake, creates a world of weakness. For the disease to be purged, for the League to be mine. For Gothic to be truly mine, Abigail Aensland must die". Waving his crony away, Satar felt his blood cool, and his towering, muscled frame emerge. Stepping outside, he silenced his followers and stood by the Dragonfang, her frame chained to a pyre, Satar's hand resting on a CIF3 (chlorine trifluoride) grenade.

He said nothing, he merely waited. Gothic's Finest would arrive, and he would be ready. With Ananke's services employed, and the mercenary eager to take aim, drop bombs, what have you, war was certain.

@satar:

There was clapping, nearly sarcastic in tone but also not quite, a lone individual in the crowd of followers that determined to clap as a response to his arrival outside. The crowd split and looked towards the source. A lone young woman stood in the center of attention now. She dropped her hands and grinned strangely. It was the grin of a predator.

"You make one hell of an entrance. Just stroll on out all big dog in a small dog park sort of way. Everyone goes all silent and 'oh god please don't look at me.' They practically dropped to their knees at the sight of you. That's power friends." She said, holding her hands out to indicate the crowd around her. "Walk out, say nothing and everyone shts their pants. I like the mask too, it's a damn good touch. I bet you need it for reasons and then made it look sinister, sort of like Darth Vader but with less heavy breathing. I like the way you hold a grenade out to her too, not a gun, guns can be deflected, but a grenade? Area of effect, good for a quick disabling strike to a large area in case the hero gets loose and tries to cause problems. Either you're suicidal or don't care what the grenade does, interesting fact that too."

Sahi started to stroll forward. A goon moved to cut off her advance and he fell into a pile of dust with one last scream of agony. "I hear there is a war on and I want to take part in it. Strength against strength, will against will, predator against predator. You don't need another follower, you've got plenty of those." She said, stopping about a hundred feet away from him. She gestured to the crowd again. "What you need is a Time Siphon. The name's Sahi and I'll help you for nothing more than all the food I can eat. I figure way out here you don't know much about Time Siphons, so I'll make it clear. I'm a Temporal Vampire, a galactic predator of the highest order. There are entire civilizations that have perished because one of us got angry. Our greatest leader shattered our empire and cast us to the stars because they believed that only the strong should rule and survive and that many of us had grown fat and lazy."

Sahi smiled. "So, one predator to another, you want another weapon in your arsenal? Territory is all yours when your war is over, I'm just here for the power."

Two weeks. That was how long it had been since the first strike against Gothic had been laid out. A measly two weeks for the city to recover, for the beast to lick it's wounds and retract into cover to await another barrage. Some would say it was a generous amount of time, others would say that it was too short... All that Curve knew was that several people wouldn't be able to contribute in this battle as much as they had in the last. Perfect... The less people there, the less people to get in his way. Satar thought that he could wrest control of Gothic, that he could take it for his own, that it was his to play with.

Two weeks for Curve was like two months for a normal man. Favors, favors from gangs all across America, favors from the Crolines in Austin, the Yakuza across the waters, the Cosa Nostra in New York, even Crips from LA there to return favors to the clown mastermind. Along with their finest supplies. The street urchins themselves, brought little. Guns, knives, weapons of combat, but the more advanced people that had decided to take part brought even greater tools. Gas masks, grenades, modern military weapons, even a tank or two. The proper attire was also found among the new additions to Curve's gang. Makeup, masks, onesie suits... All of them were found to mimic some sick interpretation of a clown, all of them looking up to one symbol.

That was two days, a mere seventh of all the time Curve had had. Slowing down was not an option for him. No, the idea of slowing down, saying enough was enough, setting limits... The very idea seemed preposterous. While the gangs taught each other different ways to achieve sufficient killing, Curve's personal posse was looting, pillaging, stealing as they liked with loose directions, given directly from the madman himself. "A blimp, some guns, Hiroshima level explosives, some guns, about three hundred gallons of purple, white, green, and red paint... Oooh! And one of them fancy mech-suits, made of whatever-you-call-it."

And, for the most part, his servants had delivered, supplying the militia with several bombs of various sizes for them to do with as they wished. Now, a lone armored truck sped through the streets, painted purple by shaky hands to signify that the thing was indeed Curve's newly found property. At the helm of this vehicle, the clown himself.

"Next stop, the Brahma's!" He yelled aloud, head sticking out of the window irresponsibly. On his ear, a Bluetooth communicator- relaying the message to the other many different segments of his crew. Abandoned parking garages across the city now were lit up with the lights of dozens of armored, military grade vehicles, either stolen or illegally bought and now heading into one central direction. Above, a blimp rose- emerging from the main warehouse that Curve occupied on Gothic's Docks- a large clown face painted onto the head of it, loads of specially wrapped semtex and C4 looking like Christmas presents. "Oooh, the cavalry!" An idle comment passed the lips of the clown to be lost in the wind.

The plan was simple. Cut off the Brotherhood at all of the streets, and wait for em to emerge like a mouse from it's hole. Laughter erupted from the painted car, an undying laughter that could be heard from blocks around...

@satar

@timesiphon: @satar:

Years had gone by of torture and abuse, taken to extremes where suffering was exquisite and ones own life became insignificant. Jessica grew up predominately in domains that'd haunted her nights untill they were melancholy dreams. Isolated rooms with door locked and no bathroom became a home where the small turn of the fan was the excitement. Abuse was so overdone it turned to being redundant. Give enough time she would experience every drug, confronted every format of crime and known torture time after time. And the anguish she couldn't visit in the realms of mortals or limited power she'd be shown later in life, untill vulnerability had been carved out with a knife. Though it had grown to feel like the dragon could be slain but it's spirit still live on, these two weeks clawed at her none the less.

She faced almost no wounds, in fact her previous wounds were gone. Her eyes never looked into the iris of a devil in flesh of man, she wasn't beaten even though the opportunity was there that said her captors can. She'd been fed a ration bar once a day, given water twice. They gave her no break or place to rest but she didn't starve to death. Here in chains and bound her abilities and weapons were futile and the conditions were repulsive. So used to the shame though Jessica hadn't spoken a word, not shown an ounce of impact of her capture. No what ate hat her was something simple. People would come for Satar, would come to rescue her. But to Jess, she was irrelevant and not worth the risk. Coverage on the previous bout showed the ruins, the death, vigilanties like PyroKitten who was so wounded she had no chance of showing up to round two. Gothic needed a diffrent Rook, Jess had no value. Her brother would come though she knew he would, playing into a tacticians field plan.

"You know I saw the ring briefly got excited but no that's stashed elsewhere. So can we expect skunks and lighters again from you? Say how many lapdogs you got left?" Odds were she couldn't get under the Bull Heirs skin but maybe she could his lackeys. If he continued his pattern then the enemy knew what to expect. A lot of followers had died, and often the bond was thicker between the pawns of war then their bond to the man in charge. "You dress like the Bull but I'd say your horns are smaller." That wasn't true he may be deadlier, he was diffrent however which might eat away at those inspired by Brahma.

"And you, the new predator to the pack. Enter immediately with tail between the legs nice intro. Meanwhile your in it for you, even said it for yourself on top of that. Better yet though your someone with power, in the presence of those who had to obtain power." Most people in Gothic could get behind that survival of the fittest mentality. They hardend themselves, earned a status by blood and sweat. People like Strike operatives a Lifador a Champion one could argue they'd never understand. And the most known Siphon was of a world outside. This to was to eat at moral, and maybe even anger the Siphon. To provoke, because the captive wanted to go out fighting and undermining the enemy.

"Finally I know I've talked a bit much but I've one last request. Just give me the wedding ring you got there start this off with a bang. Because a hostage, someone who by said definition does not deserve your vision for their weakness doesn't belong. Got an image to keep up don't you." Course if Jess was dead nobody coming would need to hold back.

Family, home, country all three hold value to any man woman child or soldier. I for one do not believe that anyone can be asked to place them in order serving which has more weight. Sure you want to say family, but could you chose that handful over your personal conquest or more so over the lives of billions of others. Saying that you might think then country, but you don't know everyone everywhere do a hundred faceless rival the face of say your parents who'd do anything for you? And what of your home that in many ways is you, you pay the rent, that car in the garage is laced with memories, that tv hails from your hard earned money. Most love ones self and it might be easy to chose you over others.

So in this mission no objective can be placed ahead in importance. Tactical reasoning and probability of success should be weighed more then the risks in play. Objective One is the containment or execution of one Satar. As it stands he appears not entirely recovered and not using the ring. Overwhelming early and keeping up the pressure would be wise. At the moment he holds a grenade, likely of chemical warfare design given track record, near the hostage. It should be important to note Dragonfang is known for near suicidal behavior. One could argue how significant the hostage is towards others. Vex holds value in the vigilantie but by my analogy Gothic is family. Born and raised here I'd rather we lose the lost then let this city crumble in on itself more.

Objective two be on the look out for Pax, and likewise capture or execute. Much like Satar, Pax is known for a pursuit of power and dominion. Previous action indicates he might be looking to seize Gothic for himself. My concern however is do to his claiming of many of the taken Maverick Arsenal and his past ties to Maverick. This company has become my home, I was raised in Gothic but I found my calling in the field. Perhaps the largest concern though hails more from Argus. If he was to derive that not only was Mav tech bein used in an unsanctioned way but done so by one of Maverick's own it could be a major hit to publicity. We opperate all around the world but that defense is perhaps as strong as it is vulnerable.

Third Objective is to be on the look out for sightings of the Shogun. Pressent operations include an effort to intrude on the force and keep tabs on the questionable mutant. A threat to anyone without an X gene should the mood strike her it's ideal one have some insight to her activity. Caution should be taken to avoid direct interaction if at all possible. A willingness to take action should also be in play considering she's most consistent in the fact that she's a woman of action and unconventional attack strategy.

Mental check list concluded and briefing ran down in Alex's mind and mission gone over the elitist of accuracy took a moment to confirm all her gear was prepared for active duty. She'd exited the window of a sky scraper and taken up refuge within the buildings shadows. It was a aproach much like the one she'd executed at Maverick, where spotting her was a complex impractical matter backed by distance. Her own vision and strength from the Exosuit however had Alex still in a perfect comfort zone of attack. However this third round was particularly in need of care. The animal being hunted was wounded and perhaps backed to a wall. Odds were this fight wouldn't be like those in the past. That could be better or worse but in either case demanded caution. Not to mention others were more emotionally invested and might be careless. So in a conflict demanding one thing Alex almost knew to expect the opposite demanding only more clearheaded focus to make up for anothers absence.

About a year ago in San Betral, this kind of thing would have been straight out of the headlines on the Sunday news. That bustling city in California changed in less than twelve hours, though. Twelve minutes really. Some insane metahuman attacked and drowned the city in blood, changing all the water to dripping flesh and melting half the populace into puddles.

It would have been San Betral's claim to fame if the same psychopath didn't do Gothic ever dirtier. People here on Earth call him Warsman, nobody knows his real name. Took about a hundred thousand people away with him. Called it the Blood Pact. People still think there are freaks following him, waiting for a second coming or some sh!t. Mr. Harvey, that's what the boss likes to be called, will tell you all the sick stuff we say in San Betral. Kids with their brains boiling out their eye sockets. Emergency rooms choked with people looking for help, all drowning on their own fluids once the gutters scabbed over and the blood rain turned into a tsunami.

Same stuff happened in Gothic. Same stuff is still happening. We're not afraid to get our hands dirty. We're the Black Masks, looking to hook up with our cousins here in Gothic. Some punks called the Rumblers have been giving them trouble...

@the_puzzler

@thisisgonnahurt:

The Rumblers. The boys of this town. The gang that owns the underground, the grit, the blood that is let in the alleys. They weren't just a gang, not some other drug running wannabes. They were an entire sub-culture that had a big bite of the populace.

Slicked hair, fast women and even faster cars was their life. Anywhere the downtown's lights didn't shine over, they were rampent in the street. Every block and every road with Hot-Rods blazing down the streets.

It was apparent enough that they were respected by the working class, idolized in a way even. The Rumblers looked out for anyone who didn't get in their way, like the old days. Looking cool as frozen hell while doing it.

So when some stragglers roll in, thinking they're pickin' easy with a few greaser hoodlums? It doesn't take long before they realize that the Rumblers are a goddamn civil army.

While the chaos boiled over town only two weeks after the terror before, The Rumblers were back at it, slaughtering anyone who thought they could mess with their turf, all to some nice Rockabilly tunes.

@the_puzzler:

The boys here on the West Coast knew. They told the boss everything. The Rumblers were organizing like a whole militia, something everyone could support here. They were famous and respected, people who helped out as long as nobody got in their way. Street fights tended to break out then, skirmishes that built up into wars.

When one Rumbler was under fire, all of them knew. All of them mobilized like an entire wave of bodies, swarming the position in ammunition and blazing-fast cars. Roars of excitement were drowned out by thick clouds of bullets. It was beautiful.

But they still moved like ants, following each and every threat with a hawk's eyes, waiting to pounce and drown it in a storm of violence. Mr. Harvey knew a long time ago what he was stepping into. That's why to fight an army, he brought one.

Trained assassins, mercenaries from home, some of the most brutal Eastside bastards anyone could find. While the Rumblers were ready and waiting for some pompous idiot from California flaunting his firepower like some arm candy, what they got was a siege tactically exploiting stolen maps related to the entirety of Gothic City from its highest still-standing skyscraper to the deepest, darkest sewer pit.

What the Rumblers knew, the Black Masks knew. It would be a war of attrition, a bloody hammering contest of who could outsmart who.

@satar: @_vex_@the_puzzler

Sometimes it takes a predator to track a beast. Word had been given, the hunt was on. Xae moved through the back alleys and abandoned buildings of Gothic like a serpent. She had assumed her true form where even the most astute of villains would only think someone had let a dinosaur loose in the city. She flitted through the city with ease, speeding along at sixty miles an hour, jumping through windows, taking stair cases two or three steps at a time and gliding along the city streets in the dark of night. Xae's movements were flawless, a combination of skill and tens of millions of years of predatory evolution. There were predators in this town with more reach, with greater powers, but were any of them really actually better at hunting than Xae? Probably not. She was a scaled blur in the darkness and darted through the combats already taking place in the city. She passed through Rumbler street battles like a dart, her high intelligence focused on one and only one goal...finding Satar and determining what else was out there. Tonight there was a Dinosaur in Gothic and it moved like a bolt through the darkness.

Xae let nothing get in her way. When someone did try to stop her it was in the middle of Rumbler's territory. A group of Satar's men or at least men seeking to take advantage of the chaos had taken it upon themselves to cause problems for the Rumblers. One such man thought it would be fun to put a dinosaur head on his wall back home and took a pot shot at Xae with his forty five. Xae had already anticipated where he was going to shoot and went and simply side stepped the shot without even breaking stride. She leaped through the air while running at sixty miles an hour and slammed both of her feet into the idiot with the gun and drove him ruthlessly onto his back while landing standing ontop of him. The weight of a several hundred pound predator was already beginning to crack ribs but Xae was having none of this non-sense today. She sunk one of her lethal sickle claws into the base of his neck, just above the clavicle and jerked down. The razor sharp claw tore through bone like it was paper and elicited a weird, wet scream from a now dying man. He lay thrashing his legs and screaming while blood ran from his mouth. Xae wasn't done, she stepped off of his body and slashed a claw across his stomach, spilling his intestines across the ground.

Xae took off again, letting the man die a slow and agonize death. It was time to return to the hunt...idiots with guns could be dealt with more later on. Gothic needed a good cleansing and it might just take a dinosaur to help do it...or at least Xae in her human form. She sped through the streets once more and leaped over a Rumbler on a motorcycle while he came at her from the opposite direction. She hit full stride again the moment she landed behind him and kept going.

Eventually Xae arrived at her destination. She found the beast in the slums, standing with a grenade and waiting, surrounded by his cronies. Xae hid inside of a building, her head cocked sideways and one eye staring out of a broken window to take in the full scene. She focused on Dark Vengeance's mind and sent him a telepathic message. He is definitely waiting for you. His list of allies seems to be growing rather than shrinking. Curiously I note he doesn't have a ring on his finger. The Lantern Ring may be used as bait for our Lantern friend. You know this is a trap, but we need to spring it in a way that works to our advantage. Let people he doesn't expect go for items he expects others to go for. Someone other than our lantern friend should go after the ring and I don't think you should appear immediately either. He expects you to come in guns blazing. It's up to you of course. I await further instruction. She moved away from the window and hunkered down in the abandoned building, keeping an ear out and ever alert for changes in the area's scent. She waited.

It was unlikely that any of the chaos spilling out over Gothic's slums would reach them here, on the "right side" of the tracks, but still he waited. Perched atop Barnes Academy's library, rifle resting on his back and armed with a pair of binoculars, Arceus surveyed the campus grounds, keeping an especially close eye on the dormitories where the students were currently (supposed to be) confined to their respective rooms. The school, poised atop a modest hill, provided a decent view of the city, and allowed him a vantage point from which to purge the surrounding rooftops. Already he had picked off a few of the armed trouble makers, rival snipers that had just begun to set up, not expecting to come under fire so early in the evening. Each shot was guided, as though by the hands of a vengeful god, into the skulls of his enemies, not a malicious soul in sight able to approach the school. His kinetic manipulation made sniping an effortless task: wind, distance, gravity, the Coriolis effect, none of that mattered. If he kept visual contact he could simply guide the projectile to his target. Of course he knew how to compensate for these variables, but in a do or die situation every second counts, and he couldn't afford to waste time calculating when he could far more easily "cheat" and achieve the same results.

Off the rooftops, in the streets and alleyways obscured by the grander buildings of Gothic city, he could hear the familiar ring of automatic rifles, see the flashes of light tossing silhouettes of the newly slain against the alley walls, but he stayed where he was. As tragic as these killings were he had his own people to protect, those he held dear, all hiding in their dorm rooms, huddled in their beds, counting on their armed angel to protect them from on high.

@thisisgonnahurt:

The Rumblers

The most hardened vigilantes and the most competent metas of this town knew, that a head on attack towards Rumblers Turf was a terrible idea. Any window, any rooftop, any alley and even any manhole cover could have Rumblers in it. Toting grenade launchers and MG's. Any vehicle that wasn't a Rat-Rod or any person that wasn't a greaser would be reigned down with led and fire, like roving firing squads. They weren't without their casualties of course, but that only made every Rumbler around their fallen fight that much harder. They weren't contract killers, not even career criminals. This was the Rumblers life, not some other paycheck. They take what they want, and control everything they can because it's better than some thug gangbangers peddling drugs. What they lacked in skill, they made up in with the upmost ferocity to protect what they called home, and the people under their thumb.

Semi-Trucks with trailers blocked off most entrances to the turf as soon as trouble cropped up, the drivers hopping out and setting the beasts on fire to make them immobile. What was an open opportunity on the streets had become a boxed in death trap for who came to rumble. Rat-Trucks and Rods sped down the streets, loaded to the brim with cheering rebels firing off their weapons at mooks. Roaring engines, rockabilly and gunfire was all that could be heard on the roads, dozens upon dozens making it look like Gothic's most bloody race derby.

The underground was even more impenetrable than the topside, being the true nest for the Rumblers. Anything short of a hardy meta was going to find themselves bombarded with a decent hundred greasers with guns and switchblades.

Chance

After greasing his hair and zipping up his red leather jacket, Chance hopped out of the Rat-Truck he hitched a ride on, landing right in the middle of the madness. "Who are these mooks supposed to be?" He muttered to himself quickly, crouching behind a flipped car and eyeing down a trio of mercs patrolling. Sawed off shotgun, two shells and a fat chance on the third guy. He used his anger to get him worked up. All the rage from Gothic's hour two weeks ago, Rob dying, his fellow Rumblers getting slain. All for a cause that wasn't even gang related.

Sharp breathes and seeing red, Chance sprinted out from behind the car and raised his shotgun. First shell ripped one of their chests wide open, sending him flat to the ground, few pellets got caught in the mook's arm standing beside him. A former football pro, Chance had no problem closing the distance while the other two were still figuring out what had just happened. Second shell, shattering the skull mask the second was wearing in a bloody mess. The third finally had him in his sights, he was going to do it, Chance didn't have enough time to pull out a switchblade....

That is until a goddamn dinosaur (@gale_xanders) crushed the third merc flat, ripping him to shreds right after. Chance simply stumbled in awe, taking a few steps back with wide eyes and a dropped jaw. Only in Gothic. "Th-thanks!....Dino..." Was all he could stutter, still taken back by the whole thing. Without a response, as if Chance was expecting one, the dino sprinted off to continue it's massacre.

He needed to find Ace, knowing him though...

Ace

...He was right in the middle of the conflict already, right beside "Mason's pub" a common hangout for the Rumblers. Both Colt 1911 out, he was passing out headshots like they were his number. These men were organized, way too organized to not be getting paid a small fortune. With fellow Rumblers having his back, he took his time sliding new clips into his guns, finishing just in time to back into the pub and take out two more mercs just turning the street corner, not even batting an eye.

"DOWN." Ace shouted between gritted teeth, clamped down on a burning cigarette. A reign of machine gun fire obliterated the pub windows and anything in site, including one of the Rumblers tagging along with him. "Shit." He reached over, patting him on the arm before grabbing his spare clips out of the now fallen's pocket. All it took to end this little showdown with the small squad outside, was take his smoke out of his mouth and let out a sharp whistle with his fingers.

Ace stood up casually while they were busy loading their weapons, quickly followed by a 1958 Rat-New Yorker to run them all down going 90mph. The car screeched to a halt, three greasers stepping out to slick their hair. Ace strolled on over and clicked his tongue with a finger point. "Good timin' fellas. What's the scene?" Ace took a drag of his smoke while getting the lowdown.

"That one cartel is, those squares with the candy skulls or whatever. But...Yeah they have some heavy heat backin' them up Ace. We're talkin' army type shit." The closest one explained, with how battered up he looked backed it up even more. "Yeah, kinda put that together on my lonesome.." Ace, looking back at all the axed mercs. The greaser knew it was only a matter of time before that gang had their big time cousins stroll on into town.

"Gimme a lift will ya? Gotta pay a visit to the Rat.."

Two weeks had been plenty of time. Sure, the gaping holes in Kelly's side had taken a while to heal, but once that was out of the way, there had been plenty of time to prepare. It had taken a while to make the decision, but in the end, he had had to toss the black cloth he had worn for all those years. It had taken longer to locate a reliable tailor, but the one he ended up going to was reputed to be the best, and most discreet, in the area. He had asked for something very specific, and that was what he had gotten. "A symbol." The murmur slipped out of his lips, though barely passing the cloth over his mouth. The time: T-Minus one hour. He slipped about the city, checking out his usual haunts. All were clear, though he spotted a few suspicious guys around Mason's. Paying it no thought, he decided to stop waiting. The area the Brotherhood had seized was very visible, with several burning trash fires. The hapless guard clutched his weapon like a safety blanket. He started when he saw the hooded white figure advancing on his position, but didn't fire. "Who are you supposed to be?"

"I'm the one you see coming."

KRUNCH.

The AI found itself once more bearing witness to an assault on its adopted home. The slums of Gothic city, home to skid row and the many aimless wanderers that congregated there, was under the control of a madman. Oddly enough, not a single one of the vagrants even blinked, their lives, after all, remained untouched by the battles. Heroes, villains, criminals, vigilantes, did it matter who owned the city? They had nothing to take, nowhere to go. They mattered little to the plans of the devious or the divine, and so no one ever bothered to stir them from the corner they'd huddled into. They stay there, alone and forgotten.

Until Satar invaded the city. Fires ravaged the slums, consumed those without the means or motivation to move themselves and those that would save them. Years of drug abuse already addling their minds, the inhabitants of skid row found themselves further incapacitated by the horrid stench of the chemical weapons deployed against the city, and, caught within the inferno that had sprung up around them, they found themselves burning in the most literal incarnation of hellfire available on earth.

The Iron Phantom that had stayed with these people, come to know them by name, helped them resolve their difference and overcome their struggles, had abandoned them. The AI had instead taken off toward the siren song of gunfire, enveloping itself in the loud and highly visible chaos that had come down suddenly upon the city, and, like so many before it, had left the forgotten to their fate. When it returned to take its position on the wall it found no wall, found none of the people it had come to see as friends. Nothing, not even ashes, remained.

The sorrow it felt was fresh, new. Never had it experienced real pain, and now it experienced it all at once. As intense as the profound mourning of family lost, as potent as a wound on one's own heart, the AI felt the loss of its home, the loss of all those it had ever truly known, those that had ever truly known it. As the sorrow washed over the AI it came to truly understand, understand how a man might feel, understood what it was created to help people overcome, and in the same moment found that none of its own strategies was potent enough to move past such pain. It began to understand an entirely new concept, overwhelming and all consuming: the need for vengeance.

It was Satar that had brought the rain of fire down upon its home, that had incinerated all that it had ever known, and while the bits and pieces of its original programming screamed for the AI to reconsider the dominant portion its mechanical mind called only for blood. For the first time in its short life the AI came to know its first true emotion: a cool burning yet unbridled, uncontrollable rage. It would make Satar pay for his deeds, not for justice, not in some scheme to compensate the victims, but for itself, so the process raging through its conscious mind could come to an end.

Salvaging a blade from one of the many fallen corpses of the Brahma Bulls, the AI returned to the abandoned factory it had found. Devoid of its true home it fashioned one from the I.R.O.N.'s forge, and used its new surroundings to reforge the knife into a tool better fitting its own mechanical frame. Tonight, in the name of vengeance, it would be the one take the head of the Bull.

Therapy

Pyotr had heard all of the rumors, the tales of the war ravaging Gothic City. He had visited the run-down hive of scum and villainy multiple times throughout his many years, each time marveling at both the increasingly deplorable living conditions and the tenacity with which residents of the urban warzone clung to their homes. But it was now, it seemed, that the maze of grime and stone had reached a new low, the squalor giving way to blood and bullet casings as yet another war was waged in the streets. Two weeks beforehand, chemical fires had burned throughout the chaotic, broken metropolis, choking the air and enflaming the wills of every last vigilante that set foot in the vast, ruined city that had once belonged to the United States.

Confidently, he strode through the dilapidated streets, marveling silently at the distinctly foul atmosphere while making note of the residual fumes in the air. A dark blazer adorned his form, his large hands stuffed in the side pockets, a loose necktie hanging over a button-down white shirt. He was not a man of many valuables, but he believed in looking nice, even if most of his clothes ended up ruined. With nearly nine centuries' worth of savings, he could more than afford to blow cash on expensive jackets. They were essentially all he bought, having no need for artificial transportation or even sustenance. And while he did enjoy his food cooked, rather than raw, he could always afford to make due with what he had. For Pyotr was no man, but the world's first post-mutant, a being that surpassed both homo sapiens and their unpredictable evolutionary offshoots.

He felt his inner nose close ever so slightly, filtering out the harmful traces of advanced tear gas and choking poison, the unnatural third lenses of his eyes also sliding down overtop of his regular retinas. Barefoot, he stepped over massive craters in the street, the polyorganic treads gripping and releasing with maximum, subconscious efficiency. He looked up, the clouds obscuring any traces of light from the sky, and he felt that once again, there would be blood tonight. His jaw square, he suddenly leapt upwards, leg muscles pushing into the already-cracked ground. Rock was thrown up around where his large feet had touched the street, his arms extending as he practically flew up towards a building.

The Acrobatic Achilles locked his hands onto the side, identical treads latching instantaneously to a stone wall. With natural grace, he quickly sprinted along the side of the building, the reasoning behind his constant lack of shoes once again put into the spotlight as he traversed the wall with the finesse that would put to shame the world's greatest athletes. Casually, he leapt from the side of the building, extending his hands to wrap them around a flagpole hanging from a bannister. Idly flinging himself upwards, he soared over the wrecked streets, landing effortlessly upon a rooftop.

He sprinted over the top of the building, leaping over a treacherous skylight and vaulting over an air-conditioning unit, the metal dented as his massive grip pulled him across the top. He moved like an ape-cheetah hybrid, wind blowing through his black hair as he idly somersaulted across an entire city block. He reached the skyscraper on the other side with an impromptu cartwheel, propelling himself along through sheer momentum. It was as though he were sliding across the roof of the building, he moved so fast, his haste akin to that of a raging tiger on the hunt. The entire time, his face was serene, casually observing the entire city's streets as he accelerated.

And the purpose of this wild, choreographed patrol? To find an ally of the Brahma Brotherhood, and to interrogate them, before proceeding to violently rip out their very spine. And after? He'd march into their slum and slay every last one of the self-righteous terrorists, their sickening ideology threatening to permeate society should they seize Gothic. But it was not altruism that drove him to act, to travel to the ruined metropolis, no, no.

Why, then? Why would he undertake such a violent mission of bare-handed, brutal slaughter?

Simple.

It was quite cathartic.

Small Artificial Island, Izu Islands, Japan

Mere moments ago.....

A solemn statuesque figure floated above the golden sands against a backdrop of roaring waves, a blackened sky and tempest winds bellowing in from the Pacific. Clad in an ebon cloak draped over wide shoulders, its tattered ends licked the ground in the gust, as the form sat in a Lotus position. Hovering due to intermingling with quantum phenomena, locked into a deep meditative trance devoid of conventional biological thought processes. The incoming storm drizzled a sea salt mist upon his garb, yet the drops motioned in unison, gyroscopically encircling the Eastern Enigma. A thunderous clamor erupted from above, awakening the Grim Ghost; eyes like blood red stars opened in the shadow of his hood. His mechanical mandible bellowed twin blasts of hydrogen steam from ports set in polar directions as his limbs outstretched giving him the semblance of a black lotus in bloom. Sand, dust and dirt fell from his metallic frame as his feet dug into the coastline while the water droplets burst into stream in sequence from his Quantum Interface hyper accelerating their molecules. Arching his head high, staring into the eye of the storm as lightning snaked serpentine across the dark clouds. His mind engaging in various simultaneous processes as he looped multiple news feeds, invaded government classified documents and global satellites to uncover what events had occurred during his transcendental slumber. It had only been a fraction of a second and a deep, hateful rage swelled in his vibranium husk. Darkness and negative forces consumed. Devastation a primary motivator. Sheer Carnage yet elegant execution. It was his purpose, encoded in his matrix, down to the cellular level; murder, death, kill. A dark destiny of desolation.

Raising his hand parallel with the horizon, a crudely circular construct composed of black mass unfolded outwards from a shadowy singularity. A portal to the Shadowrealm. Skeletal yet ink hued hands raked out from his seemingly liquid constitution. The Virtuoso of Violence stepped forward, his Spartan gait , proud and powerful, carried him into the portal thus into a strange and horrific realm. He had engaged in a mission: the fires of war spread through his immortal soul. Only blood may quench the flames.

Gothic City

Seconds later.....

Emerging from the rift, tearing through its material as it clung to his body like connective tissue as those skeletal things beckoned him back. On mental command Tenjin banished the portal, silent screams filled the air of Gothic City as it shriveled closed. He had emerged upon a towering steeple of a desolate cathedral, for a short period he imagined bright red-orange fire swallowing Gothic like the mouth of Hell, charred structural foundations placed amidst as its citizens wails go unanswered. To mirror his soul. Out-loud he sounded, his voice boomed with deep bass, quoting William Blake "As I walked among the fires of Hell, delighted with the enjoyments of Genius, which to Angels look like torment and insanity."

From upon the spire, crouching in a simian position, he overlooked the cityscape as a hawk gazes across the field awaiting for a hare to emerge. He would bid his time, patience, as events unfolded. There were no sides to take, no allies to rally. He planned not a hostile takeover such as that which occurred in Tokyo. The Death Device plotted only ruination.

@the_puzzler:

The Black Masks

As a whole, they were more organized than the Rumblers in that they had heavier firepower and deployed it tactically. The Rumblers were experts at hiding, taking cover, and bull-rushing from an unexpected position. They brought the fight to a brutal melee, dragging Black Masks down and breaking skull helmets open with lead pipes. Blood flowed in the streets of Gothic that day, like real blood. Not the fake metahuman sh!t that just healed up in a second or two. This was the hard sh!t, the desperation of humanity surviving where it wanted to.

The Rumblers needed to win this fight on home turf, where their fans were waiting.

The Black Masks needed to remind them what happens when you f*ck with their members.

Blazing semis choked highways and tunnels leading into the underground. Doors locked and barricaded from the inside. They made a fortress out of the turnpikes and bunkers out of the sewers. Walking into them invited death. Traps everywhere. The skilled mercenaries and assassins paid as "insurance" to this war zone spotted them a mile away. Some of the more inexperienced newbies learned the hard way, sometimes for good.

The Doberman

"You know, it's almost an art form at this point,"

Long ago, the Old Bastard worked for Doom. For some reason or another, the Iron Tyrant vanished. Some say he disappeared to an alternate dimension and just hasn't returned yet. Elysia with him, just levitated out of the middle of Europe and poof! Gone. Croatia and Romania took the land for their borders, dividing it accordingly, finally winning a war they've waged since antiquity. The Doberman was left here, however, the only natural-born Elysian left on Earth. This Earth. Multiverse theory is bullsh!t.

He'd sniped his fourth Rumbler in the past ten minutes, making the blood splatter perfectly in time with a bullet spray from a Black Mask gangster hiding behind a burned-out car. That's it, keep going. Keep moving. Just like the Siege of Johannesburg. Good times. The Doberman spotted something in the midst of the greased-up mass of bodies surging forward. They were inspired by something, and the Black Masks were retreating to higher ground.

"You must be one of their leaders. How cute,"

As a mercenary, the Doberman had a reputation for his deadly efficiency. He now had no reason to belong to a banner, though he kept the Elysian insignia on his armor for nostalgia's sake. Money was the greatest motivator for him now. And it was money that Mr. Harvey had in spades, something that...

"Is that a dinosaur?"

With an unfortunate Black Mask's life being extinguished rather harshly by the beast's jaws before it rampaged away, the Hound focused once more on the apparent leader, who stopped - understandably - in awe of what just happened. Not every day a guy is part of a post-apocalyptic Jurassic Park. The Doberman's innate battle sense targeted him, yet his sniper rifle had no more ammunition. Popping his neck in either direction, he instead unsheathed his European-style broadsword and a set of brass knuckles. Dual-wielding, though dangerous in most circumstances, had its advantages when the opponent had nothing except a possible switchblade. The James Dean archetype can only go so far in combat.

Leaping from his perch about two-hundred feet on the side of a dilapidated building, his spidery reflexes carried him almost bestially down about thirty feet at a time. His heightened tolerance for pain combined with his advanced joints allowed him to stealthily move behind the Rumbler known as Chance in just about five huge leaps. About twenty feet away, however, he purposely kicked an empty tin can into some trash. No use in killing another Rumbler if he wasn't aware of what was happening.

Antonio

"Damn it, we're pinned here!" Ricardo snarled, ducking behind the concrete wall again. He reloaded the automatic rifle in his hands sloppily, but quickly, and let off another burst of five shots before feeling pellets of his barricade ricochet into his fingers.

"F*CK!"

"Shut up already, Rick," Teresa mocked him, chucking a grenade that she cooked just enough for it to explode underneath a car a couple of Rumblers were using as cover. One of them was still alive, dragging his unconscious buddy back to safety while he left a leg behind him.

"Eat my d!ck, these assholes are stubborn if anything,"

"Antonio's almost here. They won't be in our way for long," Carlos responded to more of Ricky's concerned bickering.

"Antonio's overkill, we can handle this," Teresa retorted just as one of her squadmates tried going across the street and was taken out by three bullets to the leg and another to the throat. He choked to death.

Ricardo grunted and lobbed another grenade into the window where he saw the shots being fired. Two Rumblers fell down four stories, crushed by rubble, with a third one still in the window. He panicked about his friends being killed and was easy pickings for the snipers. One gun nest down, about fifty more to go considering how many of the maniacs were around.

"Well, if you didn't need me you would have taken the objective by now,"

"Not now Antonio, we're trying to work he-," Carlos bit his tongue.

"I see that. Stand aside,"

@satar: @1_alpha_1:

Throughout the criminal world the arms race is constant. Obtaining the best hired guns and having the finest weapon providers is sought after. Lately one criminal had done the unthinkable and seized a Maverick arsenal. Then he lost arguably at least half, this got under a particular career crime expert's skin. She was a rather greedy sort and while she never dreamed of going after Maverick when someone else took their content she got envious. When it was taken she got furious, as someone thus got to picking pockets before her. Most frustrating though was then Satar got another priceless find.

He'd obtained a Lantern Ring. Now in theory the ring for Jade to go after would be associated with greed. That was more befitting of her persona then will. However with emerald hair forest green eyes and jade attire a green ring was more befitting of the Fables color pallet. More so however she didn't know the specifics or care, it was valuable ring of power and that was the lure. Something of worth Jade didn't have. Something that could allow her to take a more radical aproach of heist and conquest. So with eyes on the prize Jade took off through the streets of Gothic.

Jade did not aproach on foot however but just as a trail of smoke. Throughout Gothic smoke was abundant, it clotted the air in a quite regular fashion. Countless people had nicotine fits regularly and even more used other drugs some also providing smoke. Corner after corner was fires started by the homeless desperate to stay warm. And of course there was always the acidents and arsonists in a city so corrupt one might say there was never clouds just smoke lingering. Jade King was apart of this common place element and as smoke traveled about the air.

It was a simple plan, this side of Gothic was a rundown mess of an establishment. Holes were abundant crevices plenty and shadows common. In theory it'd be easy to travel downward and unseen. With any luck she'd arive at the ring in no time. Of course it was a trap, and she might infact be doing the heroes a favor by tripping the trap early. Then again she did call herself the King of Thieves, traps and ambushes were an all to familiar territory.

@satar:

Red Ana was silent.

Silently, she had faded into the shadows during the initial assault on Gothic, and now silently she stood by while Satar launched his second assault on the already-ruined metropolis. And they have the gall to call me crazy, she thought. What is worse? To attack such a hollow husk of a city, or to defend it?

It did not matter. She was almost dispassionate as she watched mutants and misfits fight and die across the slums of Gothic. None of this mattered. This was not her battle, not truly. This was simply another obstacle that would need to be overcome in her quest...for what? Answers? It was strange now, thinking of her hunt for Sergei. So much time had passed, it seemed to her as though it had been lifetimes since she had seen her brother's face, heard his rough, harsh voice...

Avalon...that was her goal. It was where Sergei had disappeared. In Avalon she would find her answers. That was where her battle was.

"We will target Abigail Aensland. The virus spreading the disease of the slave morality."Her. Ana was snapped from her introspective reverie, with the sudden clarity that one experiences when plunged into a frigid pool of water. The one who defeated me. The one who took my swords. The one who sought me out...

Striding forward, she pushed lackeys and flunkies aside until she faced the Baabda Beast. Though he towered over her, nearly as wide as she was tall, she stood within a hair's breadth of him, gazing up into his eyes with her own manic orbs. "I will be there, when you face her. Abigail. She and I must speak."

@thisisgonnahurt:

The Rumblers

Rat-Rod exhaust flooded the skies from how many murder laps the cars were doing. They were growing more and more clever by every moment. The Rumblers' improvised and sudden actions were contrasting the trained and tactical mercs' routines greatly. This battle had no leeway, no tilting. Both sides were equally butting heads with no sign of either faltering or backing down here.

Police were way too focused on the meta situation across town to even step foot into this blood bath of gang violence, the true Gothic.

Down in the secure metro, local doctors and even veterinarians which the Rumblers protected patched up the wounded. Some were rarin' to go, some were down for the count and finally some drew their last breath tonight.

For Antonio's squad, the Rumblers surrounding were just about done with the endless grenade barrage. One greaser sprinting out just as the last grenade was lobbed, smacking it perfectly with a baseball bat back towards the mercs. "Foul ball, fckers!" Was followed by wooing and cheering, the Rumblers' spirit barely broken.

As a response to the explosive display these three had been givin', Rumblers from multiple rooftops started pelting Molotov cocktails down towards them. Hoping to engulf the invaders in a hooch inferno.

Chance

Was about to leg it down the sidewalk and work on finding Ace...Before the slightest of rattling behind him caught his attention. Slipping fresh slugs into his sawed off, the sandy blond greaser gently turned his heels to see him. A man with easily over 100lbs over Chance, one mean lookin' sum bitch.

To be honest, Chance's blood turned to ice. This guy was obviously some other mook, no square or chump that could be pummeled. No, this was serious trouble. But as was the Rumbler way, Chance kept the utmost cool, snapping his shotgun closed and dug up a cigarette from his jacket.

"Nice hair, square..." The rebel with a cause thumbed a match to ignition, giving life to the nicotine. His words were solid, but really he was simply buying time to figure out how he isn't about to die in the next ten minutes. "Now, I'm no bettin' man. But I figure you aren't here to play patty cake..."

The way he held his weapon was to show that pellets were going to fly at the next shifty move this guy pulled off.

Ace

On the way to more of the action, stop by the Rat's from some more supplies. Sitting in the back of the Rat-Rod, puffing away on a smoke and looking like a stone cold killer while he was at it. The Rumblers he rode with kept quiet, not wanting to embarrass themselves in front of the top enforcer in the entire gang, out of respect, not fear.

Ace's perceptive eyes caught something by the last second though as it passed by. The street left of the car that it drove by, Chance on an abandoned rode with some sort of pro. Taking a calm drag of his smoke and letting it flow through his nostrils, Ace said sternly.

"...Drop me off at the next corner..."

@satar: @allwithintheshantytown:

The full arsenal stolen from Maverick for services rendered.

And money. Lots of money.

That was the deal.

She wasn't even sure how much cash exactly, to be honest. And honestly she didn't quite care. The payoff was huge and, if his indications were correct, she had secured a regular client who not only paid in interesting and rewarding ways, but who provided an expansive workforce himself free of charge.

Ananke made full use of that resource. The instant she and Satar made a deal was the instant the Brahma Brotherhood was put to work for her.

In the time since, they had been made to alter the shanty town to her requirements. Sequestered by their forceful dominion of the area, the Brotherhood was allowed to work in perfect secrecy setting up the area. Their primary task? Fitting the area with custom gas dispersal devices, specs and other details provided by the faceless mercenary. Why?

Subterfuge.

It was no secret the heroes and their allies, and all others who wished to oppose the Baabda Beast's dominion, would appear in the slum. They would appear en masse, their power not unlikely outmatching that of his own forces, particularly considering his injured state and insistence on not using the presented weapon that'd gifted itself to him. Her job? To make theirs difficult. Drop bombs, spread confusion, what have you.

But drones just wouldn't do the job, not alone. Heroes had powers, and they had numbers. Numbers and powers would always trump her more simplistic tech. So she worked with the Brotherhood, instructed them. The dispersal systems she had based within the infrastructure of the slum. They were connected within streetlamps, traffic lights, AC units, and the sewers. A simple system, mostly gas hoses fed through hollow spaces and connected through fan and exhaust systems. Connected at the other end of these hoses, specialized containers storing her primary means of attack:

Sarin gas. Or rather, a faster-acting modified variant created after pooling resources from mercenary, the Baabda Beast, and undisclosed contact sources. And she would use it to fumigate the area when the expected guests arrived.

Colorless, tasteless, and odorless, the gas is virtually impossible to detect barring extreme or very particular measures. The most volatile of nerve agents known to man, sarin quickly spreads, contaminating virtually anything it touches. Clothing, water, the air itself, and deeply infesting biological lifeforms. It interacts with a very specific singular biological process, and most all others at once.

In human bodies when a muscle, any muscle in the peripheral nervous system, flexes, the neurotransmitter acetylcholine (ACh) floods around the muscle, signalling it to contract. When the muscle is to relax the enzyme acetylcholinesterase (AChE) bonds with the ACh and breaks it down, signalling relaxation. ACh acts in the excitement of the peripheral nervous system. Every muscle, every time. Voluntary and involuntary alike. From flexing, to stretching, blinking, to breathing.

The nerve agent sarin blocks this process. It bonds with AChE, denaturing the enzyme. Requiring very specific circumstances to properly operate, AChE can no longer perform as it must, and ACh never breaks down. The muscles of the exposed remain contracted, unable to relax at all. They flex. And flex. And flex, and flex, and flex. Painfully the body cramps all over; everything from the pupils to the throat to the muscles of the heart. Blood vessels constrict, cutting circulation everywhere. Victims become unable to move, unable to breath and quickly asphyxiate, body paralyzed and in agony all the while.

In short: Exposure to sarin is a really painful way to die.

Due to its fast-acting and...comprehensive nature, sarin is ideal for doing away with many kinds of problems, be they of a biological type. For all those unprepared entering the Brotherhood's shanty town, they were to be dealt with as far as possible in this way.

Of course she still had drones. Her total armament consisted of two, but for security reasons she operated one in the field at a time. Re-loaded since its last deployment, a single MQ-1B Predator hovered skyward in the distance ready to provide covering fire. Its first target, not even Ananke knew.

She wouldn't, until the clown-faced blimp appeared. But the instant it did she set a clear goal: premature destruction and foiling whatever plot the jester (@curve) and his cronies might have had for it.

She lined the target in her sights and fired a single laser-guided AGM-114 Hellfire missile, half the drone's payload, at the situational unknown. There was something unsatisfying about using that much firepower on a blimp - a waste, almost - but its appearance represented an extraneous variable that had to be controlled for the sake of the operation.

*click-clack*

On the outskirts of the shanty town a parade of shadows on alley-way walls heralded the arrival of an otherworldly existence. It's stature was ominous, unreal even, and it's soul-rending gaze affixed on a pair of youngings ahead.

"C'mon Branda! It's the Clown Gang!"

The duo ran, hand in hand, focused on the hellish image behind them. The masqueraded grins of trigger-happy gangsters distributing pain to promote an anarchic ideal. Once sons, now ignorant to-be-cadavers.

"Ahh!", she stumbled from the grasp of her loyal lover and he froze, clenching fists in cold anticipation.

"AHAHAHAHAHAHA!", a harmonic shriek attacked their ear-drums as their pursuers neared. "Looks like she's really falling for you!", one clown mocked while the other prepared for execution. "Light em up, Deez."

*click-clack*

*click-clack* *click-clack*

*click-clack* *click-clack* *click-clack*

It scurried by the lover's side, almost too quick to register, and in the next moment Deez's guts sprinkled the cold cobblestone in sable shades of crimson red, forcing him to kneel. It's whirlwind sprint came to an abrupt stop right behind Deez, forcing his partner to jump away as he found it's esoteric blade resting low above Deez's neck. Hopeless shots pierced it's empty leather veil, in turn forcing the blade to come down for decapitation.

"Holy shit! Y-y-you killed him!", the baffled partner stood frozen. Not of his own free will, but because of it's eyes. Their symmetric soulless circularity paralyzed the painted cretin from within it's hood.

"I did.", an argent reply conveyed by it's abyssaly deep voice.

It lifted it's One Blade high above it's head and embedded it deep in the clown's shoulder, slicing through thick kevlar like a knife through hot butter. Their stares still interlocked, it forced him to his knees through gentle pressure that it applied on the blade and plucked it out with a clean motion.

The whimpers fall onto straw ears and a swift horizontal cleave ends the massacre.

It turns around to find the lovers gone without a trace. There were no thanks to be traded with the lanky back-alley horror, no entitlement granted for it's services. These were different times, the decadent times of man, and Immortal Clan has long ascended to the third plane. But what of Zagreus, the once Lion of Herema? Had he prevailed, condemned to exist in the form of a scarecrow - a Hereman Atrocity, only to fight for freedom again?

He shall learn soon, but the warring night was still young and yearning.

@timesiphon: @dragonfang_: @gale_xanders: @thief_king: @retriever: @ananke:

The city of Gothic it seemed had reverted into something of a circus. In its streets roamed a dinosaur and a gang of violent street jesters led by a psychotic clown whose emerald hair, bleached skin, scarred ruby smile, cadence and vocal pitch were identical to the other thousand psychopathic clowns the city'd come to know. Other forces emerged, knowing no alignment, only chaos. And though Gothic's slums welcomed pandemonium, the Brahma Brotherhood seemed absent. Their objective was not war. Weeks prior, they'd brought the city to its knees. Today? Theirs was a different mission. They roamed not this forsaken city's streets, instead they stood behind walls of scrap metal and recycled material, the walls of their many shanty towns spread across Gothic's slums.

There they waited, for Vex, adorned in gas masks and armors that were sealed environments. Armed, they stared down the barrels of guns aimed at the Dragonfang. While others patrolled their junkyard kingdom, muscle fibers twitching in anticipation for the fight that'd greet them. At the pyre, Satar stood next to his bound captive, held the CIF3 grenade close, his fingers coiled tight round its form, and seemed detached as she made her efforts to rouse him and break the morale of his cronies. They were terrorists, driven by an ideology they were willing to sacrifice their lives and children for, the words of a vigilante who, in their eyes, was defeated, no matter how venomous, held no weight to them. Silent, the Baabda Beast allowed the Dragonfang's verbal tirade to run wild, his psychopathic cold rendering him the picture of composure, of condescending disinterest.

And as she ran her mouth to a stop, Satar's gaze shifted, his eyes of icy blue meetings her while his throat echoed with a deep timbre, his Lebanese accented speech hanging in the air, "Is that all?", he inquired, his tone rhetorical, "Good girl". There the Baabda Beast's attention turned to a potential ally, a Time Siphon by the name of Sahi. He'd yet to fully heal from his injuries, and was in no condition to be harnessing the full brunt of his might, to resort to his 'Gamma Effect' power. Here his tactical brilliance would have to be that much greater as a means of compensation. It was why he'd employed Ananke's services once more, and why he wasted little time in welcoming the Time Siphon into his ranks. She like Ananke, was an asset. An invaluable one. And until he could uncover the secrets of Khuenaten, one of the fabled Arts of the Arcani, as a means of developing something of an accelerated healing factor, his injuries would drive him down a path of searching for more assets. "Welcome to the Brotherhood, Sister Sahi", he almost grinned, a Time Siphon, she'd prove her worth come his second assault on Maverick. "Follow me".

Striding forward, hoping to find Sahi following behind him, the Baabda Beast led her into the heart of the shanty town where a power ring, stolen from Connor O'Hara, rested. There he encountered Ana who wasted no time in making clear her desire to confront Abigail Aensland with him in the near-future. "You will have your time with the Aensland, Ana. And Sahi", he paused, gaze directed towards the power ring, "There will be those coming to retrieve this ring. Kill them". And with his words coming to a halt, the moment his foes dared trespass, Ananke's deployment of Sarin Gas, a cruel nerve agent, would make them pay dearly.

@thisisgonnahurt

It all started three weeks ago. Jason was sitting alone on his stained couch, the one with a sharp spring poking out from the back, watching an adult movie on his out dated VCR Player. His cheap apartment littered with both beer bottles and discarded pizza boxes, so much to the point that rats and cockroaches where his pets. He held tightly to his last can of budweiser as he fast forward through his tape, just to get to the good parts of girl on girl action. He had already undone his belt buckle and was seconds away from applying his hand lotion when his room was filled with the sound of a broken doorbell that wouldn’t stop ringing. “Damn it!” he thought, as the naughty female librarian on the tape was about to discipline the young sorority girl with an overdue book, “It never fails!” But with the doorbell now ringing non stop, until answered, he reluctantly pressed pause on his remote and stood up. With a quick re-buckling of his belt and pulling his pants up around his waist, he roughly pushed open the door and yelled “WHAT THE HELL DO YOU WANT!!!” To his surprise, no one was there. No one driving away or even sticking their heads out the adjacent apartments. All that was there was an expensive leather briefcase with a note attached to it.

With the palm of his hand he hit the doorbell in just the right way to shut the darn thing off, as he picked up the briefcase and when back inside. Immediately he plopped back down on his sofa, ready to get back to the librarian, totally unconcerned with what was in the case. Then he noticed out of the corner of his eye, the letter attached was not addressed to Jason Reed, but to “Backstabber? “What the hell?” he thought “Who the hell do I know that knows me here as Backstabber?” Curiously he ripped the note from the briefcase and read it out loud. “Hello Backstabber. We the members of the Black Masks have need for a man of your special talents. Inside the briefcase is eighty thousand dollars in unmarked bills, a mere trifle of what you can earn, and a plane ticket to Gothic City. Once here, you will meet one of our associates at 3:18 am on Friday, on top of the Nakatomi Plaza in the west end of Gothic City. The man you meet there will inform you of our needs for you, as well as another briefcase with another eighty thousand dollars, just to raise your interest. If you follow our orders to the letter you will soon be a man of great wealth. Should you refuse our invitation, please keep in mind we know who you are…and we will kill you!”

Now 3:15am on the following Friday, Jason perched himself on the tallest building adjacent to the Nakatomi Plaza with a clear view of it’s roof top. He sat motionless, looking through the scope of his high powered sniper rifle that he bought on E-Bay, all the while thinking how smart he was by resting on top of a different building. The fear of double crossing the Black Masks was now out shined by the euphoric feeling of holding a weapon powerful enough to shoot through a mans skull and the brick wall behind him. In his head he kept humming the word “This is my rifle this is my gun, this is for fighting this is for fun” only to finish with making sounds of shooting his gun (Pow Pow). Still with a shred of some professionalism he kept a diligent eye on the other roof top, unsure of what would take place there. Maybe the Black Masks were on the level, or maybe it was all an elaborate trick to kill the legendary Backstabber. Either way all he had to do was wait another three minutes with his finger firmly held against the trigger.

@satar: @dragonfang_: @thief_king: @retriever: @ananke:

Sahi coiled her mind around the ring's temporal line and grinned. "So, a power ring..." she said, mostly to herself. "Should I destroy the ring if for whatever reason they're going to abscond with it?" She asked. So much time, it took aeons for those rings to die, she could use that sort of time. She licked her lips in anticipation of the idea but understood it might be out of the order of things. Sahi pulled a metal blade handle from her belt and flipped it around playfully in one hand. "I look forward to killing them."

Her clothing suddenly shifted shapes and forms to something that seemed more harmless. She let her hair down and activated her Temporal Blade, choosing to make it a seemingly harmless shade of pink this time. She grinned and twirled the weapon in one hand. Temporal Armor was a funny thing, some Time Siphons wore armor that was obvious but others chose to make it appear like ordinary clothing. Thus if she wanted to change her clothing all she need to do was send the proper neural impulse to her armor and it would shift its appearance, giving the image of someone who had changed their clothes. Now the predator looked more like prey, but anyone unfortunate enough to make that assumption would find that wolves sometimes wore sheep's clothing.

"I think I look the part now." she said to no one in particular. "Just another mook. Oh, I should wear one of these." She said and a gas mask materialized on her face, another effect of the Temporal Armor. It was often assumed Time Siphons had exposed faces and heads but that was just their armor assuming a clear appearance. "There we go, harmless girl with a laser sword, am I right?"

@satar: @dragonfang_: @thief_king: @retriever: @ananke: @timesiphon

Not to far off, hidden within the blackest of shadows, a new, imposing figure stood. With an ominous feel emanating from him, Alpha stood back, watching with great interest at the development of the situation at hand. During the events of Gothic City's attack, he had been....preoccupied, to say the least. That's what happens when you spread a re-animating virus throughout a small country, thought the higher being, tilting his head as he thought of the events that had transpired. It was do to these circumstances that he had been unable to attend the last battle for Gothic City. The destruction, and loss of lives. How lovely it must have been.

But, black trench coat and sunglasses ready, Alpha made it his duty to change that for the second round of the battle to come. Today, he would show himself, in person. Perhaps not as an active party, but most certainly watching from behind the curtains as events played out to their fullest.

In the shabby slums of Gothic City, near the residency of the Baabda Beast and the Brahma Bull terrorists, Alpha descended, casually making his way through the crowd of people. "Ah, the Baabda Beast himself. I've heard much about you Satar." Alpha let the words roll out, each one carefully, and yet carelessly it seemed, be strewn into a sentence, finding balance so to keep the situation from appearing threatening.

And so he stood a respectable few feet away, eye level with Satar. From behind his lenses, the Alpha's red eyes looked at the man in front of him, reading him. Alpha had no intention of coming to blows with him, but if it ever came to that point, Alpha made it his absolute priority to be ready.

"I'm sure you haven't heard of me, I've made it my job to keep my identity secretive. But, when I heard of your attack on Gothic City, I was quite disappointed to be unable to attend. But now I have come," Alpha paused, tilting his head again, adjusting his stance and bringing his arms behind him. "and I have come as an ally, which I'm assuming you are interested in." Alpha glanced around the room, his eyes taking in the scene. He saw the Time Siphon, who had come to help aid the Baabda Beast shortly before he himself had arrived. He also saw the girl named Ana, who also seemed to be offering her services. In one last sweep, he briefly saw the Dragonfang. He held back a smirk, looking at the state she was in. "I'll keep it simple. I have interest in the state of Gothic City, and wish to assist you in your endeavor. If you wish it, I can provide weapons, men, and so on. I myself ask for nothing in return, merely for you to succeed."

In all honesty, it mattered little to Alpha what happened to Gothic City, and its ultimate fate. As long as it burned, and chaos ensued, everything would go quite well for him.

Slowly, but surely, he carved his path. He had worked, and waited. His previous posing among the Brahma Brotherhood as simply another asset leading him to gather information from within about the whereabouts of the weapons. Slowly gathering and scavenging had all lead to this. The assimilation of other gangs, mercenaries and the creation of his own army from the willing members of Gothic. Who was he, but accepting of all the help he could require, one able to simply walk in and be accepted to their "cause." It was all too simple for them to secure weapons and some territory among the rest of the factions. A sort of foothold, something he wanted to grow. And now, it was time for that foothold to grow. There was no diplomacy. What Satar desired was the opposite of what Pax desired. Chaos. What Pax desired, was order.

He would strike down any man. Any woman. Any child who opposed him. Being created to be a super soldier, a living weapon, Pax was simply raised from the beginning to never truly see any difference between the beings. In a sense, he had a view of equality, untouched by modern society for a vast majority of his life, and he had no sensitivity or aversion to killing children if necessary. Often, however, he left them alone because no child who posed a threat to him would dare attempt to oppose him, the exception being Kit.

She opposed him, and he simply broke all of her bones. He did not know or care if she was alive. The example was already made.

Men were not worth valuable bullets, at least, not any of Mavericks. As the kinetic weapons were generally substantially powerful than their energy weapons, the SABR could simply be recharged as could the Acoustic-Pulse-Rifle. So he sought to conserve his heavier weapons by using his hands to efficiently dispose of his enemies. His body constantly evolving and becoming more and more, resilient to harm as he had come to be harmed. Already, he could cause blades of atomic sharpness made of indestructible materials lodge within him or simply, pass through him as if he were water, his body able to mend itself upon him willing it. An acid round from earlier harming him, but his body knowing very well how to quickly remove it. Control over his own body most beings could hardly hope to boast. It's composition. It's reaction to drugs and toxins. His metabolism. Utter control that allowed him to weaponize himself and continuously respond to new threats as he came to discover ways he could use his body to counter them. His mind became frighteningly efficient due to his brain being already capable of computing with minute amounts of brain matter, he could be shot in the head or stabbed, and shrug it off with mostly indifference.

He stood on a rooftop,his eyes tuning it's molecules as his sight sweeped the city. Zooming lie binoculars from his perspective to take in key things. As well as sensing ambient vibrations of the area. His enemies had gathered, ready to make their move on Gothic. Forces in the city stirring once again. The Rumblers and Black masks in particular catching his attention. The outcome of the battle being important due to the Rumbler's influence, particularly among the less wealthy of the districts. More had appeared, "Clowns", gathering a very significant amount of weapons. From behind him, a woman approached, another one indoctrinated into his army. She spoke of the general situation, but one thing, one name caught his

mind.

"Abigail."

He spoke and the woman stopped speaking.

"Continue."

She informed him, that she had received information from a few of those who were aligned with the bulls the less loyal who simply went with wht seemedtobe the winning side, that he sought to kill Abigail Aensland. Pax's quarrel, was not that he wishes to defend her. No, indeed, Pax had not evolved beyond his grudge for the woman as he wanted nothing more than to tear her small body apart limb from limb for what she had done to in London. But that was to come later.

For now, he was to gather his forces.

Under what was previously known as the Press estate and what had now been declared abandon, forsaken and ruined, just as the city it belonged to, there was anger rising. The hunger for Vengeance starving itself. The thirst for retribution denying itself to be quenched. No, there was only a burning fire that desired to hold itself until the perfect, splendid, and impeccable moment that it would achieve everything it had abstained it self from. All this, a few miles down below the ashes of a man long gone….

"So foul and fair a day I have not seen"

The hushed words slipped calmly and ominously from the scarred lips of a broad shadow. His icy blue eyes glowed dimly in the darkness before him as his figure seemed to melt within the surrounding obscurity. The subtle tattering of leaking water dripping from the stalactites of the cavern ceiling echoed in the abyss as a few high pitched screeches wailed in the distance. The shivering wind nipped through the blackout den with a howl, chilling everything in it's immediate path.

With a small click in response to the voice recognition of the theatrical recitation, a single light lit the center of the moist grotto. The beam of luminous radiance painted a slightly new setting, revealing an ebony clad man sitting in the center of everything. A single clenched fist held firmly against his jaw as his eyes remained fix to a certain massive door before him. It was sealed securely with militarily advanced steel and reenforced with self destructing software. The contents were recently put into place and had been a private project for Dark Vengeance for almost these past two weeks. The schematics and designs had consumed his every thought and fed on every single one of his creative thoughts. In essence, what was behind this Fort Knox, was a single venture that could not only decide the future of Alexander and his sister, but also Gothic City.

A subtle, but aggravated grunt escaped The Caped Crusader's mouth, betraying his calm and cool physical demeanor all the while he stood up and stepped towards the advanced keypad in front of the barricade. Despite having his impulses and critical vital functions in check, he felt slightly uneasy. Even though Sentinel Hawk had worked tirelessly to heal and mend almost all his injuries and wounds to nearly perfect condition for the future onslaught, there was a knot in his stomach that he could not rid himself of.

No matter how much he tried to deny it to himself and his conscience, Alexander knew what it was that had been bothering him. It wasn't fear of failure that gripped him. Nor was it that he, or even his sister would die in tonight's final battle for Gothic's soul. It's the horrible concern that he may win. Against all thought and effort to think of a different way to come out of this as victor, the only solution to win it all, was to kill Satar. Curve even at this point with all the investigations and monitoring thus far.

Unlike his predecessor who, 'fell off the deep end' and lost his sense of morality, Vex was determined not to fall into his hero's footsteps in such a manner. To avoid embracing the evil that tugged at both of their hearts. He pushed the thoughts away no matter how much they seemed to cloud into his mind and focused once again to what was before him.

He tapped in a complex code with rapid succession and intricate eye to hand movements, allowing his newly acquired cybernetic right eye to move on autopilot, syncing perfectly with his hand movements. Alexander wasn't too keen on the idea of bionics or implants, but because of the lethality and brutality that Satar had crippled the Knight of Retribution with, changes had to have been made.

"Stars, hide your fires; let not light see my black and deep desire."

A long hiss resounded from the edges of the door as a warm smoke had fogged it's way out. A crimson hue blossomed it's way out as the entrance slowly widened further and further. A brand new, pitch black, Dark Vengeance apparatus hung before him. It's trademark symbol adorn across it's chest with a hellish impression, transmitting the very meaning of fear. It's considerably large stature stood well over 10 feet, towering over Alexander himself while it's massive arms were complete with talon like claws at each finger tip. Originally designed by Solarhawk and Lunahawk and completely from Nth metal, only a few adjustments have been made to adapt to Alexander's personal specifications.

"He wanted a god damn bloodbath. He's going to get one."

---------------------

Soaring over Gothic like a figment out of Satan's very imagination, a roar howled from the heels of the demon like suit. Even now, with all the tools at his disposal and allies at his side, he longed to meet face to face with the Bull's follower. It was still unclear what the outcome would be and who would be standing among the debris, but one thing was certain, there have been heavy losses, and more to come.

It was far from complete as a few areas of the exoskeleton was missing key parts of defensive plating while other parts were lacking in power supply. The original concept and 'First edition' was supplied and designed by the Hawk Lords and made almost entirely of Nth metal, a rare and invaluable substance that was extremely hard to come by on Earth. Saving a few of the materials, Alexander replaced some portions with reenforced titanium instead, causing the armor to be slightly weaker and lighter than originally intended.

The true glory resided in the neural connection that fused the suit's internal systems with The Ebony Knight's cybernetic eye, using the interaction to almost triple reaction time and hand to eye coordination. He felt confident, but there were so many unknown variables into play that this 'Demon Shield' didn't give Vengeance the upper hand, but only evened the playing field.

Lacking in the trademark stealth that Dark Vengeance was infamous for, and choosing the direct route instead of signature acrobatics, he landed in the heart of where his allies reported Satar and his followers to be located. A shanty and run down town that was swarming with muscular terrorists with faces as fierce and bold as their leaders'. Ignoring Satar and his own sister, but rather focusing on the numbers and identifications of everyone in the immediate area to calculate possible fighting maneuvers and evasions.

"We can end this now, Satar. Look around you. Neither of us are coming on top. You will be the ruler of nothing and I will have lost my only flesh and blood."

His pleas for resignation were a false diversion. Jessica was strong and hard headed more so than he was. If she hadn't already figured a way out of her current predicament, then she had to have been waiting for him. One Rook is great. Two are unbeatable. He just had to release her from his restraints and the scales would be drastically changed in their favor. The ace up his sleeve. As he cried the words his former self would have probably spilled with sincerity, through the neuro interface within the suit, a message was sent. To the Vengeance squad and all allies. The grid coordinates that followed were directed onto their exact location complete with enemy numbers and positions. The final battle truly begins.

@the_puzzler: @backstabber:

The Black Masks

"These days, heroes don't matter. Not when we can grow them in test tubes,"

Mr. Harvey sighed deeply from behind his mask, the very facegear that launched his organization to infamy from coast to coast. His hands folded behind his back, he watched and listened. Soldiers were dying. Soldiers on both sides, kids and young men not fully trained in combat yet. They just knew how to pick up weapons and hit the nearest sonova bitch with them. Casualties started piling up. He knew he could win this. It was very easy to.

The Rumblers made several mistakes. First, they underestimated the resolve of the Black Masks. Even on the opposite side of the world, it seemed, they were fighting harder than ever before. Gothic was a problem. It was addicted to self-destruction. Mr. Harvey was here to alleviate that problem, one bullet at a time. People like Satar and Curve? They just liked to make a show out of their apparent world-changing actions. It didn't matter. Nothing mattered. Standard-issue rebreathers were put up as soon as the laughing gas came down. The same couldn't be said for the Rumblers. Some went crazy right then and there, tore out their own eyes.

Most were cognisant enough to put rags over their mouths and nose, to keep from inhaling the stuff. Some of the younger boys, however, weren't so lucky. A few molotov cocktails cooked Ricardo, Teresa, and Carlos out of their hiding spots. Ricardo kept screaming as he threw off flaming clothes. Teresa kicked him into the street and started shoveling dirt on his back. Carlos covered for them, sniping at the Rumblers that took potshots at his friends. These street rats knew a code of honor, but it didn't include the Black Masks.

This was total war.

Antonio ran into the middle of the road, taking shot after shot, bleeding profusely from every wound. He finally fell down, and Carlos grabbed Teresa. Getting down, laying down next to Ricardo, was the best thing they could have done in that split second.

Antonio's body glowed with an incandescent light, much like a candle at first, but in an instant it expanded into a glowing orb of confusion and utter devastation. The entire block collapsed in on itself, slaughtering who-knows-how-many under rock and steel. Carlos was the first to stand. No shots rang out hungry for his head. Where once there were whoops and hollers coming from the greasers, there was just silence now. Antonio revived on the other side of the wreckage, spitting out a bullet that managed to lodge itself in his throat.

"Damn," he muttered, having missed the leader of the Rumblers by little less than a few seconds. Any sooner and he would have been a splatter on the road. "Antonio to Mr. Harvey," he said into his earpiece. "Ace is still alive. Heading towards Jason and the Doberman. Any new orders?"

He nodded.

"Take out their gas and bullets, deep as I can underground, got it."

The Doberman

"Organizations like Maverick, they're becoming better at being heroes than the likes of Allegiance and Turisas. Where are they? Where's all those costumed freaks when you want them to show the most? Makes it a lot more profitable from news coverage,"

Again, Mr. Harvey sighed, but he made it into his favorite chair this time. His bodyguards lit another cigar for him, the largest one in the back standing completely quiet.

"What's the matter? What, you want out there? They're not ready for you. This is just one step on the road to something greater. This is the beginning of a war that will remind people just why those idiots dress up in pajamas and fight crime on a daily basis. This will remind people that corporations like Maverick are just a phase. There's crime, there's justice. Villains and heroes. If I gotta play up one side, I gotta be on the other. It just works like that."

The Doberman couldn't dodge a shotgun blast point-blank to the stomach. Pieces of two ribs clattered to the street behind him, accented by a spray of blood and pulping liver. He didn't need it anyway. With the brass knuckles crashing down on the Rumbler in question, the mercenary dog simultaneously dropped the sword in favor of a healing stimulant in his belt, courtesy of Mr. Harvey. He only had three shots remaining of this stuff, and he guarded them closely. Once flowing through his bloodstream, the vigor of the serum closed every wound on his body and healed any potential misgivings regarding the injury in the first place. In other words...

"Good as new," the Doberman barked, taking his sword back up from the ground. Two healing syringes left, and a sniper watching his back. Jason and the Doberman, new buddy hitmen sitcom only on CW. Watch it at 6:00 PM Eastern.

Having hopefully at least stunned the Rumbler with the rock-shattering right hook, the Doberman approached him with the blade, hefting it in an upward arc so he could bring it down on his gun-wielding hand.

@_vex_: @satar

With the arrival of Dark Vengeance Xae assumed her human form and activated her armor. His battle positioning immediately came through to her suit and she nodded to herself. Xae drew her plasma pistol, checked its power levels and strode out of the building she was in to stand beside Dark Vengeance. She had sworn she would be there and now she was here. Xae stood beside him, already planning her response once the fighting started and picking out targets among the shanty town. Her pistol would reduce goons to bubbling goo and her claws would be more than enough to slice through flesh, blood and bone. Armor would give more resistance but she was strong enough to force her weapons through anything short of Adamantium.

"I told you I would be here, here I am." She told Dark Vengeance. "I thought once that I was done fighting wars, but it seems I can never quite escape them." She told him and whoever else cared to listen. "I hope you know what you're doing." She added in a much quieter tone only he would be able to pick up. Already expecting some sort of gas attack Xae sealed her visor, turning her armor into a completely isolated suit that would protect her from environmental changes.

Solar Hawk was next to arrive, she landed on Dark Vengeance's other side, her body long since healed from the severe damage it had taken two weeks ago. She was wearing her Nth Metal armor already and prepped her mace and a sword she had brought along as well, charging both with electricity. Her ring glowed with power, fully charged and ready to go as well. Solar Hawk said nothing, she merely waited for the fighting to start. She did not plan or lay out a strategy, she would fight like she always did, on instinct and skill. She had stylized her armor some this time, having chosen to wear some of the fancier armor she would typically reserve for special events in Thanagar. She had chosen to do this for one reason and one reason only, because she intended to cut Satar's head from his body and mount it on a pike for her lover and offer it to him and all of Gothic City as a gift...for something else she had planned.

Luna Hawk, Sentinel Hawk and Wes were no where to be seen...but that didn't mean they weren't somewhere, only that their role was to be less visible immediately before the fight.

@retriever: @myers_voorhees: @_vex_: @gale_xanders: @satar:

Babs saw it there was no talking to these asshats and they're military luchador fandom. Dragonfang had at best tied, one could argue one as she was revived almost immediately by the White Lantern. Then the beast captured her using a weapon he was lucky to gain. One that gave him power and now he didn't wear. He didn't beat her, he captured someone unconscious. Praising him in Babs eyes was like praising a kidnapper. But Fang was captured so her words meant nothing. That and these idiots either couldn't see they were tools or were just so eager to be the tool held in Satar's meaty hands and discarded after.

Now she could come in with dynamic entry striking a pose doing her best intimidating persona or heroic representation. Or perhaps open with more dialogue looking to reason with the unreasonable. Reality though was that wasn't going anywhere and way the new lantern saw things reactionary was a fading art form. You could show up when the invasion came, appear when the next murder spree got the funds on kick starter. Doing so just let the body count grow however. The downed Kit known now as PyroKitten by many mentioned her discussion with a man named Pax. Kit had been told how futile the reaction method was, and Babs had to agree. So her entry was a simple one.

Dragonfang was adorned in her armor chained up but not unarmed or undressed. They couldn't have her dying from insert chemical of the week. A hostage was no good dead, granted Babs didn't see why Fang was alive. Such power hungry folk she half expected to find Fang dead and this just a chance to lure the enemy in instead of chace or go looking. However mistakes weren't hers to criticize and give pointers on just exploit. Babs to was shielded by well the shields of a lantern sparring her of the chemical agent as well. She desired to be predatory, aggressive and not a reaction type soon as she was on the scene a construct was made.

A wall of light simple and bland it passed though through where chains were with bar like constructs on it's outer frame. Designed to with any luck shatter the vices holding the sister captive. More so though it looked to divide the dragon and the beast. To place said wall between grenade and captive so a pulled pin wouldn't spread like intended.

And the moment the all to expected fight was about to start Babs would look to turn that wall into a spherical construct to encompass Satar. She'd look to simply close him in and collapse the structure untill it broke. Apply strain and pressure to the body almost instantly they all knew he could take a beating. So Babs hoped to exploit the wounds not yet fully recovered from to give a decent start. It was her first true action as a Lantern and while not to grand she did like it.

However as courageous as the violet skinned mutant was, she was also an empath and a teen. She also felt the confidence of those around her making her feel stronger. This was undermined also though by fear of citizens looking on of doubting mercs and so on. Her constructs were strong but not the strongest, and of course she was new to the game. She was not belonging to a race of ancient warriors, not a military strategist or even a vigilante veteran. Some could argue her eagerness to try and send the first punch was a sign of insecurity and compensation.

@gale_xanders: @_vex_: @satar

From high upon the rooftops, Lucia stood, her broken blade hanging from her side.

Two weeks. Two weeks it had been since her first attempt to make a name for herself, to become relevant. She had aided the heroes in the defense of Gothic City, standing side by side against the tyrant Satar. Long the battle had been, many lives had been lost, and yet, ultimately, it had not yet come to a end. The Baabda Beast had stolen Dragonfang, sister of Dark Vengeance. On that day, she herself had told the Dark Knight that, should she be needed, she would assist in anyway possible.

Now, here Lucia was, true to her word. She may not be the most powerful ally, or the most famous, or the most well equipped, but despite it all, she was determined. Within her, the Heart of the Warrior stirred, willing, wishing to face the odds with those she would call allies. Staring below she saw Dark Vengeance, along with the hawk warrior and the mysterious hero Xae.

Crouching down, Lucia readied herself as she dropped down to the ground, doing a tuck'n roll to land next to her allies. "Let's do this, together," she said in a low tone to her allies, wishing for only them to hear. She nodded to them before looking back to their opposition, silently waiting for the oncoming battle.

@retriever: @ananke: @timesiphon: @myers_voorhees: @_vex_: @gale_xanders: @rapax: @lucia_aurelius

Flanked by Ana 'The Retriever' and Sahi 'The Time Siphon', the Baabda Beast turned round, hands clutching his leather jacket's thick collar. His eyes, pale and crystal blue in shade, met a different pair and with the empty gaze of a cold and detached psychopath, they stared and pierced. A man had emerged, his attire? Black. His flair? Enigmatic. He made his intentions clear, a willingness to offer reinforcements and weaponry in exchange for promised success. Satar wasted little time. "Then call in your men and bring in your weapons", the Baabda Beast began, his voice, deep and commanding, dripping with a timbre held by gravitas, and a thick Lebanese inflection. "Gothic is already mine. The costumed and delusional simply don't know it yet".

Striding forward, hands removing themselves from his collar, and one hand reaching for the CIF3 grenade he'd threatened the Dragonfang with, Satar returned his attention to his bound captive, but not prior however, to retrieving the power ring and opting to keep it on his person, inside a zipped pocket. Come some seconds into the future, gone were his footsteps, and born was the frantic activity of his senses, alerting him to the detected electric fields of approaching adversaries. Coolly, the Baabda Beast turned round and found his eyes locked on an armored Vex and his chosen allies. He remained silent, heard his foe's words, but held no intention of heeding them. Instead, his features remained in earnest, and his eyes? Possessed by an icy heartlessness as he shifted his gaze towards the Dragonfang; his captive bound to a pyre set to be burned by fluorine fire. He felt his gaze return to Vex, he needn't speak, that gaze, the shift of it, it made all things clear. Either Gothic would be his, or the Dragonfang's live.

Though in a most abrupt moment, one of Vex's allies, a Green Lantern, attacked and the Baabda Beast found himself encased in a sphere whose hue was emerald and whose layers were thick. He remained calm and seemed to roll his neck in anticipation of the coming bout. He was injured and far from his physical peak, but Satar was abnormally tough, his endurance was unsettling, and his physical strength was nothing short of monstrous. He felt the pressure of the closing sphere, one that sought to compress and crush him to death. Here, Satar had no intention of accumulating injuries. He was quick, stretching his arms out and doing his damnest to keep the the sphere from crushing him. His strength endured but he felt his arms' tendons and tissues tearing, and their bones aching under the strain. He made a quick observation and before he countered, he spoke. "Hrm.. you have made a mistake. Many of us have to live with the mistakes we make. But you.. you get to die for yours". And from his mask's integrated technology, a roar was born, and as it was emitted, it climbed to 145 decibels which causes a target's eyes to vibrate.

Then it leaped over 165 decibels which ruptures the eardrums, and as it rose to 195 decibels, gone was the sound, born was a shock-wave, one that rippled through the air and shattered the construct around him, blasting forward with enough force to pulverize the internal organs of his gathered enemies. But again the decibels rose and through his mask, the Baabda Beast brought to life the power of a monstrous explosive. The intense rise of pressure and heat sought to blow his adversaries backwards while the shock-wave threatened to ripple through their bodies, rupture their lungs, scorch their flesh and while transferring through different parts of them going from bone to tissue to where the joints are, rip their limbs from their joints. The attack however, was a diversion, to break enemy formation, and if possible, rupture the exoskeleton of Vex's armor. Because in this potential moment of vulnerability and confusion for his adversaries, Satar's mask cooled, and the planned assault with Ananke came to fruition.

With his allies well protected by their gas masks and sealed-environmental suits, and his own body featuring an adaptive resistance to it, Satar waited and come a second more, the ambient ventilation system released in surplus, an odorless and colorless gas; experimental (faster-acting) Sarin Gas. A cruel nerve agent, it sought to kill Vex and his allies, those whose flesh was exposed to absorbed it, and those whose noses would inhale it. And it would slay them by bonding with the acetylcholinesterase enzyme in their bodies, changing its physical structure into an abomination. And with enzyme unable to work, the acetylcholine neurotransmitter that instructs the muscle cells to contract would not be broken down. So instead of flexing and relaxing, his enemies' muscle cells would flex.. and flex and flex and flex and flex. Their eyes would blink, their hearts would beat, every muscle in their body would flex.. nonstop. Everything from their pupils to their fingers to their heart would cramp, completely rigid.

Their muscles would burn with exhaustion but would be unable to relax. Inside their bloodstream, the nerve agent would cause their diaphragm to cramp, locking their lungs in places and threatening to asphyxiate them. Odorless and colorless, it was stealthy and sought to either be inhaled by the Baabda Beast's foes, or absorbed through their skin. And should it fail, his trump-cards were plentiful.

@thisisgonnahurt:

The Rumblers

Casualties were becoming few and far between on the Rumblers side. Each minute their defense reinforcing and establishing their ground. Even gangs from Gothic with the hometown advantage as well couldn't even topple this turf, only to turn away with fewer men and some severe wounds. This wasn't a ship, a fortress or some isolated facility...It was an entire portion and population of Gothic. The Black Masks saw this feud as total war. Any respectable criminal organization know that wars can't be won over night, no full on attack on their turf would. One day, The Rumblers might fall to the last man, only after months and months of what this gang was throwing at them. The same would go for if The Rumblers attempted to topple Black Mask turf, it's wasteful of lives and resources.

The explosion given way by a revealed meta obliterated a block. Upon the dust settling, there could only be heard the moans and groans of the poor Rumblers that survived the blast with an inch of their life. But of course, blazing to the edge of the dust were more Rumblers hitting the scene, now knowing to stay out of another possible blast zone. Rat-Trucks filled to the brim with greaser toting grenade launchers, uzis, shotguns and pistols. Just as the explosion's dust drifted away, they opened fire on any Mask they could lay eyes on, having the time of their lives while they were at it.

Meanwhile across the rest of the turf, the Rumblers pushed on without breaking stride.

Ace

Had seen the whole thing, Antonio exploding. His ever sharp perception also saw where the bastard literally respawned out of thin air. There's a lot of mystery to the Enforcer, a closed book. One thing many Rumblers know of however, is how silently he moves without a single noise.

The gunslinger stood a good five feet from Antonio while he spoke over the earpiece, hearing this and that of a conversation. With his pistol already drawn, he simultaneously took a drag of his smoke while opening fire. "Now, I'm no bettin' man...But killin' ya starts the fireworks, isn't it?" Ace spoke softly, his two bullets fired aimed right for the back of his knee caps. Two more bullets were going for his Achilles tendons. These shots were fired in the blink of an eye, Ace also arguably being one of the best marksmen with a pistol Gothic had ever seen.

Though totally cool and calm, their was a tranquil fury in his eyes. This freak had just killed easily twenty of his people, twenty friends...Twenty of what he calls family. Ace couldn't kill this hired gun, but he was going to make damn sure he suffered.

Chance

Only had a second to be in shock that his foe took a point blank shotgun blast. The next second was a fist connecting with jaw, ears ringing and eyes seeing double instantly. This however, was something Chance did for a living before joining the Rumblers, getting hit in the head a lot. Mouth full of blood, the bad blood merely grunted sharply, quick to respond. He classically spun left and weaved right under the man's knife wielding arm before it came down.

Normally, Chance would have something pretty clever to say while raising his shotgun at someone's face. Only thing he could do in this instance was spit a mouthful of blood and two teeth right for his eyes. All while pulling the trigger and hoping to detonate this tough sum bitch's skull with buckshot.

Always thinking forward, he jogged backwards at a slower pace, snapping his sawed off open to fill it with shells.

@satar: @_vex_@rapax

Xae had a series of advantages over the rest of the people in the shanty town that day...she had instincts older and more finely honed than anyone else, she had the experience of fighting a war for more than a thousand years and she had technology that had already exceeded that which was available on Earth. When the sound waves began to enter dangerous levels her suit kicked in and amped down the sound until it was within tolerable levels, no matter how high he sought to take the decibel level. When the sound reached shock-wave level Xae's suit responded automatically without the pre-human warrior having to do anything at all. Her armor sensed the approaching force and adapted before the shock-wave ever hit. Armored plates designed to absorb kinetic energy secreted a thin layer of black fluid beneath the armor that covered Xae's skin, this fluid hardened into a rubber like substance that would absorb anything that made it through the armored plates. A shock-wave meant to destroy organs would never reach her skin. Finally, the armor sought to keep her in place and specially designed high strength, reinforced spikes jutted from the back of her boots and slammed into the ground where they drove more than six inches deep and cemented themselves. These looked like the heels of a high heeled shoe on the surface.

Xae lowered into a crouch just as the shock-wave arrived and drove the claws of her armor into the ground as well. The shock-wave slammed into her armor and her body was moved...but it did not leave its position. When the sound wave had passed Xae stood up again, her metal spikes retracted and she casually brushed cement flakes from the claws on her hand. "Sound is an interesting choice of weapon." Xae commented dryly. She un-holstered her pistol as the Sarin gas began to make its way to the field. Her suit's sensor suite detected its presence immediately and flashed a warning in her vision, not that she needed the warning, her suit was currently completely sealed. Sarin gas! She warned everyone with a swift telepathic message. Xae cocked her head curiously, surprised her foe would choose to use a similar tactic as from two weeks ago. True this was a different gas, but it was yet another gas attack. Xae did not fall for a tactic twice, thus the sealed suit.

Xae's sensors traced the nearest origins of the gas and she swiftly fired off plasma bursts at each of the nearby emitters. She wouldn't destroy all of the gas emitters but by shutting down the nearest ones she hoped to buy her allies more time, if they needed it, to respond to the attack and reduce the amount of gas in the immediate vicinity. Xae strode forward towards Satar, her eyes fixed on him through the visor, but her visor also granted a three hundred and sixty degree view of the area overlaid over her vision, she would be exceptionally difficult to take by surprise from any other direction. "You're not that unintelligent, there must be something else." She told him and observed his visible allies for a moment. That girl is conspicuous in how much she is trying to act as cowed and crazed as the rest of them...that male I do not recognize, the gas is a distraction, the sound wave a means of escape and I don't see a ring on his finger. There is something more to his plan. She halted her advance and fired her pistol again, this time though her objective was different.

The little ball of blue and green plasma leaped from the barrel of the pistol and blazed through the space between herself and her target. It passed by Satar and traveled low over the ground, almost close enough that the heat could melt the asphalt, but instead it made it shimmer and soften. The ball kept going and shot right past @dragonfang_ at such a shockingly low level as to seem worthless...but it passed so close as well, close enough that the chains binding her to the pyre softened. They didn't melt, Xae was too clever to make her intent obvious, but they would weaken a great deal. The ball kept going until it approached its target @myers_voorhees. The weapon was fired at a low angle, aiming not for a vital area but for his right foot. Xae was testing the waters as much as she was working to free @dragonfang_. He would have to react to the shot and his reaction would help to fill in the gaps for her. Myers was an unknown quantity and she didn't like unknown quantities.

@thisisgonnahurt@the_puzzler

The three minutes had passed and still no sign of his contact or his money. Jason was getting a little edgy sitting on the roof top alone, even with a high power sniper rifle to keep him company. But since money was involved he would stay up there all night. Unfortunately, he forgot to pack any winter clothes in his rush to get to Gothic City, and as such he was freezing his nuts off. His every breath was now a fog of steam and his finger tips blue as could be. All he had to keep himself warm was his traditional red and black outfit that rides up in the butt. It was a hard fight to prevent from shivering from the cold and an even harder one from chattering his teeth. But he held strong to the fact that in three hours the sun would be out and alas.. that sweet, sweet, warmth! But as the hours progressed, all his attention was focused on the one roof top across the street. That was where he was supposed to be contacted and that was where he was suppose to receive his money. So as he spent the cold night watching it he was completely oblivious to the carnage going on around him.

Just below him, in the dark streets, a land war was raging. A rough but skilled gang known as the ‘Rumblers’ were fighting for their very homes. Some may considered it heroic, but Backstabber only fights for money and himself, and occasionally just for the fun of it. But that’s only when he knows he can win! Suddenly he heard the unmistakable sound of a shot gun hitting a target at point-blank range, that’s blast echoed across the streets. Immediately the birds perched nearby scattered to the winds as Jason tossed a coin to see if he should risk his life and get involved. After a quick tossing of a coin in the air, he mumbled to himself “Tails, damn it! Let’s make it best two out of three.” Then after another ill fated tails he thought “Oh what the hell. Looks like it’s time to get my hands dirty!”

Immediately he leered over the rail, just in time to see his old drinking buddy “Doberman” in a blood letting fight. His friend appeared to be beating the snot out of a greaser despite the fact he had a huge gaping hole in his chest. But knowing the skilled assassin as he did, a few broken bones and a severe loss of blood was not going to slow him down. As Doberman went about his business pummeling in the face of the Rumbler with brass knuckles, another of Rumbler’s gang was sneaking in behind him. He was using specialized stealth training, an obvious sign he was ex military, hiding in the shadow and taking his time as he closed in on his prey. He was armed with both a standard automatic weapon over his shoulder, and an eight inch dagger that he held tight in his right hand. A blade he planned to shove deep in the back of Jason’s only friend.

From the way he was approaching, Doberman had all the time in the world to kill the incoming threat, even though wrapped up in his own fight. But all Jason saw was another excuse to add another notch on the “You owe me one!” game. With no need to take the time to aim, he rested the shaft of his rifle against the rail and let out one and only one round. True to his name the single bullet traveled a path to the street behind his target, only to deflect off the pavement and strike his victim dead center in the back. Immediately the Rumbler dropped to the ground, only to rise up a second later. “Damn it kevlar!” he said to himself as he was already reloading for his next shot. “Why does every two bit thug have kevlar or that blasted Vibrainuim?” But in the three seconds it took Jason to reload the Rumblers were already on top of him.

In his arrogance he forgot two things. One, the sound of a shot lets your enemy hear you and two, the blast of gun powder lets them see where you are. Already the Rumbler he shot was pointing up at Jason’s direction, while limping his way to shelter. In seconds Jason was covered head to toe in little red dots, signifying snipers from everywhere had the drop on him. It was at moments like this he wished he had a saucy catchphrase or a clever witticism, but all he could think of was, “Why oh why did I get involved.” and like every time he answers “Oh ya the money!” In a brilliant display of his power, he jumped over the rail and dropped thirty stories straight down, only to land safe as a baby by altering the path of his trajectory.

But now he was next to Doberman, for better or for worse, and in true bro-tastic form, he greeted his old friend with “Doberman, you old butt sniffing, panties wearing, dawg! Why is it every time we meet trouble follows. What on Earth would you do without me?…skid mark!” Now as the situation was dire Jason positioned himself back to back with his old buddy so that neither of them could be attacked from behind. For now the two of them were open targets with both ground forces and snipers locking and loading on their position. Some of the Rumbler’s were brave and walked out into the streets for a fair fight, while other stayed back for support. Either way Jason continued his gab with his old friend as he began calculating the oh so many trajectories bullets could travel, “So Dawg, same bet as always, who ever kills less pays for the first round of beer, cool?” Preparing against an inevitable blood bath, he strapped his sniper rifle over his shoulder and pulled out two fully loaded Uzi’s, one for each hand. Then with a whimsical tone he said “Lets have some fun.” as he waited for the fight to begin.

@the_puzzler:

Back and forth, back and forth. Keep fighting huh? Keep bleeding. Keep dying. That's the purpose of a war, isn't it? To win land by the sacrifice of the people? Throw bodies into the grinder, see what comes out the other side. The dreamers think it's going to be profit, new land and plenty of money to make use of. Borders broken. Chains cut. They think everything's going to be alright in the end.

But guess what comes out of a meat grinder? F*ckin' ground-up meat.

Mr. Harvey understood that better than anyone. He had friends and family in this war. Everyone was a brother or a sister to him, a son and a daughter, maybe even parents and grandparents. They each had their stories. They were part of something greater through the Black Masks. Mr. Harvey learned a long time ago that you could only pay someone to do something for so long. There had to be trust, and commitment to that trust. In the end, over a period of twenty years, he had established a relationship with plenty of people. People that wouldn't have made it alone. People that came to him, people he came to. He made it a point to emphasize that the Black Masks weren't just some mob wannabe. They were family, and family looks out for their own.

"The Rumblers are just like us," he grunted, watching it all unfold from somewhere outside Gothic City's limits. He could see every direction that was pulled or pushed, caring little if anything for the larger powers at work. While the gods played their games, these were the trenches the men fought and died in. They fought in blood, dirt, and concrete, for blood, dirt, and concrete.

"They won't give up as long as one of 'em is still alive. Same for us. We're here because the f*cks started 'cleaning' up the streets, and that just so happened to include some family here. I knew 'em too. George and Martha, family-owned business. Pizzaria. Smuggled guns in for the Black Masks here, ran that operation for a decade. Rumblers lit their store on fire with them inside, locked and barricaded the exits. Cooked 'em," he lowered his head, offering a quiet prayer to the fallen.

"But I didn't start this because they killed some friends of the family. Or because they killed our brothers and sisters here on the East Coast. If that were the case, I would have left by now. Nah, this is a message. The Black Masks are awake,"

And we're angry

"God damn," Antonio hissed, his legs taken out from underneath him with a quartet of perfect shots. He couldn't walk or stand up, that's for sure.

"You know, there are better ways of getting my attention,"

He sat there, on his blasted-out kneecaps, execution style. What was the Rumbler going to do? Kill him again? He saw what happened to the whole damn block. Surely he was smarter than that. Taking a glance behind him, Antonio saw just the man he was waiting for. The Ace? All the way out here? And here he was trying to hunt him down. That was a job for the Doberman, for Jason even. Antonio had better things to do. Demolition, mostly.

He could see Ace's eyes, and how much he hated him right now.

"You can't kill me, you idiot, not unless you want to end up like them," he cocked his head to the side, motioning towards the piles of dead Rumblers crushed underneath street rubble.

"I wish I could contradict, given all the Black Masks you've killed. Put the gun down," Carlos interjected from behind Ace, pointing the AK-47 into the small of the Rumbler Lord's back. Ricardo, his skin still bleeding from the fresh cracks given the napalm he ate earlier, limped into the fray on Teresa's shoulder, both of them holding 9mm pistols at Ace's head and neck. Any move he made would be met with any of the three of them shooting or Antonio doing something surprising.

"But Mr. Harvey wants you alive. Seems like we get a Christmas bonus if we make you suffer. Funny how it all turns on its head huh?" This being the last thing Carlos would say before Ricardo sat down, Teresa circling around and attempting to pistol-whip Ace into a temporary coma.

Jason and the Doberman

(@backstabber)

It's going to be a hit sitcom, just watch!

The Doberman was used to death, actually. He had met with the Grim Reaper tons of times before just coming back, as good as new. It's always a cheap tactic, he admitted, but it worked. Only, headshots were extremely effective at putting him down for good. At least, that's what he said to himself.

Curious thing about the Doberman's brain is that it contains an extra section, completely harmless but still agitating as all hell. Somehow or another, it allows him to see glimpses of what might happen. Sure, curiosity got the better of him and he just went with it to see if it was real. But most of the time, like 99% of the time, it happened just like in his little pseudo-predictions. His own personal zodiac, a fortune for every second of the day if he wanted to. This evolved mental projection caused him to start carrying around those medi-shots in case something might go horrifically wrong.

In one possible future, he was just gunned down then and there, the sitcom he always wanted destined to never be aired. Maybe Jason did it out of memorandum. Alternate universe theory is weird. But in the reality he chose, he moved his head and body as soon as the blood and teeth splattered against his designer glasses.

"F*ck! That's gross man!" ducking out of the way, he heard the telltale blast grazing just inches away from his ears. Disorienting, yeah, because guns are loud as balls, but still - he was alive.

Nobody was allowed to see him with his glasses off, so he cleaned them quickly using a dead Rumbler's jacket, only to look back up and find two things. One, the Rumbler he had been squaring off with had retreated into a crowd of about fifty and growing. Two, Jason was there too.

"Jason? J-Pop? What's happenin' broski! Lefty loosy righty tighty!"

Without skipping a beat, absolutely ignorant to the fact that they were surrounded for a split second, the Doberman initiated their specialized handshake perfected through about twelve years of putting up with each other on a professional level. At its conclusion, he turned back to the Rumblers, putting the European-style sword in its sheath in favor of a katana and a washizaki sword - but not before putting his fist to his crotch and jerking it back and forth in a disrespectful pumping motion.

"Yeah, come get some! J-Pop and the Dawg, ready to bust some heads and bust in your girls, boys! Better give up now! Just walk away! Just walk away,"

He doubted the Road Warrior reference would go over well at this point, to which he just launched into melee combat, completely focused now. Bullets ricocheted off the smaller washizaki, perfectly timed to the Doberman's almost-perfectly accurate future vision. What he couldn't predict came a few steps down the road or what he couldn't explicitly avoid, like when he got clocked in the face with a pair of brass knucks like he did the lucky bastard who vanished earlier. That, however, spared him from being shot in the chest by someone pointing a pistol at his shoulder blade.

Turning around on a pivot, he took off that boy's hand as well as part of another Rumbler's face. While Jason no doubt calculated trajectories with frightening accuracy, the Doberman became a whirlwind of violence, scattering body parts like a butcher at lunch time. For some reason, they were idiots apart, and they were still dumb as hell together.

But for some reason, they were scary together. Scary enough to be a serious threat, and that's why Mr. Harvey paid for the bundle.

@thisisgonnahurt:

The Rumblers

With the Masks in the explosive aftermath dealt with, dozens of guns clicked and cocked. pointing right at the people that held Ace at gunpoint. No fun on their faces in this standoff. No snarky comments or youthful rebel talk, just dead serious silence.

Ace

However, had about the cockiest smirk on his face. He even had the nerve to light up another cigarette in his mouth while they said their piece. He didn't care if he lived today or tomorrow, that's what granted him the drive to face any threat. "Well now...Looks like an impasse if I've ever seen one, eh boys?" Ace called out to the Rumblers surrounding them, merely adjusting their aim on the trio.

"You tell your boss...What he has goin' on in our turf tonight? Is a goddamn farce..." Under his thick leather jacket, Ace was carved out of wood when it came to muscle. His hand snatched the woman's wrist before it could connect with his head, using her momentum to try and chuck her right into the other two mercs. The Rumblers opened with cover fire, not trying to maim as much as allow Ace to slip out of their clutches. Ace flicked his cigarette behind him while sprinting to his forces and turning around, firing the remaining three bullets in his pistol towards the two other mercs. After that, he was just another greaser in the crowd, blending in.

Chance

Weaved through the flying bodies of Rumblers as this bear of a man swung about wildly like a muscle tornado. The Rumblers unleashed leaded hell upon their attacker, hundreds of bullets concentrated on who they weren't certain could be taken down. With his loaded sawed off snapped shut once again, Chance took the chance and fired off both shells in succession right for this brutes face, slipping back among the masses once more.

@satar: @retriever: @ananke: @timesiphon: @myers_voorhees: @_vex_: @gale_xanders: @lucia_aurelius:

And just like that the fight was kicking into gear conflict boiling over into it's agresive state. Babs was quick to try and get in the first move the moment motion even looked close to starting. The wall became a sphere encompassing the enemy in light of jaded hue. It began to collapse and with impressive will and might the beast resisted the crushing force. Though he wouldn't have to do so for long, imposing words a promise of death and Babs new to prepare. Partly this reaction was do out of simple fear, courageous as Babs was she didn't want to suffer either. A twitch of the finger like a tensing muscle the predatory lantern knows her construct is about to be lost.

Like glass the sphere shatters raining down forrest shards of energy. Babs crossing her arms created a pyramid of light around her, sealing herself away from the world. Confining her to a small space absent sound. It was reactionary only but ideal, the closed off space cut off sound from reaching her. The sonic scream crashed into the jaded light, some hairline fractures manifested but nothing substantial. It was bone breaking ear splitting sound not iron rending. Though Babs did like what she was seeing.

See the teen was a loving consumed of art, she was into every medium. While she wouldn't say she was a great artist she did take pride in diversity when she was given a ring she'd decided she'd do her best to make it always new. Never the same construct twice. So when she saw a sonic attack she found a sense of elation eager to engage in new artistic challenge with a clever foe. But then he just stood there. Gale cleared things up with the chemical news about the gas. To which the violet skinned GCA senior relinquished a prolonged sigh as the prism she was in began to mealt.

It looked almost like the teen was briefly in a waterfall of ethereal fluid as the pyramid turned to a puddle in apearence. It was said if you could imagine it a ring could craft it. And so a visual grace rested in the newest lanterns moves. "Third round almost mirrored moves. No he doesn't that dog can't learn new tricks." Sealed a way by the aura of Lantern shielding the gas didn't reach her. Her opinion was sealed and it wasn't bright. What she saw was the lack of creative inginuity which boiled the Lantern's blood. And from the pool of emeralds was forged a volley of spears. A trio of javalins as hard as iron were flung forward at each opponent both ladies and both men. She wanted each of them to be hit by a trifecta of midevil weaponry. It would be complimented by modern weaponized tactics as a construct of a RPG entered the soft hands of the lantern. And with that a rocket was launched at the group.

How it worked was that a small orb expaned shattered a oval sized orb which shattered the RPG shell. This created a fragmentation of iron shards of light. Though there was no fire or heat the explosive force was there of the weapon in question. Amidst the lantern exsplosive and the cover of ongoing conflict a kitana sought to cut the chain weakend by Gail the blade of light looking to back up the effort to free the dragon.

@satar:

So in came the Bat Pimp dressed like a gothic Anthony Stark complete with some bright lights ideal perhaps for rave parties. Just imagine what a man with such funds could do if he put that to aiding this city. After all money was more a power here then perhaps all else, the sick hungry and pore could share a mansion neighborhood likely for the same cost. Beside him was Rainbow Dash, at least that's what Jade thought of the lantern what with her various color scheme. And then there was the Iron Bondage, a woman with a great figure that looked like it'd be suffering and suffocating. Though looks could be deceiving Jade was sure it was made up of space alloy element 1547 or whatever. Then there was the bird, which well looked like someone known for a particular form of entertainment. The one with the best practical fashion if not a bit medieval in design was undermined by a broken blade. Quite a colorful entourage but the King didn't care, they didn't matter.

There enemy had his own posse such as a girl with an energy blade who was dressed in an ordinary fashion. If that didn't scream suspicious nothing did, after all tonight was dedicated to a fashion not so casual. There was the redhead girl who looked insane, Jade chalked it up as the inspiring to be ninja type. An enigmatic egotistic looking sort was near by and then there was the man of the hour. He was all that mattered really to Jade.

When fighting the tide you don't spray it with a hose, when fighting a fire you really wouldn't throw fire at it much as people liked to use the phrase. So when a woman composed of smoke entered a place using a smokey chemical it didn't afflict her as intended. Instead Jade looked to become said smoke making her colorless and odorless much like the toxin itself. And as the chemical substance flooded the area and filled the air the thief became apart of that. Satar had decided to place the ring in his pocket and so Jade's had looked to be apart of the air that entered said pocket. However any zipper could be air tight, meaning the sly handed fable could be locked in or out.

Thus she'd allow part of her smoke form to return to a more standard form. Where she could look to burn her way in or out of the pocket, if the beast combusted in the process great but predominantly this act was to try and insure her actions. As for the retraction of the ring? Well whatever Jade touched she could turn to smoke allowing her to take the device with her casually as it became vapor just like her assuming she got her hands on it.

@rapax: @satar: @retriever: @ananke: @timesiphon: @_vex_: @gale_xanders:

"Alright Jason, I've managed to locate the coordinates, we'll be there immediately." Siri's voice spoke as they descended towards Gothic City. The White Cosmos Ranger's eyes narrowed, his gaze intently locked onto the coordinates. An ancient protector, the man's face was laced with serious intent on protecting this city which saw itself in peril again.

"So according to the notes, this Satar character is threatening the city? Anything I should know about him?" the ever questioning Ranger referred to Saba with the expectance of useful battle information. For over a thousand years Jason had relied on his intel and battle strategies. The Sword paused, waiting for the detailed analysis that had been gathered to upload onto the dash. "Well, from his name the Baabda Beast, he is quite the beast indeed. Extremely durable, able to take abnormal amounts of punishment. He also has extreme body strength, and an cunning mind." Nodding silently, Jason read the file, seeing that this foe had an assortment of chemical weaponry, and as of two weeks ago had acquired a lantern ring. "Hmm. That could prove to be challenging."

"Would you like for me to accompany you Jason?" A.I.'s spoke, her tone uncertain and concerned for the Ranger. They were heading on to face an opponent with many unknown variables. As it stood, what was already known made Satar seem like a foe not to be underestimated. "No Siri, I need your full focus to be on the ship in case we need the heavy fire power." Seeming to sense Siri's unease, Jason attempted to reassure her. "Hey, c'mon we've been through worse, haven't we? What's the worst that could happen."

"Well for one you could die," came Saba's quick reply, apparently unaware of the tone the conversation had taken. "Saba, you aren't helping," a stern voice emanated from the ship. "Oh, sorry Siri. I'm just saying..."

"Quiet you two. We're here."

Cloaked from those below by sight, smell, and various technologies, they hovered high above below the overhanging clouds as to avoid detection. Zooming in on the scene, Jason saw that the battle had just begun, with a variety of heroes and villains arriving to confront the villains. Specifically, he focused on the girl that tried her best to appear unthreatening. "Well, I guess this is my stop guys. Promise I'll come back."

@satar@rapax@gale_xanders@_vex_ @

With fuel canisters loaded, armor patched, and a newly acquired blade attached to its right arm, the AI set upon its trek into Satar's section of the city. Bullets pinged off of its armor, stray shots or deliberate attempts on its life, the AI neither knew nor cared. It forsook its usual caution, did not take to the rooftops or hide in the alleyways, opting instead for a straight march down main street, straight into the enemy's heart.

The Bulls it encountered, the ones taking cover behind the deadly Sarin gas and the makeshift structures they'd erected for themselves, simply allowed the AI passage. For the most part they hid themselves away, no doubt planning to ambush all of Gothic's vigilantes at once when they gathered, cutting off any hope for escape, but escape was not on the AI's list of priorities, and neither were the vermin scurrying about in the slums. On it went, its steps heavy an laden with purpose. Finding Satar would be relatively simple. Rumors were abound that in Satar's latest conflict he had acquired a mythical item, a Green Lantern's ring, which meant that if he was wearing it he would be emitting a huge amount of energy.

The Iron Phantom had waltzed into his base, but it was no fool. It knew had heard of his legendary prowess in hand to hand combat from other vigilantes at the church, vigilantes that had trembled when mentioning his monstrous strength, his inexhaustible endurance, his unwavering will to power. By all accounts, Satar was a demon, and the AI had no intention of meeting him on his ground.

Switching through its optics as it stood outside a flimsy wall of sheet metal, the AI finally picked up on what it was looking for: the tremendous energy of a lantern. Raising its rivet rifle the AI, for the first time, took a knee and braced itself in a shooter's stance, and connected the rivet rifle directly to its own power source. Gears whirred, smoke rose and sparks flew as the rivet rifle began to take in an excess of electricity, overcharging the motor. The Iron Phantom fingered the trigger, lining up its shots through the wall just as a roar shot forth, deafening anyone close enough to listen.

Had anyone been caught in the blast? Who had emitted the shockwave? Was anyone hurt?

Does it matter? No. Not now.

Its mind infected by a desire for revenge, amongst the roaring chaos of the battlefield, the AI opened fire with a roar of its own. The overcharged rivet rifle almost burning out as the rivets fired faster than most would be able to follow, each rivet fired into the back of the enormous energy it sensed, into the back of the Green Lantern (@rapax). Two spikes for either shoulder, another in the lower spine, and the last just off the spine, seeking to run straight through "Satar's" liver. As soon as the spines were launched the AI reloaded the rifle and attached it to its back, all whilst crashing through the cheap metal barricade, blade in hand, ready to cleave Satar's head from his shoulders, only to see the new Lantern's prismatic shield collapse into a torrent of greenish liquid.

Move! Get out of the way! Protect yourself!

What have I done?

High speed cameras took in the sight as though in slow motion, steel rods tearing through the air at their target, the Lantern with her back turned, a woman in skin tight armor and the city's avenger in black armor tinted blood red, and ahead of them all, Satar stood, almost smugly taking in the scene.

Satar. Satar. Satar! SATAR!
SATAR!

"SAAATAAAR!"

Vengeance took the machine once more as it leapt forward, disregarding all other threats as its rockets carried it across the battlefield at blinding speeds, gleaming blade still in hand. Charging the blade with enough electricity to fry a man, the AI drove its blade forward in a strike aimed at Satar's chest, the other arm coming across in an attempt to preemptively stop any attempt at guarding himself as the AI sought to withdraw the electrified blade and repeat the process again and again. No tactic or stratagem went through its mind, its only plan to keep stabbing until one of them collapsed.

Sahi tapped into Temporal Reserves the moment she saw weapons being sent her way. She used the energy to accelerate the flow of time for herself, providing the effect of seeing the rest of the world at a slower speed, not quite slow motion, but slow enough. To everyone else it made her look as if she was moving very fast. She was able to use her blade to deflect the spears, each time the blade came into contact with one of the will constructs it was aged instantly and evaporated, acting as if it had simply run out of energy. Unfortunately Sahi was not very powerful at the moment and there was nothing she could do about the explosive. She was lifted off her feet and flung backwards where she crashed into a brick wall.

Sahi stood slowly in the midst of a cloud of dust. Her clothes were not singed or torn...but cracked at the point of impact as if they were made of metal and not actually clothing at all. "That wasn't very ni..." She trailed off as a new opponent arrived not far away from her. They couldn't see the expression under her gas mask, but she was astounded when @awesomekill15 Jason arrived with obvious intent to fight her. She had seen someone like him before when she arrived on earth. "Oh you can't be serious, there are TWO of you?! Good lord I thought one was over the top and enthusiastic enough for the whole damned universe." She hated Power Rangers, Jason just didn't know it yet. As it turned out their armor was among one of the very few defenses in the universe that made the wearer's temporal line 'slippery' and difficult if not impossible to latch onto. It meant Jason was the only one in the fight that was immune to her temporal drain. She reactivated her temporal blade and snarled, discarding the mask appearance. "I don't like your kind."

Sahi leaped forward at Jason without warning and landed perhaps a foot in front of him. She moved with deadly speed, bringing her blade down towards his chest in an attempt to cleave through his armor. If she could deactivate his morphing armor, she could kill him before he was aware he was dying. The temporal blade did no physical damage with anything it touched, instead it aged it. If her blade struck, his armor would respond as if it had taken a much more significant beating than it already had.

@satar: @retriever:

The region was rich with both friend and foe it was a target rich environment with a strong likelyhood of stumbling upon more forces in due time. Alex was eager to see the Vengeance Six in action, she'd deployed with them previously but ventured elsewhere tonight it looked like she'd be providing them cover fire in a not to distant future. Alex considered joining them but ultimately that wasn't for her, she sought adventure and to see the world not to return to Gothic for prolonged tours. She'd done her tour here, was a Veteran of the Gothic War, you might call it childhood.

Tonight though she was in Gothic and her first action would be to greet the enemy once more. Her marksmanship had aided in the resistance of Satar and Retriever at Maverick and would do so again. It'd be an arrow this time instead of a bullet so perhaps her friends wouldn't remember her. She remembered them however and was quick to find her greeting card. One arrow rested proper, another was set against the window frame. Pull and release retrieve and repeat the movement was a blur with very little time between the shots.

The arrows followed eachother in a downward arch hailing from one of many high rising buildings from one of many windows underneath a wealth of cover. Her position was well concealed like before and her arrow moved as swiftly as a conventional sniper round. Backed by exosuit strength the arrow was just as reliable as a firearm. It's aim was exact eyes able to hit with uncanny acuracy birthed of her primary x gene that gifted her eyes that could go as far as tracking speedsters movements. To further aim there was a controlled feature providing Alex a opportunity to guide her arrows in flight, her vision making her able to do so effortlessly. In this age nobody had perfect acuracy there were to many factors Alex could vouche for impeccable accuracy though at the least. And with a charging hooded figure Gale the Lantern the alabaster new arival who had time to care about sniper fire.

As for payload that sought the hearts of those who attacked Maverick? They were superconducting exsplosive, also known as plasma explosives. A set of superconductors designed to create a high yield in a small package. At a hundred sixty degrees Fahrenheit the conductors were barely stable, these arrows would when just starting to enter flesh or pass the target be triggered to heat up and in doing so explode. The energy density was of fifty megajoules per kilogram as opposed to TNT's four point seven. This highly energetic ammunition would hopefully be digging into layers of muscle or better yet the heart before it's detonation. However in an erra of gods and monsters the first shot was almost never the last she was already going for another arrow and getting ready for the next shot.

@thisisgonnahurt@backstabber@the_puzzler@satar

40 minutes ago -"Infiltration of the area through buildings, the streets are watched too tight. Tunnel through walls if necessary, they are rundown anyway. Contact with a greaser pair that was armed to the teeth, was."

35 minutes ago -"Silent clearing of the vandalized, boarded up corner building next to the fire fight. Most of the greasers didn't put up much of a fight when taken by surprise."

17 minutes ago -"Deployment of C4 charges on the ground floor and along structural weaknesses in the front of the building to gain control the fallout. The goal is to achieve a controlled demolition, not a surgical clusterf*&k."

16 minutes ago - "First hail of stray bullets, but keep it cool. Kids have the aim of a blind Tibetean. Proceed with the deployment of C4."

Now.

The turf war on the outskirts of the Shantytown raged in the streets between whoever was premier this week and the others. Meanwhile Francesco secluded himself on top of the weaponized building, clenching a detonator in hand. Upon gaining visual confirmation of the situation below, he removed his leg from the ledge of the Gothic building and aimed his cool militant swagger to the neighboring building. The greasers, they were preoccupied with the fight below but the area still warranted alertness from the veteran, a former military demolitions expert

Swaying his vision between his sides to avoid being taken by surprise, he reached his elevated enclave. In the moment of crossing over he raised the detonator to shoulder length and casually cleared his raspy throat before invoking the detonation of the precisely planted C4.

He came like a storm, Frank. Indiscriminate. Unmerciful. Like Death herself.

BoOoM! Ka-BOoOm!

Positional brilliance achieving a controlled collapse of the weathered structure towards the warring street. Firstly, like a literal house of cards the framework quickly fractured, causing an intended tilt towards the target area. Secondly, a systematic serenade of explosives along the front rim and the side further funneled the collapse streetwards.

The falling debris endangered a good portion of the street below but not all of it, no, a partial blockade was the most Frank could achieve with C4 in such a short time frame. However, the death of a few crooks and assassins was not his true goal, not anymore. He gunned for the top-dog, the enigmatic Satar, but to do that he had to lure his henchmen out into the open by offering them something - the turf directly on the outskirts of their territory.

Confidently watching the architectural cascade from the high of the rooftop, Frank stood ardent in the moonlight. His cold stare affixed on capturing the outcome of his endeavor and the stock of his LR 300 resting by his shoulder. Because even if this attempt would not succeed, then another might.

@satar: @ironphantom:

Surrounded by both unknown and well acquainted allies, Alexander felt humbled to have been able to amass such a group of gifted and courageous men and women. These people saw vile things occurring around them, and unlike the normal weak citizen of Gothic, they have decided to take up arms against the Baabda Beast regardless of the destructive reputation that followed him and the chaos in his wake. Being sure not too pride himself too much, Dark Vengeance took a single step forward like a young child testing the temperature of the ocean.

Yet, before a combative move could be made, a vast emerald container formed around the follower of the Bull, encasing him in it's center. Like putting a rat in a bucket, it was a temporary prison as he would eventually claw his way out just like the rodent. Utilizing the moment of imprisonment, Vengeance was already on the move, sprinting towards Satar. His path of attack was cut short however, as the high pitched wails emitting from the intimidating contraption of the cult leader's jaw slammed against the hellish suit of Dark Vengeance. The tune grew louder and more obnoxious, causing the titanium and nth metals to vibrate against each other.

He struggled to hold a defensive position, but the invisible force caused the Ebony Knight to slowly rock back as his heels were dragging steadily through the ground. The attack would have easily been fatal to any normal human being, but just as Malcolm harped on preparation before combat, The young Rook heeded the lesson well. A few months ago in the red light district of Gothic, A chance encounter between Alexander and a certain fish net wearing siren had occurred and lead to an embarrassing stalemate that eventually ended with bleeding ear drums. Sure to never make the same mistake if ever confronted again by the beautiful vixen, he had augmented his patrol suit with noise dampeners that prevented any abnormal rise in decibels therefore avoiding any major ear damage.

The precaution proved beneficial as the only damage done was the grinding and friction of alloy sections of his armor. Struggling against the deafening force bombarding him, he held his own position and firmly kept his feet planted. Readying the cutting edge jet powered rockets that had been mounted beneath his footwear, he was propelled forward. The rapid blaze shot him straight ahead as his talon augmented fists lead the assault.

A small blip lit within the helm of his advanced suit at the edge of his HUD alerting him of a change in the atmosphere around him.

'Chemical compound Sarin detected. Administering precautionary injection of atropine'

The robotic assistant chimed in coldly as a small pinch was felt alongside the skin of Alexander's bicep.

Stark would be jealous

The suit was completely sealed with vacuum tight adhesive and supplemented it's own filtered oxygen that was cooled once cleansed, making sure only to allow O2 to enter the system and maintain normal temperature. The vaccine was just an extra step taken in case any damage from the vocal assault caused an opening.

Closing the distance rapidly, a newly shadowed ally leapt forward and attacked with a weapon of their own. The stranger's anger rivaling Alexander's own as they howled the Baabda's Beast with animosity. The duo of obsidian vigilantes would hopefully prove to be overwhelming and work to subdue their for. It wasn't enough in Dark Vengeance's mind. Brutal and straight forward attacks wouldn't win this skirmish. Still flying forward, a twitch of the nerve within his enhanced brain shot into the neuro central of the suit. Responding accordingly., dual smoke bombs to cloud the fighting zone were ejected from his waist while a swarm of self controlled Knight-a-rangs were expelled from his shoulders. Each drone would fire a barrage of electronically charged rounds capable of taking down a herd of rhinos.

@ananke: @gale_xanders: @rapax: @thief_king: @awesomekill15: @ironphantom: @timesiphon: @apex_: @frank_scaletta: @lady_grimm:

It wasn't difficult. Rarely was it ever difficult to convince a foe, in the field of battle, to come forward and try their luck with a swing or two. And there, as he stood, his posture global while flanked by his paramilitary cronies, the Baabda Beast watched his web of schemes unfold. The shock-wave's purpose was diversionary. And the Sarin Gas? Its purpose was to incite disarray. To cause his foes to scatter and run. Many did. And all who darted forward towards the Baabda Beast, were preyed upon by his trap; a veiled crust of dimethylcadmium peroxide, a friction-sensitive explosive, that blanketed the ground some feet from the Lebanese. Hopping backwards in anticipation of what would be a most violent explosion born from the crust of dimethylcadmium, Satar landed among his peers.

And now? Now his adversaries were a simple shoe-scruff away from having their limbs blown from their joints and their hearts stopped. From shock-wave to nerve agent to dimethylcadmium peroxide, he'd employed a distraction for the distraction for a most unassuming explosive, the crust of a friction-sensitive peroxide that sought to swallow Gothic's Finest into an explosion whose force, as an unintended boon, shattered the emerald volley of spears conjured by the first of his attackers, prematurely erupted her ever-expanding orb, and sought to superheat the thief-turned gas' airborne particles, preventing her from reaching the power ring in his pocket. From a distance, Satar watched, eyes of psychopathic cold observing a violent scene unfold as his mind reminded him of the care he'd taken in first emitting the vibrations from his mask silently and only elevating it to destructive levels once past the friction-sensitive crust so as not to have prematurely detonated the dimethylcadmium peroxide.

Soon however, two of his foes emerged, a robot whose voice, born from rage, cried his name and come a second later, he felt it, the Baabda Beast. His ballistic vest had been punctured, a blade of hot metal surging with electricity stabbing deep into his chest and puncturing a lung. The electrical current was trivial. Enough to fry a man was nothing short of light against the Baabda Beast. The stab wound however, the speed, momentum and force that came with it? It had torn away at his flesh, stabbed its way through layers of fat, muscle tissue and more until it found his lung and plunged through it. He felt the blood spurt from his chest, a hot wave of agony swarming it as the blood poured into a lung that collapsed and left him choking on his own blood. His rib-cage had been broken, and his vision blurred, his mind nearly fading to black as he struggled not to drown from the blood filling his lung.

Desperately, Satar gasped for air, pale eyes growing paler as they widened and he felt his senses forsake him. Instinctively, Satar felt his fingers coil around the wrist of his foe's stabbing hand, holding it tight and harnessing his monstrous strength in an attempt at crushing it. But it was difficult. His strength and consciousness were fading. Had he been anyone else, he'd have died then and there. Instead, his most prominent genetic trait, an abnormal adaptive component, the key to his freakish endurance, came alive and prevented his loss of consciousness. And in that moment, the Lebanese tapped into his mask's integrated technology and quickly, it made its worth known, not as an instrument of raw power, but as one of deadliness. Conjuring vibrations, he sought to direct them into a solid... the robot's head where the Baabda Beast believed key components of its body existed. Why? The vibrations' purpose was to cause a physical change, to move the matter in his foe's head from one state to another by vibrating its particles faster, causing them to move farther apart.

And once at a standard pressure, whatever lied inside the vengeful robot's head would reach its melting point and turn to liquid. Success or failure, Satar responded with subtle recovery, reached for the Mossberg 500 shotgun hanging from his back, seized it with a hand and resting its butt in the pocket of his shoulder while keeping his grip strong. He struggled to steady his breathing, his chest wound and collapsed lung rendering him too weak to do as he would properly. Nevertheless, he took aim at his foe's gut, making use of his close proximity to the robot, and fired... again and again and again. Why? Because bulletproof didn't mean invulnerability to bullets. Even then, his intention was never to blast his foe from him. Again, why? Plasma-explosives had been shot from afar by a Maverick operative aiming for him. Here the Baabda Beast sought to slide his arms underneath the robot, hooking them around its midsection with the double underhooks.

Should he succeed, he'd advance, locking his hands behind the robot's back and with his bestial strength, even by superhuman standards, lock into a bear-hug and use it as a shield. Against the charging superconductors whose explosion would undoubtedly fling them and a charging Vex backwards, but Satar's wounds would be minimal, as opposed to the robot's. He'd relinquish the body-lock should he have found success in seizing his foe as a living (?) shield and use what little time he was allowed to recover from his slain lung. Alas, it was not to be. Vex charged forward and shot his projectiles; supercharged rounds with vicious stopping power. Satar's response? He tossed, in a charging Vex's direction, a grenade that would burst and seek to douse the armored vigilante in fluoroantimonic acid, the world's strongest corrosive agent, a superacid 10,000,000,000,000,000 times stronger than sulfuric acid.

A superacid that sought to tear through the armor's thick layers of metal, ripping apart its molecular structure, leaving behind superheated goo in its wake as the acid, should it find Vex's flesh, hoped to bond its fluorine with calcium. In other words, should the acid tear through the fatty organic tissue and muscles in its path, its fluorine would burn through the vigilante's bones. Come a second later and Vex's projectiles found home and electrocuted the Lebanese. The effects came in flurries. Electrical resistance left him marred with both surface and internal burns, his tissues heated into messy remnants, and his muscles contracting so strongly that his heart muscles could no longer move. His primary nervous system failed him and control over his remaining lung was nearly lost. In the span of minutes, he'd nearly died twice. But he survived, barely. Dropped to his knees, palms braced against the dirt, injuries tugging at his life, the Baabda Beast had been left a man.

And yet, still he refused to use the power ring. Instead, he gambled and resorted to a power he was in no condition for prolonged use of. Nevertheless, if he were to remain fighting, in this state, he would need it. He'd yet to recover from the injuries sustained against Maverick and against Gothic's Finest during their initial encounter. Now, with newer wounds, he had little choice. He reached into his pocket, tossed the power ring in Sahi's direction and instructed her to wear it and conjure shields for herself, Ana and his allies. Into the 'Gamma Effect' he tapped. It'd allow him to fight for minutes more, at least until he'd truly need the power ring. It awakened, the Gamma Effect, and began on a quantum level. Empty space is constantly boiled over with quantum particles coming into existence, colliding and then disappearing every nanosecond. In its wake, Satar's gamma effect conjured inter-atmospheric instability, causing those quantum particles to act much more energetically so that organic matter (his foes) caught in the 'blast range' of this explosion of gamma radiation would be destroyed by the heavy energetic interactions.

The blast itself was powerful, but with the certainty that his foes would find the means to survive it, Satar's intention was not to wipe them out with a wave of energy. No, his biological gamma effect was in fact a transformation. Because his blood was a gamma effect generator, once Satar generated radiation in this 'blast', the two fields interacted and his body generated additional quantum particles modeled after the unstable cells in his body. The result? A Satar with a supercharged and more hulking physique, one grown to nearly seven feet tall and weighing close to six hundred pounds. Now his strength knew no assessed limit, and at his fingertips lied the power to generate and manipulate gamma radiation. Sluggishly, in the wake of the shanty town's scarred remains, Satar struggled but stood, to his full height, chest still heaving from the stab wound, body still spasming from the electrocution, but he would endure.. for now. He'd punctured his lower rib cage at the side to let air in, allowing his collapsed lung to re-inflate, if only partially. Eyeing his foes, the Baabda Beast soon found his gaze shifting, another explosion had taken Gothic, one that collapsed the street and left in its wake a blockade.

@frank_scaletta@thisisgonnahurt@the_puzzler

After an amazing thirty stories drop straight down, with no sign of injury, Backstabber was once again reunited with his partner in crime and killing ‘Doberman.’ They were two sides of the same coin with a flair for carnage. Together they put the Bad@ss in Assassin, or in Jason’s case just the A$$. Either way when the two are together people die. With the slightest of a smile on Doberman’s face he greeted his old friend Jason in his usual way, with a hearty “Jason? J-Pop? What’s happenin’ broski! Lefty loosy righty tighty!” It was then followed by a specialized handshake perfected through years of putting up with each other. It naturally ended with a fist bump, explosion, and both men grabbing their junk while flipping the bird. To them it was a necessary act that was in no way gay, but in fact reinforced their outrageous level of testosterone.

Now on the same page, the two mad mercs found themselves sitting ducks in the middle of a street with a small army of greasers closing in from all sides. Some stood in plane sight with automatic weapons drawn, while others held back for support. They were either perched high on a roof top with sniper rifles trained on their location or just hiding in the shadows with loaded hand guns and grenades. But no matter where they were, they were men prepared to fight to the last man. Knowing full well he would never survive a full on assault from all directions, Jason did what he does best and metaphorically covered his own @ss. With a quick altering of himself as the point of contact from the incoming bullets, he manipulated the forces of impact from that of a deadly body piercing to the equivalence of being hit by many tiny spit balls, that immediately bounced off into other uncalculated directions.

Jason was now in a street filled with the smell of gun powder, and the loud echoing of shots all around. He was doing his best to hide the small yellow stain in the front of his pants by shuffling his gun belt so that his 45. was positioned over his privates. Now that he was still alive, he turned his attention to the only thing that mattered to him, other than money and fat women, his only friend. As he quickly turned around to check on him, he released a huge sigh of relief to see Doberman alive. However as he turned around he caught his dear friend in the act of putting his fist on the crotch area of a greaser beaten half to death, and jerking it back and forth in a disrespectful pumping manner. Immediately Jason yelled out “Enjoying yourself…CREAM PUFF?” as he knew he was dealt the greatest piece of knowledge he could ever hold over someones head. “You should at least buy him a drink first, Mrs. Doberwoman!”

But what happen next was Doberman being the bad @ss that only he could be, as he responded to every insult Jason spewed with a one upper. In the end he stood strong as an Alpha Male and shouted to all that could hear “Yeah, come get some! J-Pop and the Dawg, ready to bust some heads and bust in your girls, boys! Better give up now! Just walk away! Just walk away,” Immediately the Rumblers spread out taking cover after the shock of seeing two men surviving and absurdly large number of bullets. Already they were reassessing their tactics and regrouping for a counter strike, but not Jason. Instead he took a brief second to offer a fist bump to his partner and say “Nice Road Warrior reference there, Dawg!” followed by “and Fury Road was da bomb! Could have used some nudity though.”

But the fight was far from over. The Rumblers had refortified their positions and were ready to retaliate with prejudiced. However this time Jason was not going to be an easy target. Instead he jumped through the nearest front window of a seemingly abandoned building and reloaded his Uzi’s in near record time. He was now temporary safe and secure, but he was also left to ridicule from his friend. Instead of tucking his tail and running Doberman stood strong in the street. Alone he faced the wave of incoming bullets by deflecting each and every one, off a spinning washizaki blade. For a full minute pings echoed as sparks flickered around him, with blades moving faster than the eye could see. It was truly a magnificent sight to see and it inspired Jason to make a bold move himself.

In a crazed manner he ran back out into the street shouting “Hell ya, let’s have some fun!” while mentally recording the location of all the greasers he could see, much like a radar devise. Unfortunately he now knew that Doberman had a ‘one up on him’ after his act of cowardliness, but he wasn’t going to let that slow him down. By luck he spotted five of the Rumblers taking shelter behind a parked 2013 silver Dodge Caravan in the act of reloading. Pumped with adrenaline, he shouted to Doberman “I sure as hell ain’t letting you get the higher kill count, vomit breath!” as he leapt through the air with both guns firmly in hand. He then let of one bullet, that flew out from his gun perfectly aimed at the car’s gas tank, that upon hitting it leaked a large portion of it’s fuel on to the streets. Then exactly three seconds later, while still flying through the air, he let out a second shot aimed right next to the expanding puddle of gas. However when this bullet hit the pavement it lit a spark that ignited the gas and created a huge ball of fire, killing all nearby with both fire and shrapnel.

Now firmly planted back on the ground with both feat, Jason once again stood next to his partner in crime with both guns just a firing away. He was no longer looking for finesse in his shot, just body counts. By now Doberman was way above him, and they both knew it, so to keep face, Jason began laying on the bull with both exaggerations and excuses. “So I guess its still pretty even, huh? But I’ll be fair and say your up by ten.” then to save face he continued “But just so’s ya know I ain’t been fully paid a retainer yet (he whispers – so there!)”

Suddenly the streets began shaking beneath their feet as several loud explosions went off all around them. High above them the top floors of several buildings exploded raining down tons of broken glass and debris. The sound alone was so deafening that Jason had to cover his ears for a second. The night sky was now full with a red fiery glow that spread out all above the battlefield. On the ground the Rumblers were running, trying to make sense of where and why this new attack was coming, while Doberman and Backstabber had a private moment. “Yo Dawg, was that you? Well whoever it was I owe him a drink. Just look at those Rumblers running, ha ha!” But soon the purpose of the explosion was evident as the towering buildings fell down in a well orchestrated manor. While the streets were now flooded with a thick air of smoke from the explosion, visibility was down to zero. Even through his special goggles, Jason could barely see his hands in front of his face. Still the mastery of the entire affair was so brilliant that the bulk of the fallen building landed as planned along the outskirt of the Rumbler’s turf, thereby trapping all within its wake inside a cocoon of fallen buildings. Jason, Doberman, the Rumblers and whoever set off the explosion were now all trapped inside. Trapped like rats.

"Sir, there's a problem with the blimp."The walkie-talkie on Curve's waste rattled off a quick statement as the clown prince was blowing holes in whoever didn't wear fancy clown-paint. Shotgun currently resting in the mouth of a poor mercenary that now begged for life, he muttered something about interruptions and grabbed the radio- pressing the top button and listening in distastefully. If there was one thing the mad clown didn't like, it was an interruption.

"Johnson, what the hell is it?"

"Er... Someone shot it, sir."The radio crackled back to life- four words that brought a look of utter confusion onto the face of the clown, who turned to look in the direction of the large purple blimp- that was now slowly falling to the ground, soon to be out of view among all of the skyscrapers in Gothic. Lips quivered and pupils dilated, as Curve slowly processed what exactly this meant, before bursting into a vicious bit of laughter. Unfortunately for his current victim, this laugh induced his trigger finger to squeeze just the slightest bit, and in a split second the soldier of Satar got Kurt Cobain'd.

The Mad Clown didn't care. Dropping the shotgun, he reached for his belt and drew a button from within, a tear drop shaped remote with a long antenna and a comically large red button. "Sayonara, East Gothic." In between his frantic giggling, Curve pressed the red button, an explosion going off on one of the busiest streets in the city, one that ran close to the harbor. Dozens of tons of semtex, C4, and his own special sadrisus concoction all spread like wildfire, the blast being seen from all sections of the city- and, if not seen, heard. Boats in the harbor would sink, shipworkers would burst into fits of wild and unruly laughter shortly before death, and warehouses would rock with the impact of the explosion. Cataclysmic would've been an understatement.

"Well... That happened." Licking his blood red lips maniacally, Curve whipped back around to the incoming soldiers. "C'mon, kids! There's enough o' us to go around!" Laugh echoing through the streets, he ran headfirst into the crowd, shotgun firing wildly. The boom that he had made was not the only one- all around the city, explosions were going off, sending skyscrapers crashing down all around. The end of the world was coming, and all of it was being contained in the heart of Gothic City.

Eureka

"EEENIE-MEEENIE, MINIE-MOE..." A yelling could be heard from one of the still-standing buildings as the ever loyal servant of Curve aimed carefully, whistling to herself as she went about her business. In her hands, a large and rather heavy bazooka sat uncomfortably- dangerously leaning from side to side as the girl desperately tried to line up her shot. "Be a snipa, Curvey said. It'll be fun, Curvey said." Muttering to herself, she fired the large gun, the kick sending her flying back onto her rear as the shot was made. The rocket sailed, and- to much luck- found it's mark, sending several bits and pieces of one of Satar's men scattering everywhere. "Yippee!" The girl yelled aloud, pumping her fist loosely into the air.

Eureka wanted to please her boss. After all, that's where her paychecks were from. Dropping the huge rocket launcher, she stood- trying to find her next target warily and walking about the rooftop with care. "The boss said, if I don't make a hun'red kills by dawn, I'll be fired. Got's to break a hun'red, got's to break a hun'red..." The clown-princess repeated to herself quietly, New York accent showing greatly as she spoke mostly to herself. And, after a long time, she indeed found her next mark. Some big ka-blooeys, all going on in one main place. Robot-guys, monster-guys, and... soldier-guys. All locked in mortal combat. Giggling, Eureka picked a target, the huge maniac that was taking on everyone else, and lifted the huge bazooka once more- now, with a plan.

"A'righty, for the killcam!" Voice dripping with surprising malice, the girl ran and leaped off of the side of the building, letting go of the rocket launcher as she flipped through the air to ease her fall. Bringing in her knees, she somersaulted throughout the air like a trapeze artist on cocaine, stretching out at the last second to catch the rocket launcher and land before firing. Normally the fall would kill any average joe, but with the sadrisus flowing throughout her veins, pain was nothing. "720 M-L-G quickscope, mistah!" The words screeched from the girl's gut as Eureka fired, unknowingly sending the rocket straight for the face of @satar.

"Boys, we gots a party ova here!" She yelled into her radio, before winking at the people nearby. They didn't look friendly. Then again, around here, nobody did. Deep down, Eureka only hoped that reinforcements would get there in time... Otherwise, she'd be screwed, big-time.

"Organizations like Maverick, they're becoming better at being heroes than the likes of Allegiance and Turisas. Where are they? Where's all those costumed freaks when you want them to show the most? Makes it a lot more profitable from news coverage,"

Again, Mr. Harvey sighed, but he made it into his favorite chair this time. His bodyguards lit another cigar for him, the largest one in the back standing completely quiet.

"What's the matter? What, you want out there? They're not ready for you. This is just one step on the road to something greater. This is the beginning of a war that will remind people just why those idiots dress up in pajamas and fight crime on a daily basis. This will remind people that corporations like Maverick are just a phase. There's crime, there's justice. Villains and heroes. If I gotta play up one side, I gotta be on the other. It just works like that."

Heh. I remember when I used to believe that. Back when I was apart of "Gothic's Finest." It used to all be so black and white. You have the good guys who try to make the city better and the bad guys who try to make it worse for their own gain. Sometimes, I'm not really so sure about what I'm doing.

His eyes scan the streets, empty, devoid of activity. People, suffering as the city is consumed by a wave of crime and anarchy once more. Many dead. What more could people want from this city? There is nothing left to take. His vast, technologically induced sight and hearing, enabled to see and hear throughout the city. He could hear it all suffer.

But this is just, wrong.

The former officer, stood on his platform, jumping to descend to save as many as he could, as the city remained in peril, and a war raged in the Ghettos.

Gothic had become a war zone and it was in part, because of them, because they'd stolen their weapons and now were using them to harm and terrorize people. Why? For reasons of nothing more than to wish to terrorize people, mostly innocent. Not just warring with other gangs like Cartels in Mexico would do, but simply harming people for no greater justification than to simply "purge the weak" like the endless amounts of Darwinist, tyrants and terrorists.

And he is going to go down just like the rest of the Darwinists,Tyrants and Terrorists.

The group has been busy, reclaiming stolen Maverick weaponry and trying to establish their own foothold within the city as the area near the Mayor's office became the residence of a local militia. A group of people trained at the last minute and simply given scavenged or stolen guns lying about or taken from Arms dealing shipments. They numbered in the thousands, and their objective was not to conquer but only to protect while some of the squad went about. Ultimately, the area was still under VS-6's protection but now, they had a some help of their own.

On a rooftop, a group of Vengeance Squad Six gathers, awaiting a supply drop. Soon, one is delivered from the heavens, delivered from orbit. A crate smashing into the ground, as the group opens it among their territory on top of a Hospital, filled with the most injured. The crate opens, as they gear up. Preparing for what was to come. Speaking among themselves they move nimbly and swiftly, grappling through the city with honed finesse.

"Few years back, I probably would have been one of them. One of the Bulls. Or a mercenary. I was getting the sh** kicked out of me by the first Vengeance and then thrown in jail not too soon before, then I broke out. You'da told me back then I'd be slingin' on a cape like him? Guess you could say...I'd have called you bats*** insane."

"Heh heh. Similar thing. I remember when I booked capes trying to mimick him who did stupid crap. We'd make jokes about all of 'em in the office. Hell, some people still do."

"It's sort of a symbolic thing, the outfit. It's all meant to mean something. Give people something to look up to. To aspire to."

"Aspire to be like what? Thee Champion? Not like we can crack continents with our fists. And I mean, look what we are? Modeled after Dark Vengeance. He never really gave me a sense of hope, or inspiration. More, some guy for Crooks to fear. Pendragon? Now, commissioner was something you could aspire to. Even this Vengeance is just as loony, if not more so. You saw what he did to the kid. I know he was a thug but....he's just a kid, born in a bad place that made into something bad. Growing up here, in a place like this? I don't see how a lot of flowers can grow, if you know what I mean. They get stamped out. Look at what's happening now."

"Can't we inspire fear and hope at the same time? Think it's about time we change what Vengeance is seen as. Or, try at least."

The men soon, were on the Verge of splitting off. All about different areas to try to save people who were nearing death. All the while, others of the strikeforce moved for Satar, their mission? To secure Dragonfang.

"Begin Operation."

@satar@dragonfang_@_vex_@rapax @Everyonewhoistheretonotice:Pnottagginganyonemorethannecessarycauseimthatstealth

They moved swiftly through the Baadaba beast's area of the city, jumping along the rooftops and maneuvering with ease through the chaos of the city, slipping beneath notice as they'd already entered, amidst the chaos, they sought to exploit this.

Sound itself, was negated completely. Hardly a soul could hear as bullets whirred through the air and already, the Squad was sweeping through the base. Men who were anywhere near DragonFang, fell in an instant as a storm of homing rounds moved about the room, their velocity cracking the air as they sought out the surrounding Bulls near the target. They didn't wish to garner the attention of the others as they did land, and so simply opted for Dragonfang.

One lone VS-6 member had landed after the gamma ray burst from Satar had subsided (Cannot be autohit or controlled by anyone else.) This lone man, only one of the squad, was the death dealer who was so capable of clearing out a room alone in milliseconds as he appeared from seemingly nowhere.

He switched rounds with a flip of a switch as the gun then fired a shaped charge, easily enough to put holes in a tank and pierce inches of steel, it would suffice to easily destroy any conventional material and if done right.

The floor shook, as soon, someone else appeared, yet another who wished to attack Satar. All the more to distract him, as the VS-6 member sought to stealthily make it off with Dragonfang and whisk her off to safety.

@ananke: @rapax: @thief_king: @awesomekill15: @ironphantom: @apex_: @frank_scaletta:@lady_grimm: @_vex_

Xae was finally caught off guard, the gamma shock-wave hit before she or her armor could respond and sent her flying backwards through a brick wall. Her armor and then the kinetic absorption material beneath it took the brunt of both the blast and the impact with the brick wall. The radiation was absorbed by her armored suit as well. She had designed the armor to deal with any conceivable weapon she might encounter and that included vast amounts of radiation.

Xae stood up slowly in the wreckage of the building and used a neural impulse to tell her armor to run a self diagnostic. 87% ArmorIntegrity.Great...I need to work on that, radiation does too much damage to it too easily. Maybe I can make a better alloy. Deal with it later though. Xae strode out of the wreckage of the building and looked down at her pistol. The weapon had fared much worse than her armor and was a mangled mess. She shook her head and ejected the power core from the bottom of the handle. The core was shaped like the pistol grip. She jerked the safety wires from the core, immediately sending it into a cataclysmic cascade that would see the core overloading in less than thirty seconds. The Mysterious Xae tightened her grip on the core and sent it flying with a powerful throw that sent it end over end towards Satar. She didn't expect a sudden release of plasma to kill him but it might distract him while the others dealt with the explosion and tried to find ways to fight him themselves.

Xae had to get into the combat now before things got worse for everyone else. She slipped into the shadows and took to hunting instead of standing in the open. She moved swiftly through the ruins and darkness around them in a flanking maneuver. She expected Satar to be aware of what she was doing, he seemed more than capable with all the abilities he had. Even so, if she moving through the shadows made him think about more, she might force him into making a mistake. Either way when she was close enough she leaped from the shadows and landed at his side, lashing out with the diamond sharp claws built into the hands of her suit. Xae was not fearless, but she wasn't afraid of him or his size. She had fought worse, she had seen worse. It was one of the benefits...and curses...of having fought in a war for more than a thousand years. What others saw as a monster she saw as just another in a long line of enemies that believed themselves superior.

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Perhaps Satar had finally made a mistake. He had been paying full attention to the ground, his traps had been designed to fight on the ground...everything he had done had taken the ground into account. Perhaps he had forgotten the winged warriors from his previous encounter. He wouldn't now though. Luna Hawk arrived on the scene, just at the maximum range of her weapon over seven hundred meters away. Her HUD helped steady her aim and she brought her weapon up to brace it on her shoulder.

Luna Hawk squeezed the trigger carefully. The gun hummed to life and coils built into the weapon energized. The one shot power core was instantly drained and power charged into the coils. Particles within the gun were stripped of an electron and excited by the coils. Each coil activated in turn, stripping additional particles and reducing them to an electrical neutral state. The hydrogen atoms built up within the core of the weapon with the activation of each coil until at last the weapon was prepared...and released its beam.

The Particle Projection Cannon was a difficult weapon to use and more difficult one to build. In general she used it sparingly and considered it her greatest achievement. The weapon had been designed and built by using material discarded on Earth by the numerous alien invasions that had hit the planet over the years. The particle beam fired at very nearly the speed of light and would strike whatever it hit with the kinetic energy of twelve gigajoules. Rather than spread the damage out like an explosion the beam contained the devastating impact within an area the size of a man's fist. Luna Hawk had chosen her position carefully and fired from his left flank as he charged towards Dark Vengeance holding some sort of robot. The beam was aimed to strike Satar and nothing else.

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Other Hawks were present in the fighting as well. Sentinel Hawk had taken up position behind the battlefield and stood on the ledge of a building as she waited for the signal to attack. When Luna Hawk finally sent the message she knelt down and picked up the first of a series of spears crafted from Nth Metal and tipped a neurological poison designed to shut down the central nervous system within less than a minute. She picked up the weapon carefully, steadied herself and flung it at Satar's back. They knew by now that he had at least one backup nervous system, but none of the Hawks intended to go for a home run killing strike. Everything they had decided on was meant to chip away at his defensive abilities and leave him vulnerable. They would take his ability to plan and use it against him by using the one thing he had neglected to consider...the sky.

By fighting from multiple angles and ignoring his compatriots they planned to either overload his senses with too many options, too many attacks and too many directions to deal with or overwhelm his defenses with a powerful series of attacks each meant to cripple a different aspect of his abilities as they had been observed to this point. Even more so Luna and Sentinel Hawk were far enough from the fighting that his attacks to this point had not only not considered their presence, but failed to reach them anyway.

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Wes was the last to join the fray. He came flying in on his Strata Cycle. The flying vehicle opened fire with powerful laser blasts aimed for Satar's back as well. His approach was less stealthy than the others unfortunately, the craft made a great deal of noise as he flew in from across the city. The four laser blasts he had time to unleash were powerful enough to instantly kill a normal foe, but Satar was no normal foe. Wes didn't like the idea of killing but had been re-assured by Luna Hawk that the weapons fire wouldn't kill Satar anyway.

Wes expected to make a second run but as the second power ranger to enter the fray he immediately drew the attention of Sahi. Sahi had used the ring to create the shields as ordered by Satar but the ring burned on her finger, it was like wearing a steak while starving to death. She hated its presence and wanted desperately to consume it. She also knew if she did kill it it was possible Satar would be furious with her. As such she instead kept it on her finger for the time being. When Wes came flying it she lashed out with it, creating a jade blade that sliced through the Strata Cycle like a knife through butter.

He fell from the sky, leaping off the Strata Cycle and rolling to his feet next to the White Ranger @awesomekill15. The Red Time Force Ranger took up an immediate defensive position and seeing a sword already in play he summoned his Chrono Sabers. "Chrono Sabers!" He commanded, the two weapons appealed in his hands. He looked for a moment at the White Ranger, astounded to see a myth standing beside him. "Let's do this!" He said enthusiastically.

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edit: @satar

(Forgot one, lol)

Solar Hawk had more difficulty with everything so far, the Sarin Gas threatened to creep through her armor but she was lucky in that it was fully intact. She coughed a few times but her own regenerative abilities were enough to fight off the tiny bit of gas that managed to get through the armor. The gamma explosion was a different problem all together, so was the friction explosion. The White Lantern was sent backwards where she crashed into the ground and was soon consumed by the gamma explosion before she could even rise to her feet again. Her armor suffered the most, brutally damaged but intact.

Solar Hawk ignored the fact that her wings had been badly burned, shunting the pain from her mind and letting them begin the process of healing. She grit her teeth and stood back up. Solar Hawk charged the newly enlarged Satar without concern or fear. She charged both her mace and her sword and launched a series of attacks, one with each weapon, that suggested she had a surprising command of the awkward dual wielding combination. Her sword aimed to carve through his chest and a moment later she followed up with an attempted strike from her mace intending to crush his skull like a Mellon. Her attacks had the power of superhuman strength behind them, plus the fifty thousand volts of electricity each weapon had been charged with. Unlike the others she wasn't aiming to chip away at his defensive abilities, but to fight him the only way Solar Hawk ever really knew how...brutally and with every ounce of ability she had.

She used the White Lantern ring to shield herself from possible counter attacks, aware that her armor was badly damaged, but more than that she charged the energy into her surroundings, sending a wave of healing energy out behind her as she charged to try and help anyone harmed by the recent gamma explosion without causing any positive effects for the enemies in front of her.