Sophistemon

That works for me. Heck, presumably Ethan could fly it down and park it in the lot -- that'd make an impression, for sure.

Presto felt conflict squeeze at his heart. He couldn't cast another spell without lowering the barrier and putting himself at risk, but nor could he allow Baku to be subjected to the predatory nature of Warne's subconscious guardian-monster. He shook his head. That was coward's talk... and besides, his suit could probably absorb any bullets that came his way. Not to mention he knew quite a few spells that could knit flesh and rebuild bone. "Baku!" he shouted. "Hold on -- curl up! Becker, I'm going to lower the shield; get ready to hold them off!" The Hand of Lloigor was a tetchy spell, to be sure, and one that had caused Samuel no small amount of trouble in the past. It was, in a very real way, the very spell that had sent him sprinting down the path to villainy in the first place. But he'd practiced it since, almost religiously, and conquering the notoriously difficult bit of magic had made him feel more powerful than ever before. The magician sucked a breath and released his hold on the mystic barrier, which collapsed behind him. He ducked behind some debris, attempting to put something between himself and the guards, and pointed his wand at the monster. More specifically, he pointed his wand at the little dog in the monster's grasp. He imagined a hand, invisible and grasping, with thin fingers that closed tightly -- but not too tightly -- around Baku. Carefully, sweat beading along his brow, he willed the Hand of Lloigor to grip the Dreamweaver and pull him free of the creature's hold.

Ethan paused, finished unwrapping his stick of gum, held the pack out to Warne, and smiled mid-chew. "I'd love to take the AMP," he said. His voice was moderately wistful, and it was obvious that he viewed the machine the way other men might view their car or motorcycle. It had become a natural extension of his body, malfunctions and all, and he couldn't help but feel at home within the cockpit. "I don't see why we couldn't have the best of both worlds," he mused. "Good old Roosevelt: 'Speak softly, and carry a big stick.' The threat of force can be as persuasive as actually throwing the punch." He frowned. "Besides, I'm practically useless without it when we're dealing with elevated threat levels." Ethan shrugged. "Ultimately, it's not up to me. It's the boss's call -- I don't own the AMP." He chuckled. "Though it'd be nice if I did."

Player Name: Sophistemon. Character Name: Upgrade. Power Level: PL10/11 158/166PP. Trade-Offs: -5 Defense, +5 Toughness. Unspent Power Points: 8 In Brief: An AEGIS agent pilots a walking tank in defense of Truth, Justice, and the American Way. Residence: Freedom City (Lonely Point Naval Base). Base of Operations: Lonely Point Naval Base. Catchphrase: “It's time for a little shock and awe.” Alternate Identity: Ethan Stone. Identity: Secret / Classified. Birthplace: Eglin Air Force Base (roughly three miles away from Valparaiso, Florida). Occupation: AEGIS agent tasked with piloting the X-09 Armored Mobility Platform. Affiliations: AEGIS, the USAF, DARPA, and the DoD. Family: Meryl Stone (wife), Lilly Stone (daughter). Description: Ethan Stone is a tall, athletic man with bright blue eyes, cropped black hair, and an easy smile. As Upgrade he pilots the X-09 Armored Mobility Platform, an enormous suit of chrome powered-armor designed to showcase the very latest of America's experimental weapons technology. Age: 35. Apparent Age: Mid-thirties. Gender: Male. Ethnicity: Caucasian (European-American). Height: 6’2”. Weight: 185bs. Eyes: Blue. Hair: Black. Power Descriptions: The X-09 AMP has been equipped with a staggering array of cutting-edge weaponry, nearly impenetrable armored plating, reactive defenses, strength augmentation, supersonic flight, and an autonomous repair system – all powered by a uniquely compacted LFTR thorium reactor. History: Seven years ago USAF pilot Ethan Stone was shot down over enemy territory and spent three weeks trapped behind enemy lines. Despite overwhelming odds he managed to evade capture, sabotage multiple enemy installations, and eventually commandeer the aircraft with which he made his daring escape. The escapade resulted in a recruitment offer from AEGIS and his competency there made him worthy to serve his nation in a new way: as the pilot of the X-09 AMP, known to the world as Upgrade. Personality & Motivation: Ethan Stone has dreamed of flying since he was a very small child and his choice of career was no surprise. Fittingly, he has a light and breezy personality backed by a steely, patriotic determination to see things through. As Upgrade he is intended to serve as equal parts a superhero and piece of living propaganda. The AMP is designed to show the American citizen that their government doesn't have to rely on supernatural powers: a man and his machine are more than enough. Powers & Tactics: Although Ethan Stone doesn't have super-powers of his own, he is a highly skilled agent of AEGIS and his training makes him more than a match for most mundane opponents. As Upgrade he has access to an indestructible war-machine equipped with state of the art weaponry. In combat Upgrade will position his substantial bulk between his enemies and any noncombatants in the area before attempting to overcome his foes with all of the force afforded to him by superior firepower. Complications: Accident -- The X-09 AMP is more of a vehicle than a suit and its size can be disadvantageous. Honor -- As propaganda, Upgrade is expected to conduct himself in a manner befitting a hero. Responsibility -- Upgrade's actions are beholden to the whims of the Department of Defense. Abilities: 4 + 4 + 4 + 2 + 4 + 2 = 20PP Strength: 14 (+2) Dexterity: 14 (+2) Constitution: 14 (+2) Intelligence: 12 (+1) Wisdom: 14 (+2) Charisma: 12 (+1) Combat: 20 + 20 = 20PP Initiative: +10 (+2 Base, +8 Improved Initiative) Attack: +6 Melee, +6 Ranged Grapple: +8 / +16 Defense: +5 (+4 Base, +1 Dodge Focus), +3 Flat-Footed Knockback: -7 Saving Throws: 4 + 6 + 4 = 14PP Toughness: +2 / +15 (+2 Con, +13 Protection) Fortitude: +6 (+2 Con, +4) Reflex: +8 (+2 Dex, +6) Will: +6 (+2 Wis, +4) Skills: 72R = 18PP Bluff 4 (+5) Computers 4 (+5) Craft: Electronic 4 (+5) Craft: Mechanical 4 (+5) Diplomacy 8 (+9) Disable Device 4 (+5) Escape Artist 4 (+6) Gather Information 4 (+5) Knowledge: Technology 8 (+9) Notice 8 (+10) Pilot 4 (+6) Search 8 (+9) Sense Motive 4 (+6) Stealth 4 (+6) Feats: 18PP Accurate Attack All-Out Attack Benefit (Agent of AEGIS) Dodge Focus Fearless Improved Aim Improved Defense Improved Grab Improved Grapple Improved Initiative 2 Improved Overrun Improved Pin Luck 3 Move-by Action Power Attack Powers: 73 = 73PP Device 18 (Hard-to-Lose, Limited to Group (Training), All Technology, 90PP Container) [73PP] Power: Primary Array (32PP Array) [37PP] Base Power: Healing 10 (Extras: Action 2; Flaw: Personal; Feats: Persistent, Regrowth) [32PP] Alternate Power: Corrosion 10 (Feats: Accurate 2) [1PP] Alternate Power: Damage 10 (Extra: Area Cone, Selective; Feats: Homing 2) [1PP] Alternate Power: Blast 10 (Extra: Autofire 1; Feats: Accurate 2) [1PP] Alternate Power: Blast 10 (Extra: Penetrating; Feats: Accurate 2) [1PP] Alternate Power: Snare 10 (Extra: Backlash; Feats: Accurate 2) [1PP] Power: Secondary Array (16PP Array) [19PP] Dynamic Base Power: Flight 8 (Max speed of 2,500mph) [17PP] Dynamic Alternate Power: Super-Strength 8 (+40 STR carrying capacity, +8 to some checks) Power: Immunity 9 (Life Support) [9PP] Disease, Poison, all Environmental Conditions, & Suffocation Power: Protection 13 [13PP] Power: Super-Senses 12 [12PP] Danger Sense: Vision, Darkvision, Direction Sense, Extended Type: Vision (-1 per 100ft), Infravision, Radio, Radius Type: Vision, Tracking: Infravision 2 (normal movement speed) Drawbacks: (-5) = -5PP Disability -- Oversized Build (Uncommon, Minor) [-1] Normal Identity -- Activation Sequence (Common, Major) [-4] DC Block: ATTACK RANGE SAVE EFFECT Unarmed Strike 2 Touch DC17 Toughness (Staged) Damage (Bludgeon) Corrosion 10 Touch DC25/20 Toughness (Staged)/Fortitude Damage/Drain (Technological) Damage 10 Touch DC25/20 Toughness (Staged)/Reflex Damage (Technological) Blast 10 100ft DC25 Toughness (Staged) Damage (Technological) Snare 10 100ft DC20 Reflex (Staged) Snare (Technological) Totals: Abilities (20) + Combat (20) + Saving Throws (14) + Skills (18) + Feats (18) + Powers (73) - Drawbacks (5) = 158/166 Power Points. Movement Notes: Flight -- 2,500 mph / 22,000 ft per round. Jumping -- Running Jump 12 ft, Standing Jump 6 ft, High Jump 3 ft. Throwing Distance -- 22.4 tons 5 feet, 100 lbs 2500 feet, 10 lbs 1.9 miles. Carrying Capacity Notes: Light Load -- 7.5 tons. Medium Load -- 14.9 tons. Heavy Load -- 22.4 tons. Maximum Load -- 44.8 tons. Push/Drag -- 112 tons.

Sam followed the shouted advice and took off like a rabbit -- a wild hair, not a tame one -- for the exit. He had to keep his mind focused on the barrier, the one thing that made them bullet-proof, but as usual his mouth was running independently of his brain. "Baku!" he shouted. "Baku, Baku, Baku! We've got to get out of here; this place is going to kill us!" Something shifted beneath his feet. The floor shook, slightly, and then there was that squealing sound, like stretching metal. "It's here," he whispered, gorge rising. "Becker, it's here! It's coming! What do we do?"

Ethan reached out and grasped the Gas Man's hand in his own, calloused, fingers. The agent had a working-man's hand, banged up and scuffed by years of good labor. After Warne had his say, Stone shook the hand and then released it before speaking. "You're doing the right thing," he told the bounty hunter. "It might not feel like it now, with the circumstances being what they are, but this is the way to go. You'll see that soon, if you don't already." He smiled, genuinely, and then leaned back in his chair, which creaked under the strain. "I want to thank you for your cooperation, pal. It'll mean a lot, as things go on."

The Narrator spoke, drawing the three once again into the story of the Grinch on Mount Crumpit and the Whos down in Whoville, detailing their ongoing rivalry, clash, and eventual reconciliation. It's a touching story, as it was made to be, and interrupted only rarely by the occasional clattering sound from the kitchen and once, towards the end of the film, by a muffled thump on the roof. Ethan lifts his gaze from the television and looks up, chewing on the interior of his lip. His brows knit together in a look of confusion, and he's about to turn to Warne and ask if he'd heard it when his daughter speaks up. "Santa?" she asks, her voice a hopeful whisper. "Daddy, was that Santa? He's early!" Her father glances down at her, his look of concern replaced by an easy smile. "It's probably just some snow shifting, doll. You know Santa won't even leave the North Pole until after you're in bed."

Spells whirled through Presto's mind, pried by force from ancient tombs and scrawled carved into the dusty walls of dark and forbidden temples. There were so many options he could choose from, from the simplest -- simply teleporting to the door, and leaving Becker to fend them off -- to the more elaborate. He shook his head. She may not be real, in a physical sense, but as a magician Samuel knew that physicality wasn't the only way to gauge that sort of thing. Just because you cannot see a thing does not mean it doesn't exist, after all. He couldn't just leave her, not after she'd bothered to help him. And besides which, what kind of a hero leaves a damsel (even one so capable as Becker) in distress? And so, with a flourish of his wand, Presto the Preposterous conjured up a shimmering wall of opalescent metal that barred that barreled through the cubicles, knocking through them and providing additional and relocatable cover. "There," he said. "Will that work?"

The Colonel couldn't help but smile, though it was only barely noticeable due to the fleshy concrete of his face. A slight twitch of the lips was all the indication there was that he was please by their enthusiasm. "I'm glad to see you all well and rested," he said, speaking to everyone at once. "All right, let's get you all up to speed. While you rested, our investigations revealed that the home located above the Fanatic's lair is registered to a Mrs. Shondra Brown -- Gabriela's mother." He reached down, opened a folder, and revealed an 8x10 portrait of a smiling woman, posed with her family. A man stands beside her, and two children are knelt down in front. All of them are smiling and dressed in identical white turtlenecks. Chalmers moves a thick, stubby finger to the man, who Warne immediately recognizes as having appeared previously in another photograph, the one he'd found in Gabby's apartment. "Shondra was married to the late Jacob Brown. He died of liver failure in 2003 and left behind his wife and two children. Gabriella, the eldest who Agent Warne has... almost met, and his younger son Jason. We did some digging and found out Jacob worked in Hollywood during the 80s, before his drinking cost him the friends he needed to stay in the business. He worked in special effects; animatronics, mostly." He looked up, his eyes spearing the group. "You can guess which movies he hand a hand in making. It looks like he found work in Freedom City as a systems engineer before cirrhosis took him." Chalmers sighed. "Anyway. It's a very solid lead, and a strong connection to what's going on. If the Fanatic is Gabby Brown, then we know where she is, or at least where she will be."

It wasn't just a Christmas tree -- it was the Christmas tree, the one you picture when you read those words and your brain fills up with the remembered scent of pine. Tall, green, festooned with tinsel and those multi-chromatic metallic baubles, it dominated a corner of the room... and was completely empty underneath. Santa hadn't arrived yet, you see, and so the presents were as of yet undelivered. This was a mass-produced home, created to house those who lived and worked on or nearby the Lonely Point Naval Base, and so there was no fireplace, nor a chimney. Instead, stockings were hung -- with care -- from a coat-rack mounted on the wall. There were five pegs, but only three stockings, hung with a spare peg between them. These, too, were as empty as the floor beneath the tree and for the very same reason. There was a cabinet in the corner dedicated to celebrating the Stone family's accomplishments. Spelling bee championships were arranged alongside college diplomas earned by Lilly and athletic trophies earned by Ethan, who had opted to forgo higher education in lieu of pursuing his dreams of flight. The pilot stood behind Warne and pointed to a diploma commemorating Meryl's MAeD. "She keeps telling me to go back to school on the G.I. Bill," he explained. "But I just don't have the time. Besides, could you picture me doing homework? I barely made it through through school the first time! Thank God for sports..." He coughed, catching himself, as Lilly glanced over. "Don't you go getting any ideas, now; it's the goal of a parent to have their children surpass them, which means you've got to be smarter than you mom and cooler than me." Lilly shook her head. "Nuh-uh, daddy; can't do it -- mommy's too smart." Ethan smiled. "Yeah, maybe so." Then, a moment later, he realized the jibe. "Hey!" Lilly giggled, then took a seat on the easy-chair, which left the couch for the two AEGIS agents. "Want to take a seat while we wait? It shouldn't be long, but maybe we could find something on the tube." "The Grinch!" Lilly chimed. "Daddy, the Grinch!" Ethan chuckled. "I was always more of a Santa Claus Conquers the Martians kind of kid, but sure; we'll try to find the Grinch. That okay with you, Warne?"

"Honestly," agreed Ethan. "It's not the Wild West anymore. You can't just pull a portrait off the saloon wall and go swaggering after them -- there are rules in place." He grinned, genuinely friendly again. "And when you don't follow the rules, you wind up in rooms like this, talking to people like us. And I can tell by the look on your face you're not having a good time. So, what do you say: want to help us out and put an end to all this? I can't make any promises, but hey; there are benefits to cooperation!"

The breath was knocked out of the magician's lungs twice in the span of three seconds. Becker crashing into him caused the first, his crashing into the ground caused the second. So frustrated was Presto that he couldn't help himself, and a bitter quip slipped from his mouth before he could muster the will to censor. "You know," he growled. "I'm really starting to dislike that guy." He slid himself behind a cubicle of his own and motioned for Becker to follow him into momentary safety. That done, he reached his wand up over the cubical wall and launched another burst of freezing cold at the silent sentinels. Imaginary or not, he didn't want to risk causing any harm -- permanent harm, anyway -- to Warne's subconscious. So far as Sam was concerned, the other man was damaged enough. "What now?" he shouted. "He's getting away!"

Olopi, I just wanted to confirm that Blarghy and I are on the right track with the interrogation.

"Good choice!" Ethan said, and there was the brief clinking of glassware while he poured his guest a drink. He locked up the cabinet and then handed it over. "This'll warm you up, huh?" he asked, and laughed a bit. "That's to start. After dinner, we'll relax with some of Grandma Stone's patented eggnog recipe. May God rest that woman, she knew how to have a holly-jolly Christmas." He grinned, and his wife giggled at the oven. "It's too strong," she complained, with only partial seriousness. "I think granny might have had a problem." She turned to face Warne and wagged a finger in his direction. "And, no, you can't help. You're a guest! Your only job is to sit down, snack while dinner's finishing up, and enjoy yourself. It'll be just a few more minutes." She waved a hand at the counter, which was laden down with cookies, some fudge, and a largely untouched vegetable platter. "Ethan, you're cluttering up my kitchen. Why not take mister Warne to the living room? You can put that present under the tree while you're there." "Oh boy," said her husband, snapping to attention. He threw her a rapid salute and clicked his heels together. "Yes, sir! Right away, sir!" He reached over, grabbed himself a cookie -- chocolate chip, never oatmeal raisin -- and motioned for his partner to do the same. "C'mon, then. We might as well get out of her way. Lilly, you're with me! Come along, doll." His daughter nodded, grabbed herself a square of fudge, and then slipped down off the chair.

"Oh," sighed the magician. And then, more loudly: "Oh, you little bastard. Baku!" He hissed the last word, hoping to stall the creature's escape. "Baku, wait! We've got to get out of here!" He pointed his wand at the fleeing monkey and spoke a word of power, conjuring the icy winds and freezing cold of Ithaqua and throwing that elemental force at the creepy little beast with all the force of a mid-winter storm. If it hit, the dreamweaver would be incased in an icy crystal, immobile and infinitely less dangerous.

The nearest AEGIS agent was the projectionist, and he swallowed loudly when Warne stomped into the booth, mildly red-faced with irritation following his interaction with the plasticine Punchline. The man stood, his back straight as a pole, and saluted after receiving his orders before turning smartly on his heel. He raced down the winding, labyrinthine hallways of the building until he found Colonel Chalmers, still in his office, attempting to make his way through a towering pile of paperwork. After reciting Warne's message verbatim -- to terrified of the man to do any less, after having seen him fling the clown into a wall with enough force to shatter bones -- he is dismissed, and makes his way back, not to the viewing room, but to his previous assignment. Time passes. Minutes go by, then an hour, before Chalmer's voice (gruff and heavy, like the man himself) booms through the intercom. "Agent Warne," he says. "Miracle Girl, Sea Devil, and... Clown-Man. I've passed the information you've gathered on to our boys in the back. I wanted to make sure, before we ran a scan of the city, that this Fanatic character wasn't in our systems. I'm happy to say, our sweeps don't show any evidence of outsider interference in the AEGIS computers. The scan will start momentarily, and I just want to thank you for your hard work. I know this isn't exactly what I'd call a normal assignment, what with the fictitious nature of the victims, and I appreciate you taking it seriously. Mostly seriously. With some seriousness. Why don't you come to the briefing room while the scan's being run? We'll arrange for some food, and you can rest up before your engagement with the Fanatic." Time passes. Hours pass while satellites sweep the city for a residence matching Punchline's description, one that also shows signs of subterranean construction. Food is brought, a cornucopia feast of take-out Chinese, pizza, Mexican and cheeseburgers. Punchline himself partakes of the latter-most, unwrapping a Beefy Burger and scarfing it down in two large, cheek-bulging bites. He seems a creature of Id, the clown, mostly obsessed with his own amusement and base desires. It's good to know, if perhaps not exactly comforting, that he's on the side of the angels. While they eat, Warne broods. Miracle Girl checks her social media. Sea Devil smells faintly of brine, and Punchline is content enough to leave the others alone. He appears to realize that he's out of his depth and, besides the sounds of eating, doesn't speak unless spoken to, a type of miracle if ever there was such a thing. Time passes. The scan completes, and Colonel Chalmers himself enters the briefing room with another manila envelope full of pictures, which he places on the table atop an empty pizza box. "We've got it," he says.

Okay, excellent; I like the plan.

Ethan frowned, momentarily, before his features smoothed. He reached up and ran fingers through his hair so that it fell back against his scalp in short spikes. "I've never gone after a bounty," he said, sounding calm. "I've never looked into it, but I'd guess there have to be ways to verify these things, right? Don't bounty hunters go after criminal fugitives? Folk's who've posted bail but then didn't appear in court? I remember hearing that somewhere." He locked eyes with the Gas Man. "So, when you say that Bonfire's bounty looked legit... you mean to imply that you didn't check? You didn't give local law enforcement a call and say, 'Hey, I've got this bounty here for a super-hero, and I want to make sure it's real?' That thought didn't cross your mind?" He looked over at Warne with a face of incredulity. "Am I wrong? Am I going crazy? Green Dragon I can understand -- known criminal, thief, and all-around baddy. But Bonfire? He's a kid! A super-powered blogger!" Stone shook his head. "I don't buy it. You're playing ignorantly innocent, and I don't buy that." He sighed. "That said, your lack of professionalism isn't really the point here, is it?"

Meryl laughed, and it filled the room like the tinkling of a silver bell. There was no wonder, now, why Ethan had fallen for the woman that stood before them. Even if she'd been homely instead of comely... with a laugh like that, love was the inevitable result. "Don't be like that," she told the senior agent. "My husband's an excellent judge of character; that's why he married me." As she spoke, Ethan stepped to the side. "Introductions are in order," he said. "Meryl, this is Agent James Warne, my associate at the L-P-N base. He and I collaborate now and again on, eh..." He raised his shoulders in a shrug. "Classified stuff, honey; you know how it is. Mostly, he helps the brass field-test the newly developed technology that I consult on." He turned to Adept. "Warne, this is my wife, Meryl. My daughter, Lilly, you've already met." The girl, who had been pilfering a treat from a Santa-shaped cookie jar on the counter, smiled with crumb-dusted lips at the mention of her name. Ethan turned and strode towards a locked cabinet tucked into a corner, opposite the refrigerator. He reached into his pocket, withdrew a keyring, and said "Can I get you anything, Warne? I've been nursing a bourbon, but I've got wine, vodka, even a brandy in here if that's more your speed." He opened the doors and started shifting bottles. "Oh, cognac! How long have you been hiding there?"

The magician nodded, brown eyes clouding over until they resembled burnished silver. He let the wand slip from his sleeve and into his hand. He took it in a familiar grip, and felt power flow through him. He sometimes hated his dependency on the wand, sometimes loved it -- it was such an iconic image of magic that he might have used one even if he didn't need to. "Okay," he said. "Okay, I think I'm ready." He called to mind the spell he'd need, to conjure up the ice and cold and direct it in chain-link bands to ensnare his adversary. At the same time, he felt guilty. If he hadn't defeated the little monster so thoroughly last time, if he had left him with some dignity to salve the sting of loss... too late for that now. He would be quick, clean, and merciful in his victory this time. He wouldn't fly off the handle again. And when everything was over, perhaps he could convince the dreamweaver that there was value in a truce.

This is less a series of edits than a complete overhaul, so if this passes inspection please don't hesitate to simply replace the current sheet with what follows below. The goal with this reassessment of the character was to emphasize simplicity. The original build was much clunkier by comparison, whereas this one should be quite a bit easier to make out. It's also much more suited to allowing Upgrade to shine at what he was intended to do: wade through enemy fire without getting a scratch in the paint, and delivering a fistful of good old-fashioned American justice to the enemy. Any additional advice you may have regarding the improvement of the build is, as always, very much appreciated. I've checked and double-checked the math, but this is me we're talking about; please confirm my numbers. If this build is acceptable, simply replace the previous sheet with the following.

Ethan laugh, a warm fearless sound that echoed slightly from the walls of the hallway. "Remind me to tell you about the time I screwed up boiling water," he told his fellow agent, and his daughter giggled in response, remembering the story. She bounced alongside them as they walked, sometimes nearer to Warne than she was to her father, but eventually entered the kitchen behind them. "That was with the gas stove, right?" asked a voice, and Warne looked away from Ethan to see a woman, all five feet and four inches of her, standing at the counter chopping a cucumber for the salad. Lilly, the daughter, had inherited her father's black, black hair but it was clear that she'd gotten her green, green eyes from Meryl Stone. Said eyes twinkled merrily on the face of the mother, who set aside the knife and dusted her hands on a floral-print apron. She extended one of them, the fingers dainty, the nails painted pink, towards the senior agent. "Merry Christmas, Agent Warne," she said. "My husband's told me so much about you; it's nice to finally meet you face to face."

The hand-off is still scheduled for the following day, though presumably today has nearly drawn to a close, what with everything that's happened. Reviewing those films took some time, you'll remember, even at double-speed. To scan Freedom City for possible locations of the Fanatic's lair would take -- I'm going to ballpark it here, if you'll forgive me -- no more than four hours to comb through major city-centers of Downtown, North, South, and West.

"You'll forgive us, I hope, if we don't shed too many tears for a bounty hunter with, at best, a half-hearted code of ethics." Ethan smouldered, irate at the Gas Man's low-key mocking. "In any case, why don't you bring us up to speed on Green; hearing it from you might end up more valuable than reading it from a file -- though I figure I'll go back and double-check everything anyway. Can't be too sure, you know, what the truth is."

When Sam saw Becker stop, he halted in his steps and watched, nervously, as she gently palmed her sidearm. Unsure of what to do, he flicked his eyes back and forth across the room, searching for signs of trouble. Ostensibly, he hadn't heard the rattle, though Becker's body-language soon instructed him on where to look. His own eyes narrowed; a mind as ordered and well-maintained as Warne's wouldn't have any rodents in residence, which meant the sound could have come from only one rational source. The magician conjured his wand, gripped towards the tip, with the remainder hidden within his sleeve -- a magician's sleeve, as we all know, can contain much more than it appears. He gave the woman mental construct a questioning look that said, in clear but unspoken terms, "What do we do now?"