Sophistemon

Great, isn't it? And, no. Even if the Pangolin wanted to defect, he doesn't have the option.

The Pangolin raised a metal finger to the blank, featureless face-plate of his helmet. "Shhh," he hissed. "They can hear you, Warne. They can hear everything. They are in me, in every circuit and every wire that permeate my body." He shrugged, the armor plating his arms rippling near liquidity as the plates rose and settles into place. "Shall we discuss pragmatism, Agent Warne? Pragmatism is me taking you up on your offer. Pragmatism is following you into an AEGIS building. Pragmatism is detonating my nuclear core and wiping you out in an atomic fireball." Hissing a laugh, he turned his back on the Man in Black and spread his arms. "Until I am myself again, I have no control. If I am a weapon, so be it. But there is no going back in a way that does not involve my benefactors. Were I to even consider your offer, they would kill me. They would kill you, and they would kill everyone in a three-mile radius. No, best we settle this in the American way -- let us clash and see who wins."

Silence. Deep, thunderous silence that echoed in Warne's ears like the roar of a thousand waves. Then, that rasping metallic voice slipped through the vortex. "If that's how it is, then fine. The world has been cruel to me, Agent Warne. If it is my destiny to endure forever with no respite, then I shall repay that cruelty a thousandfold. I shall carve a bloody swath of terror across the face of the world, one dead enemy after another. I will spell my name in a mountain of corpses before I'm done, if that's what it takes to earn my rest. I have been given power, great power. Either I get what I want, or the world gets me." That was enough. Using his telekinetic power, Warne made brief, all but imperceptible apertures in the surface of the psionic blizzard. He peered through them, and his blood went cold. The Pangolin stood partially disassembled, his chest cavity opened on a series of hinges. He was digging around inside, removing bits and pieces of himself and re-assembling them in a different configuration. The metal scrapped and hissed as it was put together and re-inserted. The android hadn't been kidding; he was more machine than man, now. Nearly nothing remained of the soldier who died in Xinjiang. Then, completely by chance, the Pangolin looked up through one of the apertures the agent had made in his artificial storm. The visor glowed red and his chest snapped shut. "I cannot help being a monster, Warne," he said. "I was built that way."

No, that won't do. I made a misstep when I didn't ask you to roll a Notice check earlier; that was my failure as a GM to provide you with information. With that in mind, I'm giving you an automatic pass on the check; no Hero Point required.

Dirk smiles pityingly at Sea Devil. "There's only one God, madam," he said. "And I'm pretty sure He doesn't bleed like that." Rhekgar straightened his spine and squared his shoulders when he heard the Brit's blasphemy, but kept his mouth shut. There was very little point, at this time, to invoke the Five Gods of Eagland. Instead, the barbarian turned to face Miracle Girl. "The Fanatic. A good name for him, for how he ranted and raved following my... capture. Still, one warrior can tell another. We've more to fear from the armor than the man inside. To think, I thought him a magician when first we fought. I know better, now; he is powered by his machines, but lacks any true strength of his own." Then, to Adept. "You want him alive? After what he's done to me, to us three? After what he has planned to do to you, and to your world?" He shook his shaggy head. "Best to crush that devious skull and be done with him. It's safer that way, for all worlds." At that, the sci-spy nodded his own head. "Too right! But, I'd say this is their jurisdiction. One obeys the law of the land, yeah?" He looked at Miracle Girl and winked. "Still, I have to say it's more up to him than me whether he ends today in cuffs or a coffin. If he doesn't quit when the quitting's good, well..." He arced a thumb at the barbarian. "I'd say a good head-crushing might be in order after all." Punchline blanched, growing even paler, and stuck out his tongue. "Eugh! Guys, come on -- let's keep things PG. This is a family picture!" Miracle Girl, for her part, spots yet another cell with her superior vision. This is a solid metal cube; iron slabs bolted together and scarred with welding lines. There are no windows, and the door is barred from the outside.

Game Master: Lights, Camera, Action! (Please allocate points to Punchline) Viva Val Verde! (Please allocate points to Presto the Preposterous) Presto the Preposterous: Psichology. Upgrade: Heavy Metal Christmas.

@Blarghy The woman smiled pleasantly and plucked a brochure from a clear plastic container sitting on the counter before her. She carefully unfolded the pamphlet and, with a felt-tipped pen, began to circle entries. /"The museum,"// she muttered, then flipped the page. /"Two restaurants, one high-class, one middle -- I do not know your spending habits, sir, but both are very good."// Another page. /"Here, a bar. Here, a club. And here... if you like some fun with your drinks."// She folded the brochure and handed it to Agent Warne with a warm smile on her painted lips. /"There you are, sir. Please, enjoy your stay in Val Verde. We will keep your room for you, regardless of whether or not you come back tonight, until your appointed check-out. Have fun!"// @Heritage Gallo brightened up at Lynn's exuberance. "Ah, you'll love it. Nice and dark, with a fine finish. We have cream, too, and sugar -- all locally sourced." He chuckled. "I'm sorry, forgive my patriotism; I'm nothing more than proud of what's been done." He turned to Sam and spread his arms. "You must tell me what you've been up to, old friend! When I heard of your imprisonment my heart broke near in two. Would that I could have helped, but the reach of my influence goes no further than the island." Sam cleared his throat. "Actually, Lynn is my employer now. I work in her bookstore, cataloguing texts. Gretchen works there, too. When I got out of prison, they took me in and gave me work. I owe them... well, everything, really. They've even found me a better place place to live than I'd managed on my own." Gallo's face went blank for a moment, processing, but then he smiled. "Working at a bookstore. Will wonders never cease, eh? We've both made changes! Big, big changes! I cannot wait to show you." He clapped his friend on the shoulder and turned to Gretchen. "You've been so quiet, little one! Tell me, what's your story? How do you like the island, Val Verde? Is it not a thing of beauty?"

The sight of the bloody axe caused Sam's head to throb in remembered pain. He could feel the weight of it splitting his skin, the sticky warmth of blood coating his hair... he shook his head and looked around. It was a madhouse of activity, as plant-infected people assaulted Warne and his friend. "Starting to understand why you're so damn grim," he murmured. Then he felt bad about it, because even that little spit of sarcasm came across to him as cruel. "What does this do to a person?" he wondered, and then spotted the Id. His heart leapt in his chest and he ducked back, his fingers twitching to summon his wand. He stopped himself just in time. If he didn't use the magic, he was more able to conceal himself. "Okay, that's a problem. Have to..." He looked around, attempting to spot a way across, to the next destination, without alerting the attention of the monster.

Dirk nodded, and cast his eyes over Casey's costume. "A miracle indeed," he said. "Dirk Saber, of the Bureau of National Defense, at your service." He reached up to touch his busted lip, felt that the blood had dried, then shook his head. "A little worse for wear, but I've had worse in my time." He looked at Sea Devil and smiled. "You're an odd one," he said. "But thanks for the help. You're talking about the space-man in the armor, right? The one with the red cape? Yeah, I've seen the scoundrel; he busted my face then locked me away. I'm looking forward to giving him what-for in due time, believe me. I'll need my kit for that, though -- I've got some judo belts but I can't punch through that metal hide of his. I'll be wanting my gun and a great deal of rounds." Then, to Adept, he said: "I can tell another agent when I see one, though you're doubtlessly American. Need to work on your style, friend." He stuck out a hand. "Still, nice to have the back-up. Now I'm free, I can start working on a way to get out of here." He looked about himself, then spotted Rhekgar approaching with Punchline in tow. His mouth soured. "Right, found the big one too, then? That's fine; there's a filly left to rescue and we'll be good as gone. Haven't seen her, have you? Mere slip of a thing, all battered up and covered in some green gunk that might be blood?" He gave Warne a nudge with his elbow. "If I had a type, she'd my mine. You know what I'm talking about."

The Pangolin laughed, a disturbing sound if ever there was one, torn as it was from a ruined throat. "A fascinating animal," he said. "So much more interesting than the armadillo. You know who I am, then? You have heard of my work? This is something special, then. I salute you, Agent Warne, as one soldier to another." There was the sound of footsteps on snow, as the Pangolin turned to follow the voice of his adversary. "Perhaps, in light of our mutual pasts, we could dispense with formality? I am Sergeant Li Qiang, formerly of the People's Liberation Army, currently deceased and awaiting resurrection." A grinding noise, metal on metal. "My benefactor do not lack for wits, Agent Warne. They have promised me another body, once the Pangolin is no longer needed for their plans. I will go home, whole again, and reclaim the life I lost in Xinjiang." A similar sound. What was that? "You can empathize, I'm sure. I am not alone in having my life stripped away from me. We are the both of us dead men."

Punchline tittered. "Oh, no, they're good. Don't you get it? They're from a sitcom from the sixties. They won't betray us because nastiness isn't in them. The mom wanted to talk my ear off about gardening and the little sister couldn't stop muttering about how hard math is. They're practically two-dimensional." He cracked a smile, then squinted his yellow eyes. "You don't like me very much, do you, Agent Warne? What's got under your skin?" Miracle Girl made her way down the hall, scanning this way and that, until she reached the second containment cell. This one was made of a clear, thick plastic with breathing holes drilled through. Inside was a man in a slightly scuffed white tuxedo, his flawless features marred only by a split lip and black eye. He turned his head and regarded her, eyes scanning to take her in, before he spoke in a voice thick with British inflection. "Is it Halloween already, then?"

Things begin to fit together in Warne's head; half-remembered conversations with other agents, agency-wide alerts, skimmed magazine articles and background news reports. The cyborg currently contained within the psychokinetic snowstorm is called the Pangolin due to the bronze coloration of his overlapped armor plating and the terrible, claw-like blades that he can extend from his forearms. He is wanted by INTERPOL for crimes relating mostly to strategic industrial theft, sabotage and, yes: murder. It had been presumed he was stealing technological secrets to upgrade himself, and killing rival theorists in the field of cybernetic enhancement. But if he was working for someone else, and those people were also responsible for the resurrection of the cyber-monster Mantis, then things were going to get very tangled very quickly. Presuming, of course, that Warne survived to open his presents on Christmas morning. Information became unlocked at the 15, 25, and 30 mark. Nice roll, Blarghy.

It sounds perfect, yes.

Punchline's face fell, momentarily, but then the smile returned and he stuck his tongue out at the hulking warrior. "Boo!" he said, and then laughed. Rhekgar scowled and turned away, clearly disinterested in the antics of the cavorting jester. "Fine," whined the clown. "Be that way. I've got better friends!" He turned, then, to Warne. "Hey, buddy! The dames are fine; I just didn't wanna let the food go to waste; that mom up there can bake a tasty cookie!" His tongue made an exaggerated trek around his lips, lapping up the crumbs and carrying them back inside his mouth. "Mm," he muttered. "Shame you didn't stick around!" He then raised a gloved hand to his face and palmed a cheek. "I've been here before," he mused. "And I think I saw most of it." He pointed down a hallway, the one Miracle Girl would be moving towards momentarily. "There's another cell around there. Is it strange I didn't notice how weird that is?" He grinned. "As for leading the way... I would, but doll-face is already going!"

@Blarghy The woman smiled brightly when Warne spoke to her in Spanish, and she responded in kind. /"I'm so glad you're pleased,"// she said. /"And, of course! Who wouldn't want to see more of the island? We have many wonderful restaurants available to satisfy any appetite; theaters to entertain you, and a selection of bars and dance-clubs in which to while away your evenings. Of course, there are also the world-famous beaches, our natural hot-springs, and tours of the jungle -- though I don't recommend them for anyone unfamiliar with hiking. The trails can be rough! If you are a student of history, we have a museum dedicated to the nation's early years from the island's discovery to the rise and fall of former-President Perez and the ascension of President Gallo. As you can see, there is much to do here, and more every day!"// @Heritage Gallo laughed, a booming guffaw that filled the room. "Yes!" he said, in English. "Margaritas! A round of those to start and then, later, perhaps some of our world-famous rum? We grow the sugar here ourselves, in fields once dedicated to another kind of plant." He winked at Sam, who cleared his throat and turned his head to hide a smile. He turned and shooed the guards. /"Go now,"// he told them. /"Secure the perimeter and then back to your posts."// He turned to Gretchen. "I hope my accent is not too bad. I once had many visitors to practice with, but ever since the Second Revolution things have been too busy to entertain so many foreign guests." He smiled, then turned to Samuel. "But now my friend has returned from his long vacation, and he has brought me new friends to entertain! Today is a good day!" He reached out and grasped Presto by the shoulder. "There is so much catching up to do; we'll have to make coffee! We grow that here, now, too!"

"I am more human than you, Warne. Despite the metal, I am true to our nature." The cyborg stomped through the snow as he spoke, crushing powder beneath his armored feet. He felt no cold. He felt no wind. He felt nothing. "I am like you," he answered at last. "I am like Stone. I am a soldier..." The voice, buzzing and mechanical, had an almost... wistful quality, trailing off at the end. "Outside influence had radicalized some Uyghurs in Xinjiang. I was one of many sent to dissuade their ongoing protests. A nerve-agent was deployed to break and scatter them. There was an error, a malfunction in the delivery system. It resulted in an explosion, and the gas spread unconstrained. Many died there, but I survived... mostly. My continued survival was expensive, more than my superiors were willing to pay. My condition became known to my benefactors and the rest is now history. What matters is the present, and the future. Will you do it, Agent Warne? Will you face me like a man? Or will you die like a hog at the slaughterhouse?"

Not at all.

There was a pause, a consideration of things to come. Then the voice of the armored man hissed through the artificial blizzard. "Consider your words, agent," he said. "Think on them a while. Do I strike you, truly, as an imbecile? As some dumb muscle to be thrown your way?" Another pause, a silent smile. "I was sent here for a reason, American. For a purpose. Stone's assassination, the deaths of his wife and daughter -- all calculated. My employers have learned from your encounter with Mantis; his failure was my benefit. Do you think they would send me here if there was a chance I could be caught and forced to reveal their secrets? Do you think I would come, if such a chance existed? I will not be dissected by the American military; I have been carved apart enough." A rasping laugh, like the scrape of a knife on bone, pierced the air. "Imagine the amount of energy needed to power a suit like Stone's... or a body like mine. Perhaps you are right; maybe I'm out of my league and destined to lose our confrontation. But perhaps my nuclear core has been equipped with a detonator. Perhaps, if I don't get what I want tonight, I kill everyone in Lonely Point!"

"Friends, then, all," said the barbarian, and the muscles of his mouth moved in such a way as to approximate the scant shadow of a smile. It did not suit him. "Very well. The others should be nearby. In the beginning, I could hear them shouting in the distance, demanding freedom." The almost-smile faded and was buried in a scowl. "For the last few nights, though... silence." His eyes darkened. "If the worst has happened, we shall revenge them -- in blood and fire!" In the distance, just beyond the range of normal hearing, there is a hissing crackle. And then another, closer now. Miracle Girl's ears can pick it up. Another. A forth. Finally... Punchline appeared in a burst of static, arms outstretched, fingers wriggling in the air as he made his entrance. Yellow eyes wild, red lips caked with cookie crumbs, he addressed the group. "Howdy, gang!" he crowed. Then he noticed the enormous form of Rhekgar and his smile brightened the room. "Hey, you found him already! That's awesome. How're you doing, buddy? Boy, it's great to meet you; I'm your biggest fan!" The barbarian recoiled, taking in the sight of sallow skin, yellow eyes, and blue hair. "By Ulfberht's hammer," he shouted. "A corpse!" For her part, Miracle Girl's miraculous eyes spotted another cell just down the hall and around the corner.

"Vines?" But there was no time to dwell on that. Wand at the ready, the magician made his way towards the sound of voices. He was feeling more confident, now. This was a memory, and the memories had ignored him thus far. The danger was in the guardians and the monster that lurked beneath, not in Warne's recollections. This living nightmare, complete with the sounds of murder and madness, drew Samuel forward. He would see it through to the end, and learn more about the man whose mind he was running through.

It works in her favor. Gallo is, true to his archetype, a womanizer.

The voice hissed, remembering old pain, then spoke. "The spine is mine," said the assailant. "Mostly. Roughly two-thirds." There was a cold, mechanical chuckle. "I work for very smart men. Men smart enough to put me back together, if I fail like Mantis did. But I won't. Mantis, he nearly killed you, and would have if not for Stone. Stone is not here to save you from me, and so this ends only one way. Four corpses instead of three. It makes no difference in the end." There was a pause, a moment of thought. "Will you calm the storm? Will you fight me, man to man? Humor me in this, let me test myself against you, and I'll tell you about Stone before you die."

@Heritage President Gallo melted like butter before Lynn's undeniable grace, his smile widening behind his bushy black beard. He reached forward and took her hand softly in his own. It was a large, rough-palmed paw of a limb, scarred by years of labor... but he held her gently. He shook her hand warmly, but did not kiss it. He was either unfamiliar with the practice, or familiar enough to know it had fallen out of style among the more liberated young ladies. /"I hope he's told you only the good things,"/ Gallo responded. /"Ah, but I joke; they're all good things."/ He looked about, taking in the interior of the Presidential Palace, then shrugged. /"This country has done more for me than I could ever repay,"/ he explained. /"But, in my own little way, I try."/ He then turned to Gretchen. /"And hello to you also,"/ he said. /"I know your type; you think the island won't get to you, that you won't enjoy yourself. You will; everyone does -- that's the magic of this place, and why I love it like I do. Everyone loves Val Verde."/ He smiled, warmly, and spread his arms. "Come!" he said, almost shouting. "You've traveled a long way and you must be tired, hungry, and thirsty above all. Presto, I already know what you'll have -- the same every time! But my cooks were standing by just in case you brought company, and so you have. Come! Let us be merry, then we can catch up on old times." @Blarghy The bubbly young woman behind the front desk had lips just a little too red and hair just a little too high, but she seemed friendly enough. "Hello, sir!" she chirped, her English heavy with an islander accent. "Is your room to your liking? What can I help you with today?"

Game Master: Heavy Metal Christmas. (Please allocate points to Upgrade) Lights, Camera, Action! (Please allocate points to Punchline) Viva Val Verde! (Please allocate points to Presto the Preposterous) Presto the Preposterous: Psichology. Upgrade: Irradiated Intervention.

A moment's pause, and then an answer. "Agent James Warne," said the interloper. "Adept. The loner. Should have been spending the holiday by yourself somewhere... not here." The agent can hear the high, shrill scrape of metal against metal from somewhere within the snowy maelstrom. "The Stone family. Ethan, Meryl, Lillian. Without his armor, Stone is just a man. It should have been simple. In-and-out. Three corpses, and no-one would ever know why." Another pause, another scrape. "Your presence here was not anticipated. It is, however, surmountable." The voice is calm, collected now. The anger seems to have faded. "Mantis and I were hard men to kill before we died. Now, perhaps impossible. Even know, Mantis is being reborn for the second time. His failure was a painful experience, but an educational one. We learned so much from his defeat."