Sophistemon

Upgrade nodded, smirking behind his helmet. "That's us," stated the pilot of the titanic war-machine. "We're subtle." He leaned forward and laced his fingers. "And subtlety is the way to go when it comes to things like this, isn't it? You can't go around making a mess of everything just because one nosy cape is sticking his nose in your business. We're AEGIS, Green; we know how it goes." He spread his hands and shrugged. "Sometimes you just want them to play ball, right? But they've got to run around, all muscles and moxy, and muck things up for the rest of us. It's frustrating, is what it is, am I right?"

@Avenger Assembled & @Sophistemon Punchline popped out of thin air with a flash, balloons and streamers bursting into existence around him as he made his entrance. He stood, bowlegged and arms akimbo, with a face-splitting grin. "Hello, l-l-ladies," he crowed. "I'm looking for a friend of mine. Tall, dark, and armored. Have you seen the guy? He's done some pretty gnarly things lately and I'm here to kick his butt all the way to China!" The women stared at him, wide-eyed and open mouthed, until Sea Devil made her appearance. When the monstrous creature from beneath the waves burst into the room, spitting demands in her booming croak of a voice, the paralysis was broken. The older of the two women dropped the tray of cookies she'd just pulled from the oven -- chocolate chip, of course, and steaming hot -- to raise her mitted hands to her face. The younger, sitting at the table and working on her homework, dropped her pen and shrieked. She pointed at the terrifying monster in front of her and screamed. "Clown!" @Blarghy & @Heritage Miracle Girl sped past Warne in a twirling blur of color, so quickly his eyes could barely follow. The older man might have fight a bit awestruck as the whirling super-heroine drilled into the roof feet-first, tiles splintering beneath her as she powered down, down through the layers of the house and the earth below it. For Miracle Girl, it went by in a flash. Roof, ceiling, floor, ceiling, floor, dirt... metal. It resisted her at first. Solidly constructed, it didn't take well to the idea that someone, no matter how strong, could plow through it while twirling around like a top. But it gave, eventually, and Miracle Girl found herself hovering in a vast underground chamber, the walls of which were lined with blinking electronics scavenged from various junkyards and second-hand shops located throughout the city. A voice spoke in the darkness. It was low, and weary, and void of hope. "Ah," it said. "Another vision, come to taunt me. Do it. There is nothing left to feel."

@Heritage Sam whispered a bit of self-encouragement and stepped free of the car, long legs stretching as he emerged into the light. He was dressed resplendently, black Italian suit over a crimson waistcoat and spotless white undershirt. His white-gloved hands fluttered like doves as he waved at the assembled guards, his pearly teeth flashing as he smiled that disarming grin of his. "Buenos dias!" he called, his pronunciation only slightly off, in a way that might have been intentionally innocent. He rolled a hand and his top-hat appeared, bursting out of the air with a soft, audible pop. He placed it slowly on his head and spun in a lazy circle. "Good afternoon, my friends!" He motioned towards the limousine and the softly sobbing driver. "Don't mind all this," he encouraged. "It's just a trick we've been working on to get us out of traffic jams." His silver eyes burned in the mask, reflecting the sun like a mirror. "Believe me, comrades, we mean you know harm. Behold!" He rolled up the arms of his suit, one after the other, to reveal the bare arms beneath -- though the left wrist bore a rather battered watch. "Nothing up my sleeves!" He laughed, a deep throaty chuckle. "I have to say, I've missed this place. There's nowhere in all the world like Val Verde!" @Blarghy The driver hummed to himself for a while as they made their way through the winding streets of Puerto Rojo, but then uttered a slight grunt of annoyance. Warne looked up, peered through the windshield, and saw the cause of the other man's disgruntlement. There, before them, was a military cordon. Sharply-dressed Val Verdean soldiers had established a checkpoint, and were stopping every vehicle that attempted to approach the city center. The driver, to his credit, reached to the dashboard and disabled the taximeter. "My apologies, senor," he said. "This happens sometimes. As I said, not everyone likes what Gallo's doing." He drummed his fingers against the steering wheel and awaited their turn. Eventually, a soldier approached, clipboard in one hand, the other resting on the holster at his hip. "Papers," he chuffed, voice bored. He peered into the back seat, spotted Warne, and smiled beneath his mustache. "You too, amigo. Passport."

You and I both. I'm sorry for the hiatus; I had a research paper due and spent much of the last week reading.

Stone looked over at Adept and smiled behind the opaque barrier of his mask. The senior agent knew his stuff; it was a classic, but clever, conversational lure. He had questions about the drones -- he didn't quite like the idea of a private enterprise having access to that kind of firepower -- but he kept his mouth shut and let Warne work his magic.

Presto looked at Becker, smiled thinly, and then looked away. "I have to be an optimist," he said. His voice was soft, words spoken mostly to himself. "Otherwise it's all been for nothing." He sighed and squared his shoulders before heading to the stairs. "This is the end of the line, then?" he asked the senior agent. "I either capture Baku and escape with my life, or... it's over? For Warne and I both?" He shook his head, and his silver eyes flashed like distant lightning. "Then I guess it's showtime."

@Blarghy A short, gruff laugh burst free from the driver, who flicked the turn signal and made a slow, looping left. "I hope so," he said. "Perez... we thought we knew him. We thought we knew what was happening. Every week he'd be on the television, all smiles, wearing that stupid cap and talking about how we were the Eternal Revolution. That's what he called it. 'Things are bad now,' he'd say all the time, 'But we'll keep fighting, and eventually we'll win!' It was all nothing, just his excuse to keep funneling money into the army and his secret police. The only thing we fought was our own hunger and too many of us failed while Perez got rich and partied with the foreign criminals that funded what our taxes couldn't." He reached over, hit the button to lower the window and spit out onto the street. "President Gallo, though -- General Gallo, then..." The driver chuckled. "When he realized what was going on all that money Perez gave the army to keep him safe... it wasn't even a fight." The driver beamed and used the rear-view mirror to look back at the agent. "He just told Perez to leave, and he did." @Heritage The guns came up, rising in practiced hands to find their target, but the shouting stopped. These men were professionals, hardened military bodyguards dedicated to protecting their general-turned-President. Of course, Lynn's charms weren't lost on them, and she faced the lecherous scrutiny of more than one pair of wandering eyes. Some of the men perked at the mention of Presto the Preposterous, having served back in the day when his visits to the island were a regular occurrence. "The magician is here?" one asked, gun steady. "Show him, with the letter." This man, apparently the leader, then used an elbow to nudge his comrade. "Radio H-Q and tell them we have company. Find out if Gallo really sent for them." Within the limousine, along with a shocked and shivering driver, Samuel shared a look with Gretchen smiled wanly. "It'll be okay," he whispered. "I promise; I won't let anything happen." He closed his eyes, concentrated, and his clothes rippled around his body, re-configuring themselves into his classic costume. A silver-eyed domino mask appeared on his face, and his crimson waistcoat practically glowed in the muted sunlight. White-gloved hands lowered the window and waved. "It's true!" he called out. "Just a spot of turbulence, really -- we're a bit shaken up!"

Of course, now I'm wondering what would happen if she spun herself along the horizontal axis, like a circular saw...

Still more than high enough a roll to make a positive impression, Heritage.

"Hard to catch smoke," Ethan agreed. "And that's when it doesn't have a mind of its own." He leaned forward and laced his gloved fingers together, between his knees. "You mentioned enhanced security? What are you installing that could catch and contain a meta like Bonfire? It'd have to be some pretty sophisticated equipment."

The bravado vanished as quickly as it'd come, and Presto's shoulders slump in mild defeat. "Right," he said. "Of course, I remember." He hadn't actually forgotten the threat that Baku posed, but fighting for his own life had driven that line of thinking from his mind. "No," he answered, after a pause. "No, I think I have everything I need." He shook his head. "The little rodent. If I'd just remembered his intangibility..." Thankfully, that didn't seem to be as much a concern here, in the twilight-world of Warne's subconscious. "I'd have had him beaten and cornered. We could have locked him up somewhere safe, where he couldn't hurt anymore. And maybe he'd have come out of it for the better."

If Miracle girl were to spin herself along the vertical axis, like a top, she might presumably drill her way through the building and potentially minimize structural damage.

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. Irradiated Intervention.

More or less, 'Hands up, exit the vehicle, no funny business.'

"No," agreed the magician. "No, he'd turn me inside-out if he knew." Presto didn't know the extend of Warne's psychic abilities, and he was almost positive that he didn't want to, especially if it meant experiencing them firsthand. Then, his eyes widened. "If I make it out of here alive?" He turned to face the senior agent... or, rather, her mental construct. And then, perhaps to her surprise, Steiner smiled. "It's just a monster," he said. "It's not even that. It's the idea of a monster. Do you have any idea what I've dealt with?" He chuckled, darkly. "The things I've done to get where I am..." He spoke to gird himself, to prepare for what was coming, to hide his fear of an alternative outcome. The bravado helped, it built up a wall of temporary self-assurance. The magician conjured his wand and gave it an artful twirl that drew silver lines in the air. "I've torn magic from books so old they crumbled in my hands, ma'am. If I can't banish a psychological delusion, what kind of sorcerer would I be?"

@Heritage Sam saw Gretchen's glare and found he couldn't meet it. Turning away, hiding his cowardice behind tending to Lynn, he meekly protested. "I didn't know," he said. "I'm sorry, Gretch. Lynn, I didn't know. It wasn't like this." Here was that old enemy, change, rearing its ugly head again. "We'll leave. Right now, we'll go. I can... conjure up a portal back home or something. It shouldn't take me long to work the magic, less time if you guys give me a hand with the sorcery. It's clear now that whatever Gallo wanted by asking me here, it's not worth putting you two in danger." He opened his mouth to say something else, but it was at that point the limousine was surrounded by a cadre of large men wielding large guns, all of whom began shouting in gruff Spanish. Their meaning was clear: hands up, exit the vehicle, no funny business. @Blarghy The driver laughed, then shook his head. "Only fools," he said. "Val Verde has always had its share and Perez, the old Presidente, had them wrapped around his..." he blanked on the word, then lifted one hand from the wheel and crooked his finger. "You know? Socialists. Ran the island into the ground. Gallo, he's opened us up again. Rebuilt, and built new. We have jobs now; I used to farm beans to feed mi familia, but now I drive, and people tip me, and life is good. That's thanks to Gallo. The only people who are unhappy are the ones who were rich on our taxes under Perez, who lived like kings in a system that we thought was equal. That's why you're here, yes? To drive the socialists off of the island? To protect what Gallo's building?"

"No," said Steiner, his voice soft. "Not revenge. Resolution." He watched the screen, and couldn't help but agree with the policewoman: Berns needed to be punished. Samuel thought back to Baku, another villain who had kept captives in monstrous circumstances and who was the source of his current miseries. His blood boiled. "He's humming, do you hear that? Is this right before things go south? I think he needs the noise." Was it a kind of spell, then, requiring an auditory component? Or was it something else, a form of sonic hypnosis or coercion? He couldn't tell, he didn't have enough to go on, but he filed it away for later.

@Heritage The driver yelled at Gretchen in Spanish, commanding her to return to the rear of the car. His shouts turned to shrieks when the car left the road, lifted by magic into the air. He jerked the wheel and pumped the breaks to no avail, then whimpered. Samuel, meanwhile, was attempting to tend to Lynn. He had turned to her after the rocket hit, hearing her grunt of pain, and worry lined his face and turned his mouth down. "Are you all right?" he asked, and drew his wand. "Can you... feel... through the barrier?" He bit his lower lip and shook his head from side to side. "Okay, don't worry. I think we're in the clear, but I'll make my own so you can release yours. I don't want you getting hurt." He turned to look towards Gretchen. "Gretchen, it's the big building at the center of the city. It's got a red tiled roof and it's flying flags. You can't miss it." As for calling ahead, he didn't know how. It's not as though he had a direct line to the presidential office. He looked out the window, then pointed. "There, Gretchen. That's the one." The indicated building was large, many stories high, and as imperial in appearance as one might expect. "There's a private helipad... there, by the racquetball court." @Blarghy The driver laughed, and shook his head. "No, no! Things are good these last years. El Presidente has rebuilt the city block by block. Some parts are just... not done yet, and need work. It is a big, big job to put a country back together. We are very happy." They passed the crater and moved on to a main road. "You are going to the Palace, yes? What brings you to Val Verde, then? For the pleasures, or for business? Thanks to Gallo, the island has plenty of both!"

It is, at the very least, not a flawless organization -- not in my portrayals, anyway. If it was, they wouldn't tolerate people as emotionally and psychologically abnormal as Samuel Steiner running around as deputized agents, nor would they likely allow for Ethan Stone to pilot a sizable percentage of the nation's defense budget into battle against fire-breathing supervillains and blade-armed cyborgs. They're a comic book science fiction super-spy agency and therefore at least mildly ridiculous as a matter of course.

Steiner watched the television with growing horror, revulsion coalescing in his bellow and squirming its way through his guts. He stared at the screen, committing the man's face to memory. Raul Berns. He seared them into his brain, the face and the name, and consigned himself to revisit it later. "Monster," he said, and meant it. Samuel was no innocent man. He had done bad things in his life, acted out of greed and selfishness, commit elaborate crimes out of a desperation to remain relevant to and beloved by the public. But he was not an evil man, or at least he didn't think so. But this Berns was, of that he was sure. "How would Warne react if... if this Berns was captured?" he asked. "What would happen then, if he were brought to justice and punished for his crimes?"

I'll admit to portraying AEGIS as a sort of labyrinthine governmental bureaucracy with a sprinkling of silliness here and there, but that's largely for fun and out of a distaste for being too serious. AEGIS is, I'm sure, a perfectly competent organization.

Ah, because plastics are a petroleum byproduct; I get it. It's a cool hook. It derives from the sidhe aversion to iron, right?

@Heritage Samuel gaped at Lynn as she shouted and raised her hands. "Role-playing?" he asked her. "What's that have to do with anything?" He twisted in his seat and looked out the window to see the rapidly-forming barrier. "Oh," he murmured. "Rocket-propelled grenade." The projectile struck the shield around the limousine like a truck, bashing it so hard that it swerved, tires squealing like nothing else, across the road. The driver swore, something unforgivably vile in his native Spanish, and twisted the wheel to correct course away from the smoking crater the explosion had left in the ground beside them. "Terroristas," he spat, and glared at his clients through the rear-view mirror. "You have power!" he accused. "They know, that's why they shoot! They think you work for Gallo, because you no work for them!" He accelerated, then swore again when he realized one of the tires had burst in the impact, scraped open by their unintended path across the asphalt. The limo was crippled, and made to be all the more easy a target. "The city," he babbled. "I can't be seen with you. We get to the city, then you get out of my car!" Sam leaned forward, his features scrunched with concern. "You can't just leave us," he protested. "We're needed at the Palace. We can protect you; we already have!" @Blarghy By the time Warne's flight landed many hours later, the clean-up crew had already begun to wash away the tire tracks and patch the damaged road. The police had come and gone, statements had been taken, the official explanation had been written and life on Val Verde was prepared to continue on as it always had. Yes, those noble public servants had begun their task... but they hadn't yet finished it, and Adept could see the damage through the window of the taxi he took from the airport. His driver turned in his seat and smiled at him. "You see hole?" he asked. "Gas leak. Boom! Like a bomb."

Sam reached up and touched white a glove to his face, where not long before he'd felt the bit of an axe tearing through the flesh and bone. He grimaced, then withdrew. "He doesn't blame himself, though, does he? The Reids weren't infected because Warne had opened up; that's just a coincidence." He turned to look at Becker. "It's not his fault. He's... almost irritatingly rational; he has to know that, right?" And maybe he did, consciously. But a child that grows up friendless and alone, who keeps suffering the same 'coincidences' over and over again over the course of their life, who is conditioned into avoiding friendship because of the loss and the pain it might bring... maybe his subconscious was a completely different matter. How then, did he interpret Samuel's continued attempts at bridging the gap? This former villain, this criminal scum, certainly wasn't worth that risk. Why would Warne make himself vulnerable to what was certainly an inevitable betrayal? Presto looked back into the memory, closed his eyes, and sighed. "AEGIS is all he has, isn't it? No friends, no family, just duty. He deals with people like... me, the way he does, because it's the only thing that keeps him going."

I noticed; I just wanted to make it clear that I approve. Nice description on the shell, by the way. I've described Presto's as being mildly opaque and opalescent, but I like your synthesis of various biological components.