Sophistemon

Absolutely. Because Lynn spotted the missile, consider this her 'surprise round,' in that her immediate actions will occur before the 'combat' of impact.

Oh, that's perfect. Thank you. Please read the spoiler below.

When Ethan spoke, the voice that emerged from the helmet he wore was artificially enhanced. While in no way as loud as that which issued from the AMP when he was Upgrade, it was nevertheless much more bold than his own, unaltered, speech. "Is Bonfire targeting Neutron?" he asked. "If so, why? What reason does he have to single your company out, to come after you again and again? Has he issued any demands, any changes in policy, that might explain his grudge?"

"Oh," Sam sighed. "Oh." Things were beginning to click into place. Samuel, or rather Presto, was a bizarre sort of amalgamation of everything Warne had learned to distrust during the course of his life. It wasn't just that Presto had been a villain, or a magician, or a habitual user of recreational drugs... it was that he was all of those things, at once, combined with a flippantly selfish personality and... and the delusion of redemption. "Lord," he said. "His life is a goddamn horror-show." He looked over at Becker, and his face was masked by concern. "Is he well?" he asked her. "Does he talk to anyone? In prison, they made me speak with a therapist -- doctor Hyde. At first they made me, but as time went on... I kind of got to enjoy getting things off my chest. It helped. Does AEGIS give him someone to talk to, or does he just... carry all this, alone, forever?"

Agh, I knew when I typed that it wasn't accurate. One for each, if you please.

@Heritage Samuel shook his head. "No," he responded. "He even signed it 'Gallo,' so his title wouldn't give it away. Maybe he meant it as a surprise?" What would mean, of course, that his old friend knew him well enough to assume that the magician wouldn't have bothered to research how the island nation had changed in the intervening years. Presto couldn't decide if that was complimentary or insulting, then shook his head with a resigned sigh; it didn't matter, in the long run, which of the two it turned out to be. They were here, and he was determined to make the most of his stay. When Lynn took his hand and left a slip of paper behind, he was mildly annoyed by yet another reminder that his was not the most powerful magic in the car. But when he read the letter, the beginnings of a scowl faded from his face and he smiled at his guest. "It's going to be all right," he told her, his voice a low whisper. "Gallo and I go back years; he's a friend, and this is a vacation. We're going to have a blast." @Blarghy The senior agent shook her head, all business. "No," she said. "Get going. Remember to keep a running log of things as they occur; we're going to want to have this one recorded with precision in case anything goes south and we need to justify our involvement. Just... omit the necessary details; we don't need any more dirty laundry than we've already got." She waved a hand, lazily, in his direction. "Make us proud, agent Warne."

Heritage, would you mind rolling two Notice checks for Lynn and Gretchen?

Punchline tapped his earpiece, then tapped it again a few more times so that several dull, heavy thumps echoed through the radio. "Hello?" he squeaked. "Hello, is this thing on? Operator?" He sniggered, then composed himself. "It sounds like we've got a plan forming. I think I can help; I might be able to jump into the kitchen and cause a commotion. I can be pretty... distracting when I want to be, you know?" He grinned, so wide it looked as though his mouth might split his face in half. "And I can take a beating, too -- as Tall, Dark and Gritty can vouch for. If you're all game, I could pop in there and make enough noise that they don't notice the rest of you. Whaddaya say, how's about we quit clowning around so I can start clowning around?" The smile faded. "Just make sure you come to the rescue before I get sent back into Teeveeland, okay? It was bad in there!"

@Heritage Steiner blushed red and turned away, hiding his discomfort by facing the window and the Val Verdean countryside as it passed by. Clearly, something about the chauffeur's comment had unsettled him. "That was a panther," he protested, his voice a little gruff. "Completely different animal." Gretchen's statement, however, softened him considerably. "If I have to be remembered for something," he agreed, "I'd rather it be for the leopard than... something else. Something worse." The driver snickered, but didn't speak. The drive to the Presidential Palace was long, but not unpleasant. The nation outside the car was a beautiful one, if somewhat sparsely populated, with wide streets and colorful people. "I can't believe how clean everything is," Samuel mused. "It was never filthy, but... wow! Improvements have been made, that's for sure." In front of them, the driver nodded. "Presidente Gallo has done good for us," he said. "Street-cleaners come out every other day to sweep. It is as they say, a clean city is a happy city. The tourists like it, and we like the tourists." Samuel looked away from the window. "Gallo's in charge?" he asked. "What happened to Perez?" @Blarghy Becker nodded and offered the agent a rare, thin-lipped smile of approval. "That's good," she said. "That's very good, Warne. Before you go, and just so we're clear, understand this: Steiner remains a psychological unknown. His profile paints him as unstable and potentially very dangerous. His previous crimes were only a fraction of a fraction of what he's really capable of, and if things go sideways in Val Verde and he loses the chance to reclaim his wealth... you have full authorization to subdue him by any means necessary. We cannot, we will not tolerate an international incident. If things get out of hand, I expect a surgical precision. In and out like a ghost, with no trace of any AEGIS interference in sovereign Val Verdean affairs. If he's there for anything other than a vacation, I want him disappeared, brought back Stateside, and thrown back in a cell. Are we clear?"

That's excellent! Just let me know when you want it to start applying.

"Mantis," mused the magician. "Cyborg? All that metal... what does that do to a man?" Samuel had met cyborgs in prison, though they'd been de-powered. Stripped of what enhancements could be removed, the more permanent ones brought down to more human levels. They were more pathetic than anything else, malformed and crippled. No more so than Presto had been without his magic, mind you. To be stripped of the Gift was to suffer a crippling of the soul. In that way, Sam could relate to their plight. "How did... how was Mantis beaten?" he asked Becker. "Just in case I meet the man, I mean." He looked at the glass that Warne was drinking from, and at the expression on the other man's face, and his thoughts turned sour. Sam had been a habitual user before his incarceration and court-mandated rehabilitation. Alcohol was an acceptable escape from the pain of the past, but not cocaine? It didn't seem fair. "Not so different, maybe?" he mused. "If opposites attract, maybe similarities repel." He shook his head. "No, probably not. It's just that black and white morality you people forced him into. Booze is legal, powder isn't, so I'm the bad guy and he gets to drink himself to sleep with a clean conscience. You did a number on him, that's for sure." He blew air from his mouth and shook his head. "The hell with it. What's next?"

Handcuffs and a beating, thought Ethan. Probably not in that order. There was something about Green he didn't like, some serpentine smugness to the man that dug under his skin and laid eggs of cynical irritation along the contours of his brain. He seemed to evoke every image of the corporate sociopath that Ethan's mind could draw up and show him. The AEGIS agent remained silent, but inclined his head in the man's direction in an unspoken encouragement to continue. He wanted Green to keep talking, to keep digging that hole until it was too deep to climb out of. Then, and only then, would they have him.

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.

Presto stared a moment, thinking. A scream echoed in his mind, followed by the cacophonous gasp of a crowd, followed by the sound of impact. "Yes," he murmured at last. "I do understand." He looked into the door, into the hotel room it led to, and sighed. "Inward and downward," he said, softly. "Inward and downward." He stepped forward, into the room, and kept his wand at the ready. "What can I expect, going deeper?" he asked. "What's waiting for me this time? More guards? That ink-black psychic poison Warne keeps in his head?" There was a pause, and then an ounce of hope crept into his voice. "Maybe something happy?"

@Heritage

@Heritage Samuel watched the silent conversation with feigned disinterest -- better to respect their privacy than to let on that he was a little miffed about being left out -- and then smiled unbidden when they changed their clothes. True, they weren't the most interesting outfit alterations he'd ever been privy to, but the use of magic always brought a smile to his face. The former villain, of course, didn't need to change anything about his appearance. He was as always immaculately dressed in his former stage costume. A three-piece suit of shimmering black and stunning crimson, it was enchanted with, among other things, the ability to keep him comfortable in all but the most extreme temperatures. His smile was interrupted by a bump as the plane made contact with the runway. "We're here," he told them, as the aircraft slowed to a crawling stop. After helping the girls with their luggage (if any) they left the plane and stood on the tarmac. There, parked only a short walk away, was a limousine of stunning whiteness with smooth lines and chrome accents that practically burned in the tropical sun. Standing beside it, holding a printed sign that said PRESTO (written beneath, in red marker, were the words AND GUESTS) was a man in a tuxedo, the driver, who by the lack of sweat on his face must have only just left the car a few moments ago. Aside from him, and a few workers, the landing strip was devoid of people. The magician strode toward the man, hand raised, and called out. "Hello! I'm Sam Steiner. Are you the ride?" The limo-driver lowered the sign and scrutinized Sam through a pair of aviator sunglasses. Thought neither Lynn nor Gretchen could see his eyes, they thought they might have flicked towards them, as well. "You are Presto?" he asked, voice thick with an accent. "You are the man with the leopard?" Sam flushed, his shoulders straightening, and cleared his throat. "We're expected at the Presidential Palace," he course-corrected. "Can you take us there?" A short time later, after the driver had taken the hint and loaded their luggage into the trunk, the limo pulled away from the airport with its three passengers safely inside. The limo's interior was nice, air-conditioned, but slightly out of date. The leather upholstery was soft, but cracked here and there with age. This was the predictable aftereffect of lugging around ten-thousand buttocks over the course of a decade, and Presto didn't mention it. Instead he stared out the window like a dog, taking in everything he could see. @Blarghy Becker nodded, pleased with the display. "I'm glad to hear you've kept up with it. Or, are you just a natural linguist? If so, I'm jealous. I've got to revisit my Mandarin from time to time to keep on top of it or it slips away." She sighed, then squared her shoulders. "I know this isn't ideal, Warne, but the situation's gone too unstable. Between all the money wrapped up in Val Verde, to the rebellion against Gallo's regime, to the potential to draw in the nearby nations... it's a little too much to keep 'hands off' this time." She lifted a wrist to check her watch. "Steiner and friends should be in the air by now, flying commercial. We have a jet fueled and standing by; if we hurry to the hanger you can probably beat them there." She looked at him. "Or you could fly under your own power, if you think you're fast enough. Your call, Agent Warne. I trust your judgement, and I assume you won't disappoint me."

It's so much more fun to say than 'audacity.'

I don't have the necessary amount of sheer, unmitigated gall to hurry anyone along after how many hiatuses I've taken from this thread, but I will say that would be nice.

I know just enough Spanish to ask where my beer is. I don't drink, which means I don't know any applicable Spanish.

Ethan winked at the security guards, though of course they couldn't see it through the opaque visor of his helmet, and strode off to follow Warne into the building. He took in the details that he could, though he didn't have the eye for it that Warne did. Stone wasn't as much of a subtle man, as the AMP could attest. He preferred direct and physical confrontations. Hidden things, and hiding things, displeased him. They made him uneasy and nervous. He stood, silently refusing the seat offered to him by Green, and listened at Warne made his speech. He didn't speak, didn't nod in agreement. He simply folded his arms across his chest and waited. Stone was not a small man, a lifetime of exercise had made him relatively bulky, and in his syncsuit and tight faceless helmet he was moderately imposing. He hoped to use that to his advantage. Leave the browbeating to Warne, and don't let on that the other agent was far more powerful in this circumstance than he was.

That's fair enough!

Becker's sudden and unexpected appearance gave Presto a start, and he swung his wand up in a smooth, practiced motion. It was with no less seriousness than a seasoned officer of the law might draw their service revolver. A split-second before whispering a word of power, he registered the identity of his intended target and stopped himself. He lowered the wand and placed his other hand over his rapidly beating heart. "Damn, Becker. Of all the things today to kill me, a heart attack?" He followed her gaze, saw Warne, and softened. "He carries it with him, doesn't he? Not just on the outside, but... here, too?" He patted his chest, then withdrew the hand. "It's hard to believe, isn't it? He has a force-field, doesn't he? I've seen him repel bullets. What could have done that to him, to leave a hole like that?"

@Avenger Assembled The truck trundled through the city. Its exit from the AEGIS building had been hidden by a clever manipulation of the area's CCTV cameras, masking its departure from the Fanatic's prying eyes. By the time the manipulation ended, the flower van had already entered traffic and disappeared into the teeming throng of vehicles that ebbed and flowed along the city's motorways. Inside, Punchline watched Sea Devil carve symbols into the metal floor. Smiling, he followed her example by pulling a crayon out from behind his ear and doodling a large, goofy smiley-face onto the interior wall. He admired his work for a moment before adding an extended tongue, so that the face was blowing a raspberry. "There," he said, not immodestly pleased with himself. "Now that we're done with arts and crafts, let's Vincent van Gogh get this guy!" @Blarghy & @Heritage As the van neared its target, Adept and Miracle Girl soared through the sky at great speeds. They had left the building alongside the vehicle, their exit hidden by the same manipulation of the cameras, and they flew high enough above the city that they were invisible to those below. Equipped with earpieces, they would be able to communicate despite the distance between them. They arrived a few minutes before their team-mates would, aided by the absence of traffic, and hovered above the house. Miracle Girl would have ample time to utilize her superhuman senses to inspect the house's interior for obvious threats.

@Heritage The plane banked and began to descend. There was a brief rumble of turbulence as the tiny aircraft began to align itself with Val Verde's singular runway. "The beds are pretty fantastic," Samuel stated. He was a bit lost in thought, trapped in the memory of those beds and of the bronze-skinned Val Verdean beauties he'd shared them with. When his mind wandered to the other amenities on display at the palace, like the the cocaine and the alcohol, he shook his head. "Above all else," he said. "Val Verde is relaxing. It's a place far, far away from the rest of the world, and not just in distance. Life's simple here. It's easy, and it's fun." He looked out the window and smiled. It was a serene and simple smile, and it reached its apex as the landing gear made contact with the tarmac. "Gallo knows we're coming," he said, still grinning. "So we can expect a royal welcome. I can almost guarantee you've never seen anything like this before in your lives." @Blarghy The senior agent nodded. "That's good. I didn't want to think your previous contacts with Steiner have blinded you to the realities of the man. He's a performer, through and through. There's no telling how much of how he's presented himself to you was an act." Becker reached behind herself and stretched the muscles of her back. "I'm not going to mother you, I just want you to be careful. If Steiner wasn't dangerous we wouldn't have bothered you with him in the first place. As for your cover..." She reached out and extended a finger, pointing at the passport. "Your name is Lorenzo Chavez, and you're a security consultant from Spain. I assume you've kept up with your Spanish? We've included all the necessary paperwork in your travel-case. You're going to be meeting with the head of President Gallo's security detail and then, from there, you're going to arrange a personal meeting with the man himself. I want you to help keep him safe; even if Steiner's on the level, that's a big bounty. There's no telling how many maniacs are going to crawl out of the woodwork to claim it."

Samuel paused, watching. Scars. Why hadn't he ever considered the scars? He'd prided himself on being a 'gentleman thief,' a super-powered criminal and not, he would repeat not a super-villain. He didn't kill people, had never killed anyone in his years-long campaign of crime. But Presto had hurt people, hadn't he? Could he think back and remember with any real clarity the number of times he'd waved his wand and sent someone flying into a wall? Or the amount of fire, lightning, and hurricane wind he'd thrown at the costumed counterpoints who had arrived, all self-righteously indignant, to stop him? He could not; they were too many. How many scars had he caused? How many people now wandered the Earth after having been made lesser following their run-in with the flamboyant mister Steiner? Too many. "No wonder he hates me," murmured the magician. "No wonder they all hate me. God, they should." He thought about Lynn, and how she'd looked at him when asking the question "What exactly brings Presto the Preposterous into my shop?" when they'd first met. How much of that distrust was still there? How much of her acceptance, of Gretchen's begrudging friendliness, was nothing more than... than what? Pity? The magician turned his head away as Warne moved to finish dressing himself and made his exit into the hallway. He looked back and forth, up and down the length of the passage, and gauged his next move.