Wynterfyre

"Yo, small stuff!"

"That's Small Arms!" Remington turned to say something to the bastardization of his costumed name. That was when he took in the sight of the four people about 100 feet away. However, two of those individuals seemed to have pistols to their heads. And the other two were...

"The friends you were lookin' to hook up with, I assume, Mauro?"

Even with his demonic mask over his face, the smirk in Mauro's voice was evident. "Oh yeah! And I figure unless you want to see the heads of your friends scattered all over the street, you'll get off of me now."

Small Arms looked at the two people being restrained by the other Hellions. "Not friends of mine." He looked back down to Maruo. "So now where were we?"

"Wha? Are blind or something? I said my friends would blow the heads off those guys if you don't get off of me! You want those people dead?"

"No, not particularly. On the other hand, there's a lot more people who are gonna get killed if I don't get that Superdine off the streets."

"What kind of game are you playing, boss?" Terrie's voice came quietly over his headset. "Are you sure you know what you're doing?"

"Trust me." was all Small Arms said, though his response to Terrie could easily be mistaken for a comment to Mauro.

__________________________________________________ _

"Tell me, Rich, why ain't he gettin' off of Mauro? He's gotta know we ain't jokin' about doing these two?"

"I know, I know!. Shut up, Brian, an' let me think!" The Hellion took a few seconds and a deep breath before speaking. "Yo, small stuff, you think we're screwin' around here. We'll pop caps in each of them. One at a time, if you don't let our boy go. You got ten seconds. Nine...eight...."

__________________________________________________ _

"I'm surprised they stayed in school long enough to learn to count down from that high," Small Arms muttered. His rifle was still in one hand. Though it functioned as a typical assault rifle in many ways, it was still a custom weapon, designed by Small Arms for Small Arms. And despite its being specially designed for his smaller size, the amount of damage it was capable of doing was greater than M-16. Especially with the few modifications he had added over time.

With the pressing of a stud just above the trigger on the side of weapon- something he was able to do with just the moving of his index finger- a small panel near the grenade launcher ejected a box-like object into the air. It hovered and began to expand slightly, folding out like a Chinese puzzle box of circuitry. In less than a second, a small, roughly hexagonal object floated and began orbiting Small Arms.

He never even looked at the two men as he brought his finger back to the trigger.

"So much for your rescuers, fair damsel," he said, with a rather lopsided grin.
__________________________________________________ _

"...seven...six..."

Rich never made it to 'five' before he was flung backwards by the solid shotgun slug that struck in him. Sean heard the snap of the man's collarbone, and felt like throwing up.

"Awww, I hate my life." Brian stated. A second later, the second slug took him out as well.

Sean's breathing was raspy as he tried to slow his heart down. It seemed to want to vary from beating out of his chest to wanting to outright stop. Thankfully, it seemed that neither option was going to happen. At least at the moment.

Yet, despite the blood pounding in his ears, Sean did notice another sound. A pair of sounds more specifically. Two groans came from the ground. Somehow, despite being shot, both men were still alive. More or less incapacitated, but alive nevertheless.
__________________________________________________ _

Small Arms brought his rifle back down, tapping the muzzle heavily on Mauro's chest as he spoke to the man. "If I remember correctly, you were telling me that I needed to give up?" He took a large bite of the celery stick which had held in his other hand the entire time.

Maruo's attempt at trying to remain cool with a rifle near his head impressed Small Arms. However, to remind him just who was in charge, he shift around while he sat on on his chest. The Hellion sucked in a small mouthful of air as his ribs felt as if they were going to give at any moment.

"I'm surprised at you, Mauro. Let's see, this is what the fifth time in three months I've caught you?" Small Arms reached down and touched a spot on the forehead of the Hellion's mask with his index finger. He pushed down briefly, harder than he needed to cover his action, and removed the transparent tracking device from where he had left it. "You, my friend, are gettin' a little too predictable."

"Yeah, yeah, you freak." Though his voice was strained and somewhat breathy since he was straining under the smaller man's weight, Mauro tried to sound as casual as possible. "Look, we both know the Public Defender's office is going to let me out in a few hour after you turn me in. Why are you even bothering to arrest me?"

"Who said anything about arrestin' you, boy? I said that I wanted to talk. Can't I come and visit with old friends on occassion?"

The string of vindictives that came from Maruo would have given some Marines pause, but Small Arms yawned and took them in stride; he had heard every single one before. "You know, I don't have to arrest you. I mean, we're both tired of havin' to run into one another." He began stroking his long brown beard, which was showing more than a few gray hairs. "Tell you what. How about I make this simple. There are others I can get information from. I knock a few heads of your compadres together and maybe a couple will have enough brain cells that I can work from. You, on the other hand, I could drop off somewhere, as a apology for all my false suspicions of you in the past."

He leaned foward, letting his long beard flutter a bit in the evening breeze.

"I know a beautiful stripe of land. Hell, you might even find away to make it work for you. You know that strip of an island, just outside Terra Volta? The one with all the mutated, homicidal salads that hate humanity?"

"All right what the hell do you want from me?"

"Are you sure, Mauro. I mean, a big strong guy like you shouldn't have any problems handling a giant carrot?"

"I said, what the hell you do want from me?"

Small Arms shrugged. "Suit yourself." He leaned back and and sense of humor evaporated. "Like I said, I need information. There's a new stronger batch of Superdine hitting the streets. Between the Trolls, Skulls, Outcasts and you Hellions, there's more than enough potential users that I want to get the crap off the streets as soon as possible."

"So? Even if you do, someone's going to just make a stronger batch at some other point. Why bother to waste your time?"

Small Arms frowned. "You know, you have a point. But then again, that's why I'm the hero who's busted your tail enough times that we can sit here like friends and talk." He reach into a pouch on his belt. The fear was plain on Mauro's face until he saw what the smaller man held in his hand.

"A freakin' celery stick? What the hell are you going to do to me with that?"

"Oh, nothing. This is just a reminder of where I could drop your carcass off if you don't give me the information I want. Oops. I should say, where I can drop you off before so you can be a carcass."

Mauro said nothing for several seconds, while Small Arms waved the stick in front of him. "I don't know much about it, but I'll tell you what I know."

__________________________________________________ _

"I don't know what they're talking about, but I can tell you it seems that Armstrong's got some odd ideas about interrogation." Morton watched through is digital camera as the diminutive hero waved the celery stick closer to the other man's masked face.

"Well, maybe we can do a show about how heroes torture criminals for information." Sean seemed to get a glint in his eye.

"It's only torture if you're allergic to celery, Sean."

Morton hear a pair of clicks but paid them no mind, caught up as he was by the scene played a couple of dozen yards away.

"Umm, Morton..."

"Yeah?"

"Put the camera down, please. Slowly."

"What? Why?"

"Just do it. Now"

"Just what is your problem, Sean? I thought you..."

As he lowered his camera, Morton saw that the pair of clicks that he had heard belong to a pair of rather sizable automatic pistols. Each one of which was pointed at either of the two reporters.

"Get out the truck, boys," one of the pistol-bearers said. The malicious grin on his face was not helping calm Morton's fears. "We're going to see if we can make a trade here. You two for our friend over there. Let's see if short stuff's got the guts to take us on with a pair of hostages."

As he decended, Small Arms activated the circuits of his camoflage suit through a cybernetic command. There was brief stop, a wavering of dim blue light across his body, then he simply vanished from site. He noted briefly that as he disappeared, the panel truck that had been following him most of the evening came to a rather abrupt halt, resulting in it nearly being rear-ended by another car.

He narrowed his eyes behind his goggles. He was going to set whoever it was straight as soon as he finished talking with his volunteer.

__________________________________________________ _

"Where the hell did he go?" Sean called to Morton. "He just up and vanished!"

The cameraman rolled his eyes in return, before saying anything. "How much research did you do before we left?"

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"If you had done any, Sean, you would have known that apparently he has some form of invisibility, through that suit of his. Crey Industries has been looking to get it for months, but Armstrong won't sell the secret to them. That's one of the reasons that they tried to buy him out at least once that I know of."

Sean stopped the truck abruptly, and heard a horn as the driver of the car behind him let his displeasure be known. "How do you know all this, Morton? Harris didn't bother to inform me." Sean's voice was indignant, but also somewhat petulant, like a child who just realized the had not been given access to the same candy that his younger brother had.

Morton never took his eye from the camera's eyepiece. Whatever the hero's visibility currently, he intended to catch him when he did what he intended. Assuming, of cource that he was anywhere around now. "I heard a few things. That rifle of his might be his main weapon. but he's designed more than a few tricks into his suit. His flight, for example. Come on, they guy's certified genius. According to everything I heard, he designed every bit of his weaponry himself."

Sean frowned as he looked back outside the window. "Do you think he spotted us? might explain why he went invisible, then."

"Maybe, but it looked like he was coming into land when he disappeared. I think there's more to it...hold up. Yeah, I think we've got something. Look to the left." Morton indicated the side of a building. There was a large, muscular figure there, just outside the light from any street lamps. For some reason, he was looking around, rather confused. "I'd love to know what Small Arms is doing to the guy."

__________________________________________________ __

Despite the demonic, horned mask the larger man was wearing, Small Arms knew Mauro Avery. He looked like every other member of the Hellions who used a shotgun, except for the very visible tatoo of a red dragon in profile on his left arm. It also did not hurt that the last time Small Arms had caught him trying to break into a warehouse with other members of the gang that he had placed a nearly invisible tracer on the man's mask. In fact, he had just been the person Small Arms had hoped to meet, and had been homing in on the signal since the smaller man had left his private lab at nightfall.

Grinning through his long brown and grey beard, Small Arms move quitetly behind the man, who was quite unaware that he was being observed. He leaned against the wall of the office building far too casually. It did not take much to realize that he was probably waiting for more of his friends.

After coming within a dozen feet of Mauro, Small Arms took a quick run. It was far from silent, since at this point, the smaller man did not care about stealth as much as he wanted to make an impression. The sound of rapidly approaching footsteps caught Mauro's attention, as he was suddenly looking around warily.

But it was too late as Small Arms lept into the air, landing backside first onto Mauro's stomach. And despite Remington Armstrong's four-foot tall frame, he was as heavy as an average man. A weight which crashed into Maruo, drove him onto the concrete and drove the air from his lungs. It was also a weight which he found suddenly sitting on his chest.

"Oh no, not again." the Hellion moaned, as he slowly tried to get some air in his lungs. Small Arms, still invisible, shifted slightly to let him breathe, but kicked the shotgun which had fallen to the ground out of the man's reach.

"Hello, Mauro. Short time, no bustin' your sorry [censored]." There was a sound of a shotgun round being chambered, as Small Arms, now visible, sat crosslegged on Mauro's chest, his rifle pointed only a few inches from the Hellion's head. "I'd like to have a few words with you."

(OOC: Taking another side to these attempts to get stories on the heroes. Hopefully, the characters will all meet at some point. Let me know if you want to work on details of that via email.)

The unmarked panel truck glided comfortably through the night-shrouded streets. Traffic was, as it was almost ever night, quiet. That made everything all the more easy for its occupants to do their job. Snaking through the traffic that did exist, it wavered oddly, cutting across lanes, narrowly missing more than few late night pedestrians, who shouted numerous epitaphs, some very colorful in various languages. The truck seemed completely oblivious to the slurs against the parentage of the occupants.

“Sean, will you please watch where the hell you’re going? You nearly clipped the elderly couple back there!”

“Shut up, Morton,” Sean Yates growled in a low voice at his cameraman. “Blame the s.o.b. we’re following.” He jabbed a finger toward sky in front of them. “Why couldn’t we have gotten a simple runner rather than someone who knows how to fly?” he muttered under his breath.

“As casually as he’s flying, though, I don’t see what kind of shots I’m going to be getting of him. Harris wanted action shots of this guy. The most we’ve seen him do tonight was dodge a couple of moths.” Morton Keller adjusted the hand-held digital camera he had been using to film the small figure moving approximately 100 feet up and about the same distance out from the front of the vehicle. “It’s not like he seems to know that we’re here.”

__________________________________________________ __

“I swear, Terrie, if they come that close to hitting another individual, I’m taking a freakin’ rear tire out!”

Terrie Porter chuckled briefly at the oath. “You still have any idea why they’re following you, boss?”

“No,” Remington stated, shaking his head in a useless gesture for a response over radio. “They’ve been following me most of the evening, so far, though. They’ve got to be some of the most inept tails I’ve ever seen.”

“Do you think that it could be the Hellions?” Terrie asked.

Remington Armstrong’s only initial response was a bark of laughter, which brought him to a halt for several seconds as the thought brought ripples of laughter for several more seconds.

__________________________________________________ __

“He’s stopped.”

“Can you make anything out from the camera, Morton?” Sean brought the truck over to the roadside, though this time a little more carefully.

“Not really. He seems almost doubled over, though.”

“Keep filming!” Sean ordered, excitement in his voice. “Maybe he’s been attacked and we might finally get some of the that footage he wants.”

__________________________________________________ __

“I wouldn’t have thought the suggestion was that funny, Remington.” Terrie’s voice was a tad chilly on top of the drollness she was attempted to relay.

“I’m sorry, girl,” Remington said, finally able to get a little better control of himself. “If the Hellions or Skulls were that stupid, most of us would have been able to eliminate them long time ago, instead of taking out pockets of them like we do. No, they might be brash and have a steel pair, but they’re still dangerous as a whole. They didn’t get that way by being completely idiotic.” He continued his flight. He did not need to look down and back to see the truck had started following him again. “No, whoever this is doesn’t seem interested in doin’ anything to me yet, other than followin’ me and tryin’ to play GTA Vice City with real people on the street.”

“So what’s the plan? Are you going to scrap your little ‘interrogation session’ this evening?”

“Whatcha worried about, darlin’? Not only are you getting’ a little extra in your paycheck, but you get to help make sure that you get more of those paychecks by keeping me alive.”

Terrie snorted indignantly. “And just when am I supposed to able to spend all this extra money, if I’m sitting here nightly, playing butler to your superhero?”

This was a normal thing for the two of them. Though Terrie Porter was normally his personal secretary, she was also his personal assistant in his crime-fighting activities as Small Arms. Remington was had never bothered to hide his identity as a one of Paragon’s many costumed heroes. And given his height, he was one of the more recognizable ones. Terrie had come to him originally, asking if there had been some way she could aid him. Leary about having anyone, much less one of his favorite employees, risking their lives with him on the street, they came to a compromise. She would be his information gatherer when he was in the field, while he reimbursed her for her time and effort. He did it from his personal fortune as owner and CEO of Armstrong Armaments, so that it would be ‘off the books’. As it was, most of the work she did of that nature was on her own time, after normal work hours.

But the process was generally time consuming, and unlike Remington, who was in his early forties, Terrie was a lovely young woman in her late twenties, who was taking her time off work to help her boss on something that was his own personal agenda. Remington appreciated the effort, especially when he came to realize that she was a natural in gathering information from numerous sources in very short periods of time. Then again, she had to do the same thing in her normal job. There, however, people’s lives were not usually at stake.
“I told you before, you could take weekends off,” he countered with a sigh. “I do know how to use a search engine, you know. And I do have a wireless link in this uniform.”

“Oh, I agree. But you still haven’t convinced me that you can type a query and fire that rifle of yours at the same time.”

“I told you, I’m still working on that voice command unit for this thing.”

“I saw the results from your last experiment, Remington,” she stated. Small Arms could detect a sly smile to her voice. “And just how many functions went out of whack because of the voices of the people you had teamed with had accidentally triggered something?”

He sighed. That had not been a pretty sight. The number of printouts that he had found the next day had littered the floor of his personal lab.

“Point taken.” He suddenly halted. “Hold on, Terrie. I think I just spotted a ‘volunteer’.

How are you quitting? When I plan to log out a character, I pick Quit from the Menu. It gives an option for logging to desktop or logging to login screen. Pick the log in screen and follow as usual.

If there is a option to get to the character direct screen directly, I'd love to know, I admit.