DeviousMe

"Don't worry about it." the Slavic accent of the now helmetless Tsaiv came softly from the woman's gentle smile, "And thank you. I appreciate it."

With that, she brought a fist to her chest with force, then guided her steps into the 'floating door' that was the cloaked transport's stern airlock. Kri meanwhile rose with a smirk and a nod to Ineloo.

"It has been, yes." Captain Kalkartova in the meantime agreed with Quicksilver, the emotionless expression of her face cracking just a tad with a mild smile, "And while I can duly understand if you'd like a break, I still think you should head to Galaxy City with these two first. I believe it will save you trouble in the long run..."

The Tsaiv gave the halfling a pained glance, the alien woman setting to answer with reluctance when Kri interjected, calling her attention with a whisper as he took a knee beside the little rogue.

"Miss Ineloo," the shaman told her quietly, glancing up for a moment at the armored Esertosian, "this female, she's a warrior. Through overcoming her pain, she builds strength within. She wants to fight it. Your insistence is disrespecting that, you know."

The 'warrior' meanwhile didn't say anything, but judging by the affirming, if gentle look in her eyes, the lavender lizardman had hit the nail on the head.

"No." Oxana's reply was prompt and detached, and she regarded the large mechanoid not a whit differently than before, "There is enough concern over the integration of just one human-populated world into the empire. While simulations nine through twelve allow for development in that direction, there is not enough reason to pursue it at this point..."

Sarkh was much too amused by the humans' reaction to find it genuinely offensive. As more and more of the 'refugees' departed, he idly wondered if they'd ever learn. Oh well. It wasn't his concern. Not for now, anyway. He could always change his mind later if he so desired.

A beat of his great wings later, the Cerosian was up in the air, and a few more thereafter on his way east. If the federal agents wanted to track him, they were more than welcome. He gave them no difficulties. Once he reached the waters of the Atlantic however, they'd have to get clever. From the shores of Talos Island on, the dragon would be taking his path beneath the waves...
__________________

Eden

"Yes." Oxana answered the Cybertronian dryly, then locked eyes with the Protector as two of her armored crewmen picked the man up by his arms and hands, one on each side, "Prep for mindrip and autopsy. I will be along shortly. If he annoys you, kill him. If he does it again, kill him slower and more painfully."

She seemed to consider the matter settled at that, for the two carried their captive off without another word. The Captain, however, intended to have quite a few more, looking up at Quicksilver as she nonchalantly requested, "If you have any data on them, we'd appreciate if you uploaded a copy. It'll be much faster than going back and forth out loud. In addition..."

Meanwhile, the armored figure Ineloo took the suit's helmet into hand and removed the Kazbek headwear. The thus-revealed Tsaiv, her skin nearly a lime-green hue in contrast to Captain Kalkartova's more dulled bluish tone, smiled gently down to the halfing, giving her an appreciate nod.

"I'll be fine." she told Ineloo, "But thank you for the offer. Pardon my ignorance, but for what does GPR stand?"

"...which is why I would recommend you go to their office in the sector called Galaxy City with these two." Oxana finished to Quicksilver with the subdued motion of a hand toward Kri and Ineloo, "You'll still have complete access to our local network, so it'll be like none of us ever left your side..."

"Good boy." Oxana remarked down at the man, Slavic accent only further chilling tone of voice, "You should thank him. I'd have done worse to you."

This wasn't entirely true, but she didn't per se lie either. The transport's counterintelligence ware had some nasty means of dealing with signals and systems they didn't approve of, and a good bunch more than half of them caused decidedly more pain than an EM pulse. Not that the Captain would've used those. She would've settled for breaking some bones.

"Autobot Quicksilver." she respectfully addressed the Cybertronian, "It seems we've a common enemy. I request the transfer of your prisoner to be subject to thorough interrogation."

Kri stood silently by while crewmen clad in Kazbek armor stepped closer to take custody of the Protector should the Captain's request be granted. They wouldn't take him from Quicksilver by force. If the man managed to do anything disagreeable however...well, they had no qualms about what sort of force they'd use then...
__________________

Kings Row

If they could jump the gap between the two buildings, especially while carrying that stretcher between them, they were welcome to. Indeed, Sarkh probably would've applauded the stunt. He could've appreciated something to cheer him up a little as the Detective's remains burned away in his hands, glittering embers of blue-white luminance flitting away to join the stars in the sky - the characteristic mark of a 'no'.

The dragon rumbled something solemn-sounding in a guttural tongue as he watched the flitters fade from view, bringing his claws back down to set them upon the roof before him, once more assuming the image of the more 'traditional' beast...wearing a utility harness that could've belonged to a black ops spook. Yeah. Real traditional.

In truth, he was just more comfortable that way, and that made it easier for him to prod at the air around a certain Ildela, increasing its ability to restore her some vitality.

"I'll pass on your offer." the Cerosian finally seemed to acknowledge the government agents at this point, looking to Rogers with just the mildest little smirk at the corner of his jaws, "I've work to dodge, responsibilities to shirk...and something to hunt. Something not oily..."

Not sure if this is yalls' cup of tea, but if I were drumming this up for my RP crowd, I'd put together a multi-team Tin Mage run and have this in the Vanguard conference room over an IC global channel. What better way to create a sense of danger than to have your meeting attacked with game elements?

Granted, YMMV. But that's how I'd do it.

How so? Yalls have no precogs on Union? None at all? Heh, if that's the case, I might just have to revive Seer 666 once the server lists merge. Hee hee hee...that could be fun.

In any case though, he said "among those", not "the one", so there could be any number of people who have some means of knowing - or guessing, whichever way you want to see it.

Aye, I'm working on it. Please be patient. Might take a little longer since I've got to straighten out some things with Pious before I can make my next post, but I'll get around to it.

This:

Well, at least speaking for myself. Not sure what hole Mechano fell into this time. My first guess would be Portal 2, though. In any case, regarding 'lack of overall plot direction', that's just because I've put that (or at least my part of it) on the back burner as I watch the JWOS* and Decepticon plots progress. Personally, I think there's more than enough material in those to keep us sufficiently bust for a while.

*Jehovah's Witnesses On Steroids

"Assensing." the realization visibly dawned upon Sarkh, and he smiled to the Outsider once more before looking to Mirel, "Patience, little one. One thing at a time."

The Synchronaut's smile quickly vanished upon the approach of the paramedics however, the dragon regarding them with a perturbed glance as he reached out the back of a hand to gently push them back, "What are you...? Shoo. This needs room..."

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Eden

Oxana couldn't help but smile at this, answering with a nonchalant, "It's not. Well, assuming you masked nothing of yourself just now. The only things that aren't fact are the timestamp and that at the time there was a temporary shortage of the combination devices heroes are issued with their registration here. You'll need to go to a city office to pick one up."

"Have you adapted enough to assist her with this?" she looked to Kri, wanting to know, "Rather, can you earthglide yet?"

"Uhm..." the lavender lizardman replied uncertainly, "I'm not sure. I haven't really tried yet, you know."

"Then do so." the Captain's expression returned to its former neutrality, "If you can, quickly take her to the office in Galaxy City. If not, take a light flyer on your way out..."

The dragon's large amber eye regarded the woman curiously as she spoke those words, and he had to admit that this was one of the rare occasions when he wasn't quite sure what to make of someone.

"Magic...fingerprints?" Sarkh thus queried of her, the 'does not compute' quite audible even in the deep rumble that was his voice, "What do you intend to do with magic fingerprints...?"
__________________

Independence Port

"Mmmh..." returned the electronic warble of the armor's speaker system, its wearer unable to stifle a light chuckle, "Soup would be good. Very good. But first I need to bring this to the ship."

He patted the pocket into which he'd slipped the communications unit with those words, then wanted to know, "Would you take me there? I'll give you directions..."

One part of 'everyone else' wasn't hard to find. From the salty slime Lusca had left behind arose an armorsuited Esertosian with a groggly grumble, a hand still clutched around the sleeve of the SWAT officer who'd been buried under a good few tons of octopus when Lusca had come down on them. The man was of course squashed flat, little more than a gooey, lifeless corpse, but the crewman of the GONAROV didn't really care that much. He'd never wanted the man. Just what he carried.

His communications unit.

Tucking the little device into a leg pocket of his slimed and squashed Kazbek, the armored alien gradually swayed toward the side of the wharf, below which he knew his Cerosian comrade already waiting. If Quicksilver caught him sometime between now and when he jumped in the water, he'd offer to bring the Cybertronian along to 'headquarters'. If not however, he certainly wasn't going to follow the mechanoid. He was tired, in pain, and right now desired little more than a shower and several long hours of sleep...
__________________

Kings Row

Sarkh for one didn't try to stop him. He didn't involve himself in the argument that flared up either. Instead, he wordlessly dismissed both the portal to Independence Port and the gathering lightning storm overhead, then stepped over the gap between the buildings with his forelegs to get himself closer to the gathered individuals.

The steamy mist likewise began to dissipate into the air, but not before a stream of it enveloped the burnt Ildela, working to oxygenate the air about her. The result wasn't as drastically obvious as the gifts of healing that some truly specialized supers of this city could bestow, but it did curb the pain and gave her recovery a not insignificant boost. If she rose no objections, the process would repeat several times over the next few minutes, returning her a little more vitality with each passing.

What the dragon seemed truly attentive toward, however, was the same body of Detective Dean Doyle which the woman Derek called the Outsider moved to examine. He brought his head close, drawing in the man's lingering scent, then let the hot air of his nostrils wash over the charred remains.

And then he smiled.

"You may want to stand back." he told the Outsider, his rumbling tone sounding gentle and knowing, "You don't want to end up with a constant voice in your head..."
__________________

Eden

"Thank you." Oxana replied with a small, gentle smile to Ineloo, then glanced over to Kri while she told the halfling, "But that's a question I think you'd better ask its maker."

"And yes, things here seem to be counterintuitive regarding that." she huffed with a look to a nearby screen of text, "We've been analyzing their system of law, and it's...rather strange in some places. However, it also allows our electronic warfare division to get things done quite quickly."

At this, a nearby officer handed the Captain a touchpad, which she passed on to Ineloo, the display of the device showing the partially filled-out lines of a hero registration form.

"I had them write in what they could." the Tsaiv explained, "Mostly sensor data. You'll notice the timestamp marks this document as completed a short time after your arrival in this world, specifically before that catastrophe. This means if anyone ever does place you there, all documentation about you will show you were a legally registered hero at the time, with all rights and privileges necessary to enforce what they call the Citizen Crime Fighting Act."

She spent a few minutes explaining exactly what that was and what it entailed, as well as informing Ineloo where she could get more detailed information if she wished, then indicated the registration form again, "All you need to do is check this and make changes where you need or desire. Yes, I mean any at all. Synchronaut Sarkh requested explicitly of me to tell you that although the current name there was his idea, he will take no offense if you choose to change it."

A finger of the Captain's viridian hand pointed to the indicated field, where in the little box below the label 'hero name', a word had been written.

It read 'Moonbow'...

If the fiery strike had upset the demon, this annoyed it only the more. Fortunately, while it might've seemed idle while the Protectors regrouped, it had in fact been targeting the Blaster with great focus - and now it made use of that focus.

The air about the fleeing Protector chilled to abominable temperatures in less than the blink of a human eye, frost crackling into being from seemingly nowhere as the demon attempted to hold the man fast in a block of ice that froze both body and soul...
__________________

Kings Row

Or rather, he tried. The sky had a slightly different opinion.

Without so much as a measly little speck of warning, a great deluge suddenly fell from overhead, sheets of rain so thick they were very nearly contiguous. They bent sight and blurred sound, prattling onto the rooftop with such ferocity that several centimeters of water rose above the concrete before the sudden flood even began to tumble off the building on all sides, washing down the walls in wide, foaming falls on its way to spatter upon the streets below.

Jacub's fiery strike at Ildela discorporated into the same steamy mist that billowed from the suddenly squelched fires all about, leaving the woman unscathed, if probably quite wet. Worst of all however, at least for the fire-slinging madman, the monsoon that befell him was downright freezing, both numbing his body to severely slow his movements and drastically reducing his fiery aura's ability to defend its master and resist the harm that others intended to do unto him. Indeed, weakened as Jacub had been by now, perhaps the freezing rain even drowned his fire out completely.

But whether it did or not, one thing was certain: he was the only one thus affected. Everyone else on the building (and some of the adjoining structures, as the heavy rain reached quite far) may have found themselves wet, but more in a soothing, freshening fashion than the freezing rain that inundated Jacub. Indeed, as the force of the sky's flood let up some a scant few seconds later, reducing the torrential downpour to a shower of much more average proportions, the steam that had arisen from the smothered fires seemed almost alive, streaming about and enveloping all but the maddened zealot, partially concealing their forms in a steamy mist that wafted protectively about their bodies, ready and willing to absorb further flames that might be thrown their way.

Jacub, however, was not left without a gift of his own. Along with the freezing rain, he also received a fat fish that flopped summarily toward his face.

But while being slapped with a fish would probably add insult to injury regarding his person, even if the fish missed, it was still a valuable clue as to what the heck had just happened to anybody else.

For the water was salty.

And as the heavy black clouds that really should've preceded the rain finally thickened above, a flicker of sheet lightning cast night to day for just the briefest of moments, and thrust the obsidian silhouette of the instigator into the eyes of Jacub, as well as any others who currently happened to have the next building behind Ildela in their view.

Sarkh.

And in the very spirit of the words 'There's something horrible behind me, isn't there?', the huge dragon stood in utter silence on all fours, regarding Jacub with those amber eyes that normally held such light, such warmth, but now gave cold voice to naught but disapproval and disgust...

The shaman returned her smile with a gentle (well, in his opinion) one of his own, giving Ineloo a pronounced bob of his head, "I apologize. Ops is a place, not a person, you know. Short for Operations. I should've been more clear. But you know, I think we can find that out there. Follow me."

With that, Kri guided his steps through the door and into the central transit corridor that connected the barracks compartment to the other modules flanged in two parallel rows underneath the extendable cargo spine of the transport. Of course, this wasn't apparent from the inside, both the compartment containers as well as the corridor securely and seamlessly attached to one another, such that for all intents and purposes, the module-laden transport was a contiguous craft.

The clawed feet of the lavender lizardman clacked softly against the gunmetal-gray plasteel of the floor plating as the two turned toward the bow, the hexagonal holes of structure-reinforcing connectors (which were technically more for taking cover behind during an on-board firefight than actually stiffening the corridor) in the square cross-section of the hallway gradually passing astern while the Rulusian continued the conversation.

"And yes she does." he told the halfling in answer to her other question, "But I was speaking in regard to the situation on this world right now, you know. This thing with so many people from others arriving here - or more accurately, those being very antisocial about it - is causing a fair amount of chaos. People are getting hurt. And you know, she might not not like humans much, but she's a good person, and there isn't any way she'd just sit by and watch it happen."

A few doors forward, near the bow end of the corridor, they re-entered the portside module row and stepped into what even the most technologically inexperienced soul could easily identify as a nerve center. The compartment was darkened, but the luminance of the many monitor banks and holodisplays provided more than enough light to see clearly - especially that of the projection of the Earth that floated above the main chart table in the center of the 'room'.

Indeed, the personnel all about certainly didn't seem to have any trouble seeing as they worked diligently to efficiently direct the flow of information inbound in the form of everything from traffic cameras to satellite feeds, and acting upon when and where there came the need. They came in a variety of shapes and sizes, not to mention colors, but that didn't seem to matter here, for though they belonged to a number of distinctly different species and were marked by clear anatomical variations, they all worked toward the same goals. Still, none of them were human, which resulted in Ineloo's entry gathering noticeable attention from a few.

A Caldok soldier locked the halfling in his sights with cautious eyes, the tiny bristles of his earthen-hued, boar-like hide just as on edge as the marksman himself, a four-fingered hand instinctively laid against the grip of his sidearm. Over by a touchscreen console, an orange-skinned Tsaigon flanked by two sea-green Tasivs looked to Ineloo with curious wonder in his eyes.



The most direct attention, however, came from the Tsaiv that stood just before the mismatched-looking pair of halfling and lizardman. However, the latter's eyes saw a distinctly different image than the former's, for Kri knew very well the stout, relentless soldier that hid beneath the skin of the presently so harmless-looking Oxana Kalkartova, the Captain having relinquished her battle armor in favor of a simple, amethyst-colored gown that fell softly and gently over her viridian-hued form.



"There you are." her Slavic accent greeted the two with the same calm neutrality that stood in her face, "Good. I recall you wanted to register as a hero with the officials of this city...?"
__________________

Independence Port

It instantly dropped to the ground as well, the suddenly very slack-jawed demon staggering back with a raucous bellow of pain, pick-black blood spattering upon the concrete of the wharf along with a shower of frost-trailing shivers of porous bone. The pale-blue luminance of the demon's chilling nimbus mixed with the vapors of its steaming blood as the beast swayed and roared.

But it didn't go down.

If it had been angry before, now the demon was just plain-old ticked. The fissures of its cracked, pockmarked visage gleamed with malevolent, ice-blue fire, and the flesh of its mouth oozed forth that tar-like black blood which dripped viscously onto the ground like crude oil as it advanced on the closest Protector, the chilling embrace of its aura reaching for the vat-grown super even as a massive, hooked sword of hellfrost swiftly coalesced into being within the demon's claws...

The demon had much the same outlook upon this situation, especially when the aggravating little pest in its grip decided to smash its forehead into the teeth of its lower jaw. This time, however, the Protector had made a grave mistake. He might've had the reflexes of an overcaffeinated squirrel on steroids, but even that couldn't change local physics. Not empowered by the Tanker's energy, his headbutt was a contest of only his own strength against that of the demon.

And the demon was stronger.

Its teeth rent their way through the helmet with a sickening crunch, and they didn't stop there. The demon duly felt the man's intent, and it had neither reason nor desire to stand around and give him the time necessary for him to power up the energy transfer. No, in fact it didn't intend to give him any time at all, and so rather than stick the Protector's head into its maw completely, then bite it off at the neck, the demon decided it could be content with half a head, and simply continued the Tanker's motion, biting down with unearthly force right then and there.

Of course, this did nothing whatsoever to stop the SWAT officers' grenades, and the light buggy exploded in a shower of smoke, flame, and itty bitty flakes of monochromatic light that a keen observer could've worn were tiny little cubes. They didn't stay long enough to confirm this however, flickering out of existence like a swarm of fluorescent fireflies by the break of coming dawn. The buggy left not a single trace that it had ever been at all, going into complete deresolution...

The armored individual holding the unconscious officer captive replied with naught but silence, though whether this was because the Protectors' opponent considered the demand silly or there just wasn't enough time was q good question. Either way, the tailless figure bolted, but was unfortunately not quite quick enough. Lusca's wet embrace buried the alien summarily underfoot.

The Summoner however, still sinking toward the wharfside bottom, of course had more than enough clearance to the humongous cephalopod's that he didn't need be concerned with its impact.

Sadly, his demon wasn't so lucky.

True, the beast stood just outside Lusca's 'area of effect' so to speak, but without the one who'd bound it present was momentarily unresponsive, which allowed the Protector to bring his two punches to bear without a defensive response. A pair of angered grunts came growled forth, and the demon's 'skull' cracked and fractured, fragments of porous bone pittering to the quay's concrete like a sporadic hail of pebbles, and the pale-blue flames that 'leaked' from the resulting fissures joined the glow of the soul-chilling nimbus the beast still emitted.

But then the time of inaction was over.

The Protector's third punch met the demon's clawed palm, frozen hide and sinewy muscle partially absorbing the impact. Though the attack's energy still surged painfully into its arm, the quick grasp of its powerful claws arrested the fist's movement with vigor. With the Tanker's other hand already in the demon's grasp, this effectively locked down both of the man's hands.

Now normally, the demon would've encased its opponent in a thick layer of hellish ice right about then. However, it hadn't escape its notice that both its chilling nimbus and bitterly cold breath seemed to be having no effect whatsoever on these 'Paragon Protectors'. It didn't know why, and at this point it really didn't much care. It was just angry.

So it simply tried to quite literally bite the Tanker's head off...