DeviousMe

Too little, too late. The average Cerosian's strength already outclassed just about any non-super human, even those of natural origin in 'peak physical condition', and the wielder of this whip was certainly no exception. His Kazbek only further compounded the problem, turning the gap between the Protector's strength and his own into a veritable Grand Canyon. Without direct aid, the Protector would not escape the burning whip - not before he ended up in the demon's grasp, anyway. The Defender's darkness didn't really seem to bother it. Sure, it spat a cone of soul-chilling frost in return, along with a baleful bellow, but that seemed to stem more from annoyance than deep injury.

The Summoner didn't keep his cool quite so well unfortunately, hauled off his feet and off the wharf by the fire blast, a flailing mass of limbs as he hit the water below. He stopped again a moment later though, noting with surprise that though he was sinking, he was pretty much okay. This Kazbek armor was tough stuff. The MPDAS sensors hadn't even logged anything greater than design parameters. He began to wonder if the rumors were true.

Back on the quay, his tailless comrade appeared to have no such trepidations. When the Scrappers closed, the armored individual merely tucked the unconscious SWAT officer under an arm and endeavored to give the first a boot to the head that would've made Chuck Norris proud, aiming directly for the Protector's opaque faceplate. Regrettably, that that didn't much motivate his spine-studded fellow to back down.

The slash went from stem clear across to sternum, leaving a long, nasty gouge in the formerly so artfully painted composite. There didn't seem to be any blood though, and it looked to have more ticked off rather than slow down its wearer, the second slash ending in a snapped-off spine in the Esertosian's four-fingered hand rather than dragging another gash into the armor.

Half a second later, it came for its former owner's right lung like a jet-propelled Malaysian dagger...
__________________

Eden

Kri seemed to think on that for a few seconds before replying with, "I...think so. I don't read as fast as they do, but from what I have, I believe it is, but there are other things even more numerous. People they call 'mutants' and 'scientists', for example. And machines. Many machines."

"They seem to do much the same things regardless of the means, though." he added with a shrug, "Hence it often looking like magic, but not being any. And no, this world doesn't even really know about us yet. I think that'll chance, however. As I know Oxa-er, Captain Kalkartova, she's going to find sitting around and watching things happen just a little irritating."

The lizardman had spoken those last few words with a sly, toothy smirk, and looked to Ineloo with much the same now, "I think you might like to see just what I mean. Do you want to go to Ops...?"

The lavender shaman couldn't help but smile at this, giving the halfling a beastly grin, "You know, I used to think so too. Then they showed me what a 'rifle butt' is. Trust me, getting clubbed by one of these things hurts."

"But yes, it's not the main purpose." Kri stopped trying to make himself scarce, visibly more comfortable now, and explained as well as he could, "They shoot a sort of energy bolts they call plasma. And uhm...I don't really know how. They told me it's some type of machine, but it still looks like fire magic to me. Different worlds, different ways, you know. I'm from Rulus myself. They're from...let's see..."

He counted off on the claws of his four-fingered hands, muttering quietly, "...I think about six or seven different ones. They have this big union of rule. It's really an amazing thing, you know."

"Oh, I'm sorry." the shaman presented his palms to her apologetically, "I always seem to forget now. I am Kri. Who do I have the pleasure of meeting...?"
__________________

Atlas Park

Back on the rooftop, the sniper could've blinked...well, if he still could've. Lack of eyelids made that just a tad too difficult. The sense was there, however, and it certainly didn't take him more than the span of another to get the news into the network. The circle-rimmed image of the familiar oscillograph indicative of audio-only exchanged snapped into his vision only instants before he fired off the report.

"That's confirmed." returned the wavering line of the observatory, "Log shows inbound, but we've picked up no outgoing. We're checking with Sarkh, just in case. Stand by..."

((Gonna wait a little longer for Independence Port to see if Mechano and Omega want to post something. If that's not okay, please let me know in PM.))

Half a second later, the man got his wish, though probably not in the way he'd expected. Yanked forward by a sudden, tremendously forceful tug, he skipped forward like a stone on a pond, directly toward the widespread silver claws of the armored crewman's other hand, palm open and sinister-looking fingers curled forward like some sort of diabolical catcher's mitt.

Being a member of the GONAROV's Cerosian complement, the Summoner hadn't been sure how to react to the Paragon Protector catching a whip of such otherworldly fire. Even the rapid, wordless exchange with his tailless companion awarded by his link implant couldn't bridge that delay. Once he'd been advised though, he had no reason whatsoever to remain inactive.

And neither did the forces at his call.

But if the Protector expected that hand to catch him, he was sorely mistaken. Oh, something was there to catch him alright, but it wasn't the hand. Its purpose was but to call that something - and it came stante pede.

The cold, biting nimbus of Hell's very deepest reaches enveloped the man in near-simultaneity with the heavily muscled, sinewy arms of the hulking demon that had veritably coalesced into being right before him, the fiery strand that so speedily hauled pulled him toward the thing going straight through the great beast's gut, its body seeming to offer no resistance whatsoever to the burning strand.

It did, however, offer plenty of resistance to his.

That didn't go to say the demon intended to crush him, though. On the contrary. The Summoner's comrade had replied with something along the lines of there being no need for them to be picky with which of these humans they abducted. One was as good as another. Thus the demon's objective was merely the same as what the Cerosian's shipmate had been: to try and grab a hold...and then squeeze the air from the man's lungs.

As to why said tailless comrade had passed this off to the demon, well that was quite simple: they still needed a one of the signal-sending communications units these guys carried. With the Cerosian's whip occupied elsewhere, his fellow crewman took a more direct approach to 'obtaining' the SWAT officer who carried one.

A dash and a choke hold...
__________________

Atlas Park
And he wasn't the only one.

Well, he was the only one who climbed. Just not the only one slinking about by the light of the moon. That little tidbit he shared with the owner of the eyes which presently peeped past the targeting scope of a long-barreled plasma rifle from a rooftop not too far away.



Said owner, however, had no harm in mind. His orders were merely to observe. The rifle was just a tool at hand. Its magnification was simply better than that of his cybereyes, so if he needed a close-up, the weapon could deliver vastly better results.

Of course, that didn't go to say he wouldn't use the thing if reason emerged...

The Captain did indeed, but her only visible response was the slight tilt of a foot, promoting the little flyer to launch itself forward with another burst of speed, the dark waters below swiftly dropping away to make room for the myriad of twinkling city lights that illuminated nighttime Paragon. It really was a sight to see, though Oxana couldn't help but feel a twinge of disapproval in the back of her mind.

But, she reminded herself, foreign culture, foreign standards. Maybe the humans here saw such things as desirable. Perhaps they even found the native nature of their planet detestable and sought to completely rebuild it. She'd heard of peoples that had done so. It seemed odd to her. But at least there was still one place in the jungle of concrete and asphalt where the wilds flourished...

Eden

Kri let out a long, drawn-out groan of relief as he slipped his clawed foot free of the armored boot, setting the protective, yet rather confining footwear firmly into its designated slot of his designated equipment locker. The lavender lizardman smiled with satisfaction at the click of the clamp, letting his emerald eyes wander about the barracks' silver-gray metal; the rough plating of the floor, the smooth tiles of the ceiling, the rows of alcoves designed to hold all manner of gear, and the little name plates above each designating to whom they'd been assigned.

His gaze stopped at the golden letters of 'Lodný Kapitán Oxana Kalkartova'. He couldn't help but smile as he placed the last piece of his armor into its holders. A soft sigh escaped his nostrils. His thoughts wandered. He remembered the first time he'd seen her. It seemed like yesterday. It always did. The training hall they'd called it. Some kind of fighting ring. And oh, how she'd fought. How she'd pummeled down that creature whose muscled bulk had held nearly twice the volume of her well-sculpted own, her body rippling like water with every move. She hadn't even worn anything but...

"Heh." an electronic chuckle ripped the Rulusian shaman from his daydreams, emerald pupils darting to the door in surprise as he head, "It's purple."

"Captain!" Kri exclaimed in shock at the armored figure that stood there completely at ease, hands even behind her back, then dove behind a stocked weapon rack the moment his legs obeyed the impulse to move again. Head and shoulders poked above the neatly locked-in rifles the lavender reptilian stammered hastily, "Uh, I...pardon, Sir. I didn't, uh, I was just, uh..."

"Oh would you relax?" Oxana interrupted him calmly, "Not like I haven't seen before."

"This is Ineloo." she introduced the halfling while she stepped to the side of the door to make room for her. The two had boarded the cloaked troop transport almost immediately after touching down in the dense woods of former Woodvale, the Captain having wasted no time in the deresolution of the small light flyer once they'd come to ground.

"She'd like to enter the city hero registry, but I don't believe it's safe to bring her to City Hall currently." the Captain continued to tell Kri, "She'll need a profile first."

"You're looking for Technician Kranadin." the lizardman realized, "Who..."

"Has his S.L.I. link off again, yes." Oxana nodded with a grumped sigh, "Do you have any idea...?"

"Chasing a giant mushroom." the shaman was the one who nodded that time as he answered. This in turn elicited silence from the Captain, so he explained, "He and some of the others were attacked by large, walking mushrooms shortly after we made camp. The cook made the comment that mushrooms would go well with the stew, then someone shouted to get it, and then the mushrooms started running the other way, prompting some of the crew to chase after them."

"I see." Oxana remarked dryly, having to admit such was more or less par for the course, "Looks like I'm going hunting mushrooms then. Please keep an eye on her until I return."

Before Kri could say anything in response, the GONAROV's commanding officer had performed a curt nod to Ineloo and marched off. The lavender Rulusian blinked at the halfling. No, this wasn't awkward. Not at all...

The Cerosian cracked a smile, but didn't say anything in response. Even had he wanted, he wouldn't have gotten the chance, for Oxana leaped from the dragon's shoulder the very next second, her jump gaining Ineloo and her some decent clearance from the Synchronaut's wings before the Captain took the baton into both hands and snapped the thing apart in the middle.

From how easily it came apart - not to mention that the bright-white endpoints of the break were perfectly flat - it was obvious this was part of its design, and if that wasn't enough of a clue, what happened next could leave no doubt about it.

No sooner had the Esertosian officer brought the halves now in her hands apart far enough than the very same sort of light grid appeared beneath the halfling and her with the characteristic howl of turbines, rapidly resolving into a four-winged little flyer that kicked them skyward again in less than half a second.

The night air rushed freely through the open 'cockpit', the 'seat' mounted between the long, shallow-angled wings at the vehicle's front and the short, stocky stabilizers of the V-shaped tail being little more than a sort of saddle onto which the pilot could lie down in the fashion of riding a high-performance motorcycle.

"Still with me?" Oxana queried of Ineloo not a moment after testing the footholds that had resolved beneath her armor's soles, breaking her usual routine of flooring it immediately after engine start in favor of making sure the halfling was actually still there and holding on.

Meanwhile, the obsidian silhouette that was Sarkh went into a nosedive, wings folded and legs laid tightly against his long body. With surprisingly little splash, the Cerosian slipped into and beneath the pitch-black waters of Independence Port.

Over on the wharf, the 'missile launcher team' showed little outward interest in their potential new assailants, and in just about in the very same manner of the Complete Monster whom some unknowing, pitiable soul with a measly little handgun had the extreme misfortune of choosing for their next victim in a dark, bleak, and perhaps even fog-filled back alley.

Still, they weren't quite that quick. Not only was Skycracker not exactly being idle out on the water, but their light launchers hadn't brought their next batch of missiles to resolution yet either. That would take another three to four seconds. So for now, aside from the silver-clawed half of the armored duo glancing back to the march-up behind them, they didn't do anything.

At least not physically.

The immaterial reaction, however, was speedier than the blink of any eye, and the Protectors, SWAT officers, and even the vans and every little bit of gear they carried was all at once subject to intense scrutiny.

Were the foreign signals floating around controlling these people? Were they even still people? Or had they never been to begin with, their nature merely one of drone order takers built to abide and obey?

What were they? And where was that signal coming from? Steel Canyon? Kings Row? Or somewhere else entirely...?

Someone was indeed, and with what was happening below, she gradually leaned more and more toward the conclusion that more direct involvement was needed - and that it probably wouldn't be the best idea to have the halfling spear-diving into the water with Sarkh.

"Come with me please." the Captain reached out to Ineloo, intending to grasp a hand and thus steady her while she pulled the halfling from the harness pocket, "Synchronaut Sarkh has underwater operations to conduct. We'll be getting off here."

The Cerosian in question meanwhile reached into a pocket on his other side, gingerly pulling out a thin rod roughly the size of a police baton with a pair of claws. Once in hand, he reached over his shoulder and held the object out to Oxana.

"Don't worry." he told the halfling with a smirk as the Captain took possession of the short staff, "The Captain is an excellent pilot. She'll take good care of you."

He didn't elaborate on just what he meant by that, instead giving the word back to Oxana, who instructed Ineloo to stand behind her and place both arms about her waist, finishing with, "Then lock your hands together and told on tight..."

Down on the wharf, said 'small creatures' hadn't been idle either. On the contrary. When they'd seen that the EMP bursts of their missiles had no effect on Skycracker, the two had immediately reset the launchers. By now, the light weapons had already resolved a new batch of projectiles, which in turn meant they were once more fully armed and ready to fire.

So they did.

And as Skycracker aimed at the wharf, the wharf protested. Another missile barrage screeched through the night at the Decepticon, and this time they packed enough high-explosive yield to blow a set and cured cement truck halfway across Canada - before it had to worry about the sticky, toxic, and quite caustic elements of those missiles' detonations...

The occupants of the light buggy looked to one another for a moment, the somewhat unexpected style of the response briefly throwing off their focus. It returned posthaste however, and the two fired off their own reply stante pede. Once more the laser spoke.

First it delivered a radio frequency randomizer sequence. Then came a pulse compressor and the correspondent decompression. Finally, a multi-layered cipher topped off the communication obfuscation. if Quicksilver was the suspicious sort, said nature might've been raised at this. These people treated this place as confirmed hostile territory. They were being beyond careful to ensure no one tapped their communications.

"Comm. check." the silver-clawed passenger then sent via radio to the Cybertronian. Once they had confirmation, he went on to query, "We've convinced the local authorities that we're on their side - for the moment. How can we help...?"

This'd be a nice QoL improvement, aye.

My sentiments exactly.

There we go. Sorry I wasn't able to get around to this earlier. Now then...

In the US, the law actually varies quite a bit on that. That there 'example' from here in Texas actually comes quite close to the truth, heh. However, in Rhode Island, as in most of the northeastern states, things tend to run a little less loosely.

If Paragon resided in our world, police there would liely behave no differently then in New York, Boston, etc, where the general motto is 'lethal force is discouraged, but if it's him or you, make it you' - i.e. a recognized law enforcement official won't be penalized for using lethal force unless the circumstances clearly didn't call for it.

In Paragon, the Citizen Crime Fighting Act essentially deputizes any registered hero, making them a de facto law enforcement officer. As such, they're expected to obey the same rules and regulations as the PPD, and (despite the 'rivalry' that Paragon's hero groups and the PPD have going) work together in essentially the same fashion as one another.

Unregistered heroes, i.e. vigilantes, however do not enjoy this protection, and vigilantism is just as illegal and punishable by the law in Paragon as it is in our world.

Now, this concerns the law as written. In reality, it's not always taken so verbatim. Generally, police (especially in an area with high criminality) won't bat an eye if someone on the street starts shooting and old Mr. Johnson comes out of his house with a shotgun and blows him away. They might interview him in an effort to figure out what caused the shooter to start - as they would with any other witness to the incident - but they won't detain, let alone arrest him.

"As I've said, I recommend you proceed to City Hall with us." Captain Kalkartova repeated her earlier statement, looking over the round, "It would of great advantage for any and all of you who have questions or desire something of this world, including information regarding a return to your own."

"You're of course free to decline." she added, looking to Mirel and Quicksilver a moment, just in case, then turned to Ineloo to answer the halfling, "In either case, we are leaving now. How many more of you desire to come?"

Her word choice clearly conveyed her acknowledgment of the little rogue's confirmation, as well as prompted Sarkh to stand again, since one way or another things would likely result in him being given the task of getting them there. Moving thus closer, the storm dragon bought his head to Ineloo's side to address her queries in a more quiet tone, so as to not draw attention away from the Captain's inquiry of the gathered.

"It's the armor." he explained, "Though be sure to not let that fool you. She's not exactly weak without it..."

Sarkh's teeth appeared in a playfully malicious grin, the Cerosian follwing the conversations closely as they progressed.

"Maybe." he told Ineloo, though whether that answer concerned locks or what she'd asked of him earlier in the palaver was a good question. He certainly wasn't dropping any hints while he introduced himself with a somewhat more amicable (and less toothy) smile, "I am Sarkh. Synchronaut 1st Class. Well...most of the time."

"Agreed." Oxana looked in Mirel's direction for a moment, then guided her steps toward the spot the woman had indicated, "However, we'd do well to choose a more appropriate location. As those who stayed with us earlier, and probably some more of you, already know, your best chance of finding the answers you want is to come to a building termed 'City Hall'. We're currently on our way there and more than willing to serve to guide."

"First though, what's it exactly that you speak of?" the Captain wanted to know from her as she picked from the street one of Esau's guns, the slightly singed firearm having skidded to a stop here after being thrown clear of the explosion, "If you mean the projection, that was immaterial. There's nothing there for anyone to move. If you mean these..."

She raised the artfully engraved weapon laying flat in the palm of her hand, then without warning snapped her fingers about it and crushed the thing into a mangled mess of metal.

"Toys." the words she spoke as she listlessly let the destroyed gun fall to the asphalt held an unimpressed dryness clearly audible despite the electronic modulation of her voice, "They're not worth our attention..."