DeviousMe

I can neither confirm nor deny the presence of any government agencies at this time.

The Sword duo didn't waste any time either, though sadly they weren't exactly as mobile as the super-powered individuals about them. Still, a truck did just as well, Vanguard's modifications allowing the vehicle to efficiently traverse Boomtown's rough terrain.

The heavy diesel of the uncovered truck roared loudly into the distance, drawing the attention of Clockwork here and there, but their efforts against the vehicle were somewhat unwarranted. Electric bolts didn't exactly hold lava against a sturdy, grounded vehicle, and if things got too close for comfort...well, this was the reason fo the Colonel riding shotgun in the uncovered bed, her long-barreled rifle gaining a clear line of fire in all directions. Needless to say, there may or may not have been a zone of demolition about the moving truck, depending on the amount of attention it drew.

The creature they followed (and although he drove, the Sword Sorcerer made sure to keep a close watch upon his charge) looked to be having even less trouble. Low altitude was somewhat of a relative term, the flying being staying around a hundred meters in the air, give or take.

By the time the Oscillators had figured out that they couldn't carry other Clockwork on their backs (for such an action would cause their propellers to shred to pieces, rendering them unable to fly at all) and instead adopted the idea of two Oscillators clamped to the shoulders of every Knight, the tracker had been and gone. The creature flew quite a bit faster then your average sky-faring being hero, and a keen observer would note that it didn't seem to be exerting itself in any manner, likely leading to the fact it could still tear through the skies even more rapidly.

The Sword duo didn't seem worried about losing it though, the Sorcerer's staff apparently leading the man in just the right direction. If (or when, depending on their means of travel) the others lost sight of the creature, all they would have to do is follow the truck instead. Although the vehicle moved briskly, it still had to wave its way around (or through) larger obstacles. This circumstance and the rough terrain kept its top speed at a level that a very experienced sprinter should be able to keep up with a little extra effort...

Hotaka stopped as he received the transmission from Sybil, the dragon coming to a fast halt. He could put two and two together, and the answer yielded no solution, no matter which way one chose to bend and twist it. Even Ryuu's mysterious Elixir of Life needed the corpse in more or less one pieces. It simply couldn't revive a man blown to bits...

--------------------

"Sounds to me you fell into the age-old power versus concealment pit." Baalial replied with thought, outlining the principle, "It really doesn't matter how it's done, as almost all forms of concealment need some manner of power to operate. Sure, you can cloak the power source, but then you require more power, which means you'll require more power again, and...well, you get my point. It's an endless cycle. But yes, small is a good idea. That should keep us hidden for a while."

For a moment, the demon quieted down, seeming to listen to something only he could hear.

"Do excuse me a moment." he told the others, reaching for a scroll in his briefcase, "It seems I've a presently flightless dragon to move around..."

((Negative. My script does not greet people. It butchers them with knives.))

Energon's sensors didn't reveal much. His HUD's databank didn't have any references to compare its observations to, the summative resulting in the thing giving him nothing but a really big question mark when it came to the quadruped.

His sensitivity to energy, however, did throw up something interesting. Although neither constant nor powerful, the being's collar periodically dispensed a low-level flux over its coat of scales. The period seemed random, measured in the tiniest fractions of a second (and perhaps this really did make the flux appear constant), but if Energon's senses were keen enough, he'd notice a direct proportion to the movement rate of the creature.

The Colonel and Sword Sorcerer accepted the various commentary from the task force without reply, and if one was suspicious enough in nature, taking extra care to avoid Ghoul's inquiry. Even Dax's comment went unheeded, though the Colonel (as any sensible woman would at such remarks) should've promptly taken steps to knock his block off.

"Very well." the Sorcerer gave a nod, lifting the staff from his back and passing the iridescent tip over the leash, which slowly faded away as a result, "Don't worry, I've still a hold of it with my staff. Just keep in mind what we spoke of."

With a command that apparently only the tracker could perceive, the duo of Vanguard let the thing loose. It didn’t take but a moment to get a running start, then throw its wings wide and bolt into the sky. Keeping to a low altitude, its course made a beeline for the Cannonade...

OOC:

That information is currently classified.

Script: "Yar!"

And I think you misunderstood me. I was asking about this here:

[ QUOTE ]
He studied it a little more closely, allowing his more esoteric senses, both techonlogical and non, along with years of experience-borne instinct, more play.

[/ QUOTE ]
What was he using? Thermal, x-rays, the lazy eye, something else?

BIC:

From one moment to another, a gaping maw rimmed with rows of sharp, carnivorous teeth shot forward. The Sorcerer barely reacted in time, giving the leash a rapid tug before the creature's jaws could jab into anything belonging to Sanders. Still, the reverberating sound of the knife-like teeth snapping against one another was more than disheartening.

"Careful." the Sword Sorcerer huffed, keeping his attention on the now very taut line, "I've been told it regards virtually anything as edible. Acting like prey around it could be bad for your health, Agent Sanders."

"Though it might be amusing." the Colonel giggled, a hand on her rifle, "In any case, don't show any weakness around it and it'll respect your personal space. Or so I'm told."

"It will." the Sorcerer gave a nod to his partner, then turned to the group that had assembled, "If you're all prepared, we can head out immediately..."

((Hm, I'm going to need something a little less general there, otherwise I'll have no idea what E-X is looking for. ))

"Yes, Soul Police." the Sword Sorcerer returned, "You might think that freelancers like you are the only ones cracking down on the necromancy and other soul-stealing going on here in Paragon, but there are quite a few organizations stepping up to what you can't or won't handle..."

"What you call theatrics, we call containment." the Sword Sorcerer knocked the back an armored fist against the truck's reinforced chassis a few times to underscore his point, "But I agree, time is important. Let me see if..."

"Gyah!" came a woman's muffled shout from inside the truck's covered cargo bed, "Oh no you don't! Stop it. Stop it. Stop it. I said stop it, already! Kyah! You did not just bite me! C'mere, you!"

The Sorcerer backed off the truck in surprise as its frame rocked to and for a few seconds, the man following up by stepping around the back to see what had just happened.

"Here." a purple-armored hand pressed some manner of line into his own, his partner Colonel hopping out a moment later, brushing imaginary dust from her armor as she growled, "Maybe you'll have better luck with this whole magical whatsit thing than me."

"I'll try," the Sorcerer gave a nod, tugging tentatively on the line until it finally started to generate some slack. A moment later, a creature few had ever seen before followed, sliding from truck bed to ground in an apparently very annoyed manner.

It wasn't very big, perhaps the size of a large dog, maybe a Great Dane. It was definitely some sort of reptilian, and a quadruped at that. Long and thin, its seemed reminiscent of a large predatory cat, at least in the way it moved, slowly setting one leg in front of the other, the three clawed toes on each digitigrade foot spreading to contact the ground and curling back somewhat upon once lifted off.

The skull was large and long, the characteristic shape of a sizeable carnivorous reptile unmistakable, the sharp teeth only adding to the sense. A coat of Falu red, finely interlocking scales covered the creature from head to toe to the tip of the long, thin tail, and even the large pair of wings that rose from the thing's back, membranes of robust, leathery hide stretched tightly between the supporting bones of the neatly folded-back appendages.

The eyes carried no pupils, only solid amber membranes that gave no clue what the creature looked at, nor if it even could see. The head surveying its surroundings with precision, however, gave this a rather large chance.

It now stood for all to see that the line passed into the Sorcerer's hand was nothing more than a leash, connected to a segmented silver collar about the neck of the creature that looked surprisingly high-tech, despite the large blue jewel embedded in its frontal joint.

"That's our tracker." the Colonel explained, retrieving her rifle from the truck's side cargo pod and slinging it across her back, "Got it on loan from the Soul Police. Just think of it as a big scaly bloodhound, and don't worry about the rest..."

"I'd be worried if you didn't." the Lady Grey gave the tanker a wry smirk. Randall knew very much what she'd implied just now: a good many heroes thought themselves invincible and often rushed headlong into things any sensible person knew to be too much to handle alone.

Maybe Freedom Corps wasn't such an air headed organization after all, their recommendation of Grey as a leader clearly holding water...

--------------------

((My bad. Misread him lobbing the fireball up to the building as him flying up, then throwing the thing. ))

"Yeah, like I'd trust a meta." the TacOps Commander snarled in response, "Can't even listen in on a shady deal without you 'heroes' messing everything up. Like we were doing anything to you. But I guess that's why there are people like me around; without us, you'd just take the world for your own and do whatever the hell you like. Might makes Right, doesn't it? Well, damn you and your whole lot. Might for Right, and we're not going bye-bye until you animals are back on your leashes."

Matt quickly realized he was dealing with a fanatic - this man had been truly and completely convinced that all metahumans and assorted super-powered entities were trying to trample humanity under their feet, accountable to no one and with no repercussions to fear. Enraptured by the collective paranoia of Malta, the mad had no intention of giving up, thinking he knew well what would happen if he did - the meta would just slash at him anyway.

But not with a high-voltage current running through every fiber of every muscle. The TacCom had taken the opportunity of the scrapper's hesitation (the web grenades slowing Matt's reaction time a good bit) to ram his taser toward McGinty's gut. Even with his supreme defenses, there was almost no chance the scrapper could dodge something he never saw coming at this close a range - and together with the long-persisting effects of the stun grenade, the shock to his system would more than likely be enough to stun McGinty, at least temporarily.

Not one to wait to see if his logic had been correct (with these damn metas, one just never knew), the TacCom let himself fall back and roll, freeing the way for the Titan's attempt to savagely pummel Matt with all the force its cannon arm could muster.

At roughly the same time, the Hercules at the edge of the roof took a few steps back, stoically taking the impact of Cory's fireball. Armor began to buckle under the intense heat, but it wouldn't be enough to take down something on the red list alone.

Not that the Titan intended to give Simmons the chance. Its missile bays clacked open once again, loosing a swarm of projectiles tipped with high explosives powerful enough to knock an armored helicopter out of the sky...

--------------------

The wall sealed the alcove once again, just as it had done before, and the elevator didn't seem to do a thing. But the Fool already knew it to be taking him elsewhere. He hadn't felt any motion in its earlier trip either.

Moments later, the wall rocketed away again. Outside now sat a landscape that to a human must have been even more horrid than the realm of lightning.

The sky came across as nothing but a wall of dark clouds drenched in blood, the fiery light of what appeared to be a sun only enough to give it a dull sheen of somewhat brighter crimson, though the star itself even achieved even a spot of full yellow. Judging from its current appearance, either the clouds were thin there by some coincidence, or the thing was very large and very white.

And very hot.

In fact, everything was hot. Burning, even. The landscape was a frightening assembly; a downright hellish plain of dark rock and bright-red rivers of lava, interrupted every now and then by a jutting formation, be it a mountain in the distance or just a sheer cliff nearby.

Still, the place had something the Fool hadn't seen for a while now: ground. It may have been full of lava flows, jagged as could be, and generally very nasty looking, but it was ground. He'd arrived on the bottom level of the system.

Not that he needed to actually touch said ground, of course. The designer (or whatever this all represented) had taken the time to place a set of walkways about the skyscraper-like elevator, the transport program the Fool had just emerged from. Indeed, the constructs closely resembled the massive, conical main structure he'd seen in the distance in the lightning realm, and he'd emerged on a large, circular platform that jutted from its edge, looking outward over the landscape in the direction of the elevator entryway. Whatever heat may have raged near the flows, up here the temperature still sat at tolerable levels.

Of more interest, however, was that right in said direction, not ten meters or so ahead, stood the vague silhouette of some manner of creature. No, it didn't stand - it leaned forward against the rail that encircled the platform. Aside from this observation, the fact that it seemed to compare in height to a human, and that a long, whiplike, and almost devil-tipped tail trailed behind it, however, general lack of any good light combined with the creature's smooth, night-black skin to obscure whatever other elements of morphology it might have possessed...

Though it wasn't quite sure where Thule had gotten a sword from, the Jounin's certainly wasn't stopped by simply grabbing a hold of it. After all, there was a reason this ninja was a threat not only to humans, but also to robots that carried the armor equivalent of a tank. Unless Thule had suddenly become some sort of tanker, the man had no way of preventing the blade from simply cutting along his fingers, then cleaving into his torso afterwards.

Whatever happened, however, one thing was fact - Thule wasn't getting out of here in three seconds or less. Though the explosion ripped the Jounin apart into a cloud of dark vapors, the betrayer found himself caught in his own bomb's detonation...

--------------------

Hotaka didn't give the Flyer another thought. At first, he'd thought the thing would make it, but apparently someone else had taken care of the thing.

In any case, the dragon now moved toward the sound of an explosion that had racked the area just now. Ryuu only hoped it hadn't been from the demise of Steve Power, having lost contact with the shadow Jounin he'd sent to guard the man...

--------------------

"Er, what?" Baalial questioned with a quizzical look to Block Bot, "Do you mean this installation with 'it' or something else? Because so long as they put up a few illusion wards, even the best scrying can't see anything else but what's being projected, so I don't really see the problem..."

"The Chief is correct." the Sword Sorcerer curtly told those busy smashing up Clockwork here and there, "The DPO perimeter is quite secure from them, I assure you."

There wasn't much to argue with that point. Though there weren't very many of Vanguard's soldiers around, everyone knew the mysterious organization's equipment gave them an edge in battle not to be neglected. Indeed, even the lowest ranking of Vanguard recruits could take on opponents a rank or threat level above theirs, even more so when deployed in groups. Many a hero and villain had seen basic soldiers of Vanguard make mincemeat out of Rikti battalions they should've been floored by - and that didn't even account for lieutenants and other officers.

Even if they had, the trapezoid of teleoperated high-explosive missile turrets (presently set on automatic) that formed the 'blue zone' in which the supply trucks had gathered packed enough firepower to level Babbage, his brother, cousin, second cousin, and clone of X at the same time.

In short, the local villains didn't stand a chance of penetrating the DPO perimeter. The only group that had actually been considered a threat was the Council, and them only if they managed to get in some high-end divisions, not the ones 'native' to Boomtown.

In any case, the Vanguard trucks standing about were still in the process of being offloaded, all manner of equipment among their cargo, even a set of mediport stations. Just in case, of course.

The Sword Sorcerer, however, seemed to be concerned with one truck in particular, never moving too far from it. Best guess: it held the means of tracking he'd spoken of earlier...

((Nah, just dropping in some common sense. ))

"In due time." the Sword Sorcerer replied, "Specifically, as soon as you obtain your briefing from te Security Chief and my partner returns with a...very sophisticated means of tracking..."

"Do take care not to overload yourself." the Sword Sorcerer told Bladewing nonchalantly, "You never do know if your foe might level some manner of nullification on any unorthodox means of storage you may possess..."

Turning back to face the Malta Operatives, Matt's nod caught him a nose full of plasma, the Titan he'd attacked trying to reduce the scrapper to monoatomic vapor in return. The second mechanoid took on the blaster on the street below, its pod covers clacking open to release another octet of roaring missiles. This time, however, the things' detonations resulted not in a large patch if flames, but caustic gas instead, the cumulative effects of which could hold most heroes fast, leaving them helpless in the area of effect.

The TacOps and their Commander didn’t remain idle, of course. Though none of them were on the so-called 'red list' (which contained measures of things heroes really shouldn't engage one-on-one) like the duo of Titans, they were nowhere near useless.

Focusing on support, the TacOps tossing a set of web grenades at the speedy scrapper to slow him while the Commander pitched a wide-area stun grenade at Matt and Cory, hoping to catch them both within the blast radius...

--------------------

Wandering on the tubular, mechanical-looking connections between the odd structures may not have been the smartest thing the Fool could have done. Not only were they round and wet (thankfully the grated exterior surface present on most of them offset this a bit), but there was no telling when one of those lightning bolts wouldn't strike its intended satellite dish.

Sure, it hadn't happened yet - of if it had, he at least hadn't seen it - but with thunder overhead that never seemed to cease rolling, one could probably not be too careful around here.

If he still kept going (instead of maybe considering the elevator that had brought him here in the first place as a means of escape), he would find the thing that seemed to be the biggest structure around lay a bit further away than he'd thought. Not only because it was bigger than it had at first appeared, but also because there wasn't any direct route there - only the tubular conduits that led from one assembly to another.

Whatever this realm represented (or whoever, as perhaps it had been modeled after its creator's world) apparently had never heard of a walkway...

--------------------

"But unless she is injured, everything should resolve once we establish contact." Sah'Teece added to his debriefing of Randall as a final note, "The security fields allow solid matter to penetrate, so she will be able to simply step back in through any nearby hole in the facility's exterior."

On the other end of the chamber, where the Lady Grey had intended to speak to Cher'tak about the somewhat disoriented Lk'Onik, the woman now let out a huff, fingers massaging her forehead.

"Personally, I've had enough just about of mysterious anythings today." she joined the conversation, pulling Randall into it with a short call of attention to the tanker. Once he'd made his way over, she went on to delegate, "Take a scout team and scope this out. Details you get from Toy Dispenser, backup from me. I'll be along in a minute, once we get things sorted out here again, just in case 'Lord' Nemesis tries the same trick twice. Hasn't happened yet, but I'm not willing to bet on anything right now."

If the Warmaster still intended on looking for C'Kelkah right now, he'd find her out like a light on one of the medical stretchers, his bladerifle in her arms like a dear teddy bear. Apparently, she'd passed out weapon in hand - but whether due to the short effects of the chemical rejuvenator or something else wasn't certain. This all depended on the duration of Cher'tak's injection, and if their time of effect had not yet expired...

--------------------

A short gust of wind nearly shoved Small Toy a few millimeters forward, the section behind the door having lost pressure earlier and not fully regained it yet. The pumps could only do so much. Still, the door had given passage, which meant the section once more contained atmosphere enough to sustain a Rikti, and with that a human.

The corpses on the floor, however, certainly no longer needed sustenance. The Gunmen had been picked apart by Nemesis fire, their blood staining the floor and walls just as the oil and filings of shredded Nemesis robots. They'd put up a valiant fight, but in the end had apparently been overrun.

Oddly enough, there seemed to be some missing - trails of blood that could've only come from multiple bullet wounds clearly occupied two areas where no bodies lay. It was as if the fallen Rikti had simply vanished into thin air, like someone had come along and dissolved them right out of existence.

Worse yet, the bloody marks on the floor had obviously trailed about a bit - the Gunmen had still been alive and moving when whatever fate had befallen them had come to make its claim.

The corridor split in two here, neither the left nor right side giving much clue as to anyone having performed any physical motion down the passage in recent times. Then again, maybe the cause of the Gunmen's dissolution into brash oblivion didn't have need for physical means of movement at all...

Unknown Location
T Minus 4452 Hours

INCOMING TRANSMISSION

AUDIO ONLY

"This is Wilcox. They have taken the bait."

"Good. The 'portal generators' are on their way. Your associates know what to do."

"Yes. Everything will be ready long before anyone gets there. As promised, they will see nothing. The task force will assemble as planned."

"You've done well. Anything else?"

"I have concerns about the Freedom Phalanx. If they interfere...well, let's just say subtlety isn't their best quality."

"Oh, don't worry about that. I've already arranged to have them taken care of..."

--------------------

Steel Canyon Medical Center
T Minus 0517 Hours

Heavy steps echoed in the main lobby of the hospital, two pairs of armored boots proceeding down their path with intent. The receptionist laid down his phone without a word as he heard them approach, silently handing a clipboard with several scribbled-on notes into the hand of a purple-armored glove.

The Colonel gave an appreciative nod, glanced to her partner Sorcerer, and then the two operatives that hailed from the Sword of Vanguard proceeded deftly down the corridor the man now indicated. Like machines they walked, their pace neither hurried nor any slower than it should be.

L-15; Marcus Cole, the clipboard stated. Not even sparing a glance at the Longbow soldiers keeping watch over the drab, melancholy door of the hospital room, the Colonel reached to the handle, depressing it and letting the door swing open to a dismal view.

Marcus Cole - the Statesman - lying there helpless in a bed of white, his mind struck down to the far reaches of the subconscious realm. Tubes and lines led from his body into various machines, filling the room with constant hum and chitter. The repetitive beep of the heart monitor was likely the only comforting one.

Ms. Liberty sat at his side, her fingers gripped firmly about the hand of her grandfather. She wouldn't leave him, this the two could already see. The other Vindicators had returned to their posts, having seen the need to keep the heroes of Paragon organized instead of rushing to the rescue themselves.

The Freedom Phalanx, however, seemed to have no such inhibitions. They'd assembled in full force, and there was little doubt as to their intentions once they knew their friend and leader safe.

Their heads turned as the Colonel of the Sword announced the duo's presence, establishing what the Sorcerer had to offer. Slowly but surely, one nod joined another, even Manticore's skepticism of the Sword eroding with time. Finally, the Phalanx members did as asked, departing the room for the Sorcerer to perform the ritual he'd laid out.

But not Ms. Liberty.

The heroine simply shook her head slowly, raising her gaze every now and then to indicate she listened, a nod or two interlaced there and then as the Sorcerer explained to her the potential dangers to a waking mind nearby.

Nonetheless, she would not have it, staying by her grandfather's side as immobile as the Rock of Gibraltar. Finally, she convinced the two of the Sword to begin the process despite her presence. She would ride it out.

Though he hesitated at first, the Sorcerer came to agree, drawing the staff from his back, arcane power dancing about its length as the man began an incantation. Slowly and with impeccable precision, he let the tip drift to and fro in complex patterns, its energies snaking over Statesman and his granddaughter.

Finally, Ms. Liberty collapsed onto the bed.

The second task had been done. The first had been to cast an illusion upon the security cameras. Now the third task could begin.

Reaching into her armor, the Colonel drew a tiny rod, no larger than a chip of pencil lead, placing it upon the head of the comatose hero. Within moments, the thing evaporated, and the third task had been done.

Ms Liberty awoke once more, lips unmoving as she beheld her grandfather still lost in his own head. The Sorcerer expressed his deepest regret, shaking his head slowly in the explanation. However, he then raised a finger, telling the heroine that his spells had indeed uncovered something, even if they had not had the power to rouse the Statesman.

Recalling the members of the Freedom Phalanx into the room, Ms. Liberty listened intently as the man of the Sword told her of something most rare and difficult to obtain that he suspected carried a high potential for returning her grandfather to the waking world. It would take the entire Freedom Phalanx to retrieve. Though this would mean not pursuing the newly arrived maniac, he assuredly indicated Vanguard would come through for them, that the Dark Watcher had been sure.

Manticore was the first to step beside the heroine. He laid a hand upon her shoulder, then raised a fist and declared they would not rest until the Statesman stood on his own two feet once more.

Their tasks now done, the two of the Sword gave a curt nod of goodbye, then turned to depart once more, stepping from the hospital doors with an air of accomplishment. Now the real work could begin...

--------------------

The Fuse
T Plus 0027 Hours

"Indeed we are." a Sword Sorcerer greeted Energon X with all the enthusiasm of a stone-cold machine. The slim man stretched an arm in the direction of the now-closed gate, "Please proceed to the Security Chief. You'll get your briefing from him. Also, we highly suggest you arm up with whatever stock of supplemental equipment you can safely carry. Once we depart, there may not be opportunity to do so..."

Feride was given the impression of being wholly ignored. Not only did the portal mechanism fill the area with quite a ruckus, but also everyone had something altogether different on his or her mind right about now.

The only person not actively engaged in a heated argument about something superbly technical and/or mathematical was a man clad in body armor and a trench coat of blue and white hues - and even he seemed close to a nervous breakdown right about now - Sheldon Wallace...

--------------------

"No." the TacCom already expecting Mad Matt grinned savagely, his own rifle - as well as the Sapper's weapon and the ones wielded by a certain TacOp duo - aimed squarely for the scrapper as the man hoisted himself over the ledge. The four didn't hesitate a moment.

They opened fire.

Sadly, that wasn't all.

So did the pair of Hercules Titans that had joined them on the roof while the scuffle had taken place on the street below. The covers of rocket pods sprang open with rapid clacks, then let roar a swarm of incendiary missiles...

--------------------

The sentinels trying to grapple with the Fool released him from one moment to another. Ryat66 had found their weakness: logic.

And currently, his logic was undeniable.

The sentries vanished in a cloud of particulates, leaving nothing but thin air (well, actually rain-filled air, but that didn't really change the situation), and the Fool alone with his thoughts...

--------------------

Ineffable assumed too much. He may have been able to survive in a vacuum, but that didn't change the fact that breaching the top level of a mostly underground facility would cause a jet of air to burst forth, the resulting impulse flinging things it contacted for respectable distances.

Of course, Ineffable simply dissolved said jet away as he dropped (air was only matter, after all), which allowed him to enter through the ceiling, but blatant force did not depart so easily. It still slowed his descent a great deal.

The counterfeit Dark Watcher merely chuckled as he heard the voice from above, seeing the villain falling towards it in slow motion. Though the distraction had foiled its attack, there was still more than enough time to get out of the way, not to mention wind up a counterstrike.

All too easy.

A horrid gnash echoed through the chamber.

With a dreadful, nerve-wrecking gargle, the automaton melted away into oblivion under the impact of Ineffable, its voice groaning and retching to frequencies at times painful to the human ear.

Within moments, there wasn't anything left; not even the sharp, frigid icicle that had burst from its chest a second or two before, completely jamming up the works.

A split second later, a transparent security field re-sealed the hole Ineffable had created. The jet of air ceased to be, and around the same time, the last forces of Nemesis' machines ended their mechanical existence by hands both human and Rikti - and of course the ballistics and bolts a few robotic henchmen, thrown in just for good measure.

"What a mess." the Lady Grey let out a sigh, watching her forces pick themselves back up a little bit at a time. A few had already torn open some equipment crates and helped out in the battle, and most of the information systems were still running, but all in all the place had been utterly laid waste to.

"Okay, from the top!" the woman ordered almost immediately afterward, having regained her composure remarkably fast, "One: everyone report in to your team leader and take a tally of your equipment. I don't want to find out that jerk stole anything later on. If you're injured, report to a medical station. Two: I want a team out and moving. Check for more traps. I don't believe there will be any, but obviously we haven't been careful enough so far. I want every sighting of anything unexpected to be treated as a full-scale emergency. Three: get this here..."

The Vanguard operatives didn't hesitate a moment, though some still wobbled about a bit while carrying out the orders. Several who'd been at ground zero reported to the aforementioned medical stations while others began the task of cleaning up the remains of Nemesis and his automatons. Rifling through the pieces would, as always, not yield any spoils or information - their boilers had blown, taking every vital component (and most of the superstructures) with them...

--------------------

Small Toy's gamble didn't pay off. Its lens-filled head slammed into the gate with a loud, metallic crash. The blast door had won this round.

However, that didn't go to say the fight was over. Perhaps Small Toy or one of the other mechanoids in its group had seen the key code the Rikti had entered into the very first blast door - or at least tried to before Ineffable had wrecked the thing. Interestingly enough, the villain seemed to have played right into Nemesis' hands with that one.

Be that as it may, a robotic memory was more often than not photographic in nature. And even if Small Toy had no clue of the key code, there sat a whole team of super-powered Vanguard members still itching to wreck stuff from a fight that had ended not a moment ago...

Hotaka wasn't about to let this one slip away. Panzerfrau had challenged him, and he considered it a very rude break of tradition to simply leave in the middle of a fight.

The dragon lurched forward, grappling on a still semi-standing warehouse, then using momentum to advantage to catapult itself into the air. Clawed hands poised to strike, the creature closed with the Flyer, cutting edges reaching greedily to tear the fuselage to bits.

Until it fell away.

Crashing back to the ground, the dragon's legs caught the impact well, but that didn't end in the now only barely-standing warehouse not collapsing as a result. However, that had been predictable. Truth be told, Hotaka hadn't set any high expectations of this area's buildings surviving intact.

Something else had been predictable as well, but forgotten in the heat of the moment. With a rather angry visage (or as near as a human could tell, anyway), the dragon's head whirled about to inspect the left wing, which had not exactly obeyed in its duty to provide lift just now.

Yeah, still a kink in it. It was true, really - bad people were punished by the law of society, good people by the law of Murphy...

--------------------

"I think he's talking about me." the disembodied head commented as its decapitated body took it from Block Bot's hand, setting it back atop its neck, "Yes, I'm self-assembling, and I do so very, very quickly. Don't need to make a fuss about it..."

OOC:

Done and done, I'm afraid. Grey just recently laid a Praetorian invasion in WAR! to rest, and I've got the whole doppelganger cast haunting the Necronomicon (the real thread is spelled wrong, go figure). Either way...done and done.

Hmmm, I suppose I'd dive in. Ever since I CoHified my RL-based characters' stories, some have been closely connected with the MM. They'd probably go looking for them if a hero didn't recover them within a certain time frame - or at least get someone else to do so, method nonwithstanding ethical scrutiny.

The automaton realized its chance without delay, picking up on Jake's orders. If he could command his machines about, his personal force field wasn't up any longer; this was a fact.

And there was no such thing as 'safe distance' when fighting someone who could transport to a new location merely by an act of will.

The impostor went missing in a patch of darkness, the thrown Jaeger striking nothing but air (hopefully not Solid Shot), and not a moment later that same fall of shadows swirled about Jake, the counterfeit Dark Watcher reappearing right in front of him. If his robots now fired, not only would they most likely strike their creator, but the distance between henchmen and mastermind also made them very ineffective bodyguards at this point.

"Die." the automaton quarred with its metallic tone, swinging a shadow-wrapped fist at Jake's torso that could take out an armored vehicle...

--------------------

The Fool assumed too much. Representation of a concept only went so far. Even as the 'stabbed' sentry program stared quizzically at its severed arm (while this hadn't been the intent of the strike, the arm had vaporized from the impact site downward as a result of the man not exactly being a man), the other sentinel continued right into the dagger's blade, the representation's head vanishing in a burst of chaotic particulates as the dagger passed through its throat.

The headless body, however, was most certainly mobile on its own, the sentry's arms seeking to lock the Fool down again before...

Too late.

The wall that had arisen earlier now dropped once more, returning the cramped chamber to its former state of small alcove in the side of a structure.

But what a structure!

Thunder cracked in chaotic staccato, lightning whipping across the dark skies in a virtual continuum of motion. Not three seconds went by between each whip of an electric bolt overhead. The place looked as if the key itself had broken, torrential rain flooding down from above and continuing on into the abyss below, a sea of clouds even darker than those that blotted out the heavens.

And all about floated or stood (then again, there might well have been a combination of the two; it was hard to tell) the strange structures that resembled satellite dishes of every size, created apparently for the sole purpose of catching the striking bolts of power.

The sentinel programs seemed to consider this quite normal, the one attempting to lock the Fool down again still very much intent on doing so while the other marveled at the disappearance of his arm. The upward-oriented isosceles triangle on the far wall now lost its slight luminescence, leaving no more doubt that the alcove had really been an elevator of some sort, the building it was a part of nothing more than the representation of a data relocation program.

Now the shape of the supercomputer's exterior self-image also made sense - logically, the wall the Fool had originally been confronted with should have taken the form of a sphere, not a cylinder. Seeing this new realm clearly above the 'city', however, explained the cylinder perfectly. The supercomputer wasn't just a singular entity. There sat others atop and below it.

But if something that thought of itself as this nightmarish realm of thunder and lightning sat above...

Then what lurked below...?

--------------------

The duo of TacOps assaulted by Mad Matt didn't even seem to be fighting back. If the hero had been aware enough to notice, they were attempting to scramble away from their severed harnesses as quickly as possible.

Indeed they did, if in a different manner than they'd planned, their mediporters engaging automatically as their high-tech armor detected their survival compromised by the relentless assault of the scrapper's blade.

The reason, however, seemed a mystery. Why had they tried so hard to run away from their own munitions?

If thought about for a moment, the answer would be obvious - those things were rigged to detonate in just such a scenario, a timer having started the moment the harnesses had been cut. Malta had adopted this strategy from the US military's black ops units, and it made placing a large amount of explosives timed to go off all at once extremely simple. The original intent, however, had been to blast in or out of armored-up locations like bunkers, not to go off on the street.

In either case, Matt now had all of four seconds remaining before the muntions blasted a large chunk from the building here, not to mention the good chance of said detonation spattering everyone it caught into a very nasty smear on the pavement.

The TacCom, Sapper, and duo of TacOps still on the roof, however, busied themselves trying to shove the bike off the pinned operatives. The four of them should be able to do it, right...?

"Oh, I see we've done some preparation." Baalial remarked, visibly impressed, "Very well, let's get started. If I'm predicting things correctly, Toy should be here rather soon."

The demon opened his briefcase once more (where was that thing always coming from and disappearing to?), then shook out a pile of rotting flesh and bones - human flesh and bones - into a short mound in the grass.

"Balthazar," he spoke to the human remains, "Time to go to work."

"Nyymmmmm..." the pile of bones groaned, the skull shifting over into its ribcage like someone rolling back under the covers of their bed, "Five more minutes..."

--------------------

Hotaka wasn't quite sure what the people aboard the Flyer were trying to accomplish now. The force bolts were too slow for the dragon, the green-scaled creature snaking away to the side no sooner than it had emerged from the cloud of dirt and dust.

The robed man didn't seem to have moved at all, standing rock-steady atop the dragon’s head as if his wrapped feet had been super-glued on.

Low to the ground, a force bolt managed to connect at the base of the neck, and another at the right shoulder blade, but the dragon didn't seem too perturbed from these, on all fours with clawed hands and feet securely upon the ground.

The creature answered with a thick stream of caustic agents, roaring a vile mixture of acids and toxins at the offending aircraft. Ryuu went by the most basic of logics at this point - the Flyer's propulsion system consisted of air-breathing turbines, the intakes above the outboard engines.

They may have been well-armored to defend against direct assaults, but this provided no protection from the corrosive cloud the intakes now literally sucked into the heart of the propulsion system. The Flyer began to lose power almost immediately, the dragon's vile acids going about the work of disassembling the turbines from the inside out...

OOC:

I was originally going to keep my big mouth shut on this one, but since you actually asked, I'm feeling I should try and help here. Be warned, however, that I am going to be perfectly honest with you and that past this line you're likely to run into some harsh criticism. If you don't deal well with that, I recommend you not read on.

You write badly. Very badly. Sorry to be so blunt, but there's no other way for me to put this if I'm going to be honest with you. Not only is your grammar a mess, but you're just tossing things out there half-done and expecting people to understand what you mean.

When I started reading your story, I got to all of the first few lines of the second paragraph before I got bored. Yes, bored. The second time I started reading, I got to the end of your first post before I just couldn't go on anymore. I had no idea who Jemmy was, what he looked like, or how he conducted himself around others. In short, all I got was that he was some human around14, and nothing in your writing let me know (or made me want to know) anything more about him.

So first, I was turned away by your story because of it's poor quality. Without reading the story, I of course had no idea what was happening here, and you provided nothing to draw my interest in your first post.

Then came your second post. So I looked in here again, and see you'd written a few more tidbits of information - which were once more written very poorly.

Large, wealthy, and under construction was all you provided for my mind to set up the scene. In short, I got nil. What did Paragon look like at the time? Were people bustling about everywhere or sticking to certain parts? Did the noise of construction machinery fill the air day and night? Was it dusty and gritty, or clean and well-kept? You provided no imagery whatsoever. Now sure, I could imagine 'large, wealthy, under construction' myself, but the image I'd end up with would be readically different from the image you started with.

Then you introduce Jherico as a bounty hunter with a sword and pistols. There you stop. Again, I have no idea who this guy is, what he looks like, nor have you provided any reason for him to hold my interest. Was he an honorable hunter or a killer in it for the money? Did he hunt because it's what he liked or because he wanted danger to run away from his past? You gave nothing to do on, and ended up with yet another, "here's some guy", just like you did with Jemmy. Sorry to say, but "some guy" doesn't draw me into a story.

Let's move on. So people started vanishing, just like that. Okay, mildly interesting, got some mystery, and...that was it. People started vanishing. No imagery if the act of disappearance at all. Did they scream when they vanished, or did they drop off the face of the planet in spooky silence? Was it random or only in certain areas? What did Paragon's heroes and the PPD do to react? Once more, you gave no mention at all of this, and the image you tried to convey never appeared.

Again, moving on. So now demons are attacking...and that's it again. No image, no description whatsoever. I have nothing to go on to imagine the world you're envisioning here. In short, I've got a blank canvas and no paint.

Now then, you probably know that when you read a good book, the text becomes more than just a collection of words. It forms images in your mind, and instead of seeing letters and numbers, you see a whole world being painted before your very eyes.

When I read your stuff, all I see are words. Cold, unmoving, lifeless words.

And that is why I have not joined this RP.

Now that you know what (in my opinion) you did wrong, here are some suggestions that might help you improve:

---------------------

1. Grammar. Good grammar is essential to written story. If people have a hard time reading your work, they're not going to stick around and keep reading. Reading a story should be fun and engaging, not something the reader needs to work at. Also, avoid switching from past to present tense in the middle of your writing. If at first something "happened" and then "happens", readers will get confused. Pick one tense and stick with it.

Example: "The mayhem has began."

Began should be begun.

Example: "Five years pass, and Paragon is finished. But not completly. There are parts still in construction. Villans grow. More villan groups form. And worst of all, things started to get strange..."

Pass, is, are, grow, form - all present tense. Started - past tense. Avoid using these interchangeably. Also, "in construction" should be "under construction". Some spelling errors too.

---------------------

2. Format. Format is very important. Paragraphs are your friends. They keep pieces of writing neatly organized, allowing the reader to readily absorb the information within. You ram too many things into a single paragraph to deal with, especially in the written coversations in your story. Nobody has any idea when one person stops talking and another one starts.

There are two easy guidelines to avoid this:

-- 1) Each paragraph should contain one complete thought. It may contain more than one, but never less. There are exceptions to this, but if you follow this rule, even you will find your own writing much easier to read.

-- 2) In a written conversation, each time the speaker switches, you should start a new paragraph. This makes it easy to differentiate who is currently talking.

---------------------

3. Literary elements. You wrote somewhere, "now you know the setting." No, I do not. You never established a setting. A setting must have at least some concrete description that nails down what it looks like. If I tell you "on a big rock" a the setting for something, you have no idea if it's day or night, what color the rock is, how tall and wide it is, what its surroundings are, if there is wind, et cetera, et cetera.

---------------------

4. The 4th wall. The 4th wall is a term used to describe the separation between the story and the reader. In general, unless you are writing the story from a first person view, you should never put in stuff like "I don't mean". Use an observer's point of view instead, like "that didn't mean". In addition, unless there is some manner of absolute need to do this, never ever address the reader directly. In other words, never use "you" unless one character in your story is talking to another.

---------------------

5. Impact. Your words need to leave an impact with the reader; otherwise you will lose (or never gain) the reader's interest. Statements like, "People would look back one second, and the next, boom, the person beside you is gone." (aside from the "you" in there) won't draw anyone in. "Boom" is something you'd say in a casual conversation, not something in a work of literature. You need something more powerful, yet at the same time completely distanced, like "without any warning at all". Also, you need more powerful words. "gone" simply doesn't cut it, as it doesn't gather any interest in this context. "vanished into the grim thick of night without even the slightest trace", now that is a phrae with powerful impact that will intrigue the reader (in the right context) and prompt said reader to keep reading.

---------------------

In conclusion, your writing style needs work. A lot of work. Mind you, I'm not saying "get out" here. You just need to improve. Take a good book or two and read through them. See what the authors have done to capture your interest. Examine how they describe things, how their words come to life as images in your mind. Once you understand this, writing your own works well will become very simple.

P.S.: Another good way to write better is to just scribble something down, then examine it. Ask yourself, "If I hadn't written this, could I clearly see the image here just from these words?"

"Shall we?" Baalial remarked with a toothy grin to Block Bot, then waited no longer to step onto the telepad. Croatoa would be in for quite a ride today...

-----------------

Contrary to popular belief, a dragon's soft underbelly wasn't very soft at all. Indeed, there wasn't much difference between the armored scales of the abdominal area and those of the back.

Of course, as any experienced soldier would tell one when asked, ballistic armor didn't really counter getting shoved somewhere.

Claws the dragon may have had, but once the Flyer's material gave way, the only thing those accomplished was to tear more gouges into its fuselage until they had nothing more to hold onto. The dragon tumbled off the aircraft with speed, the force bolt slamming the creature into the remains of a burnt-out building on the ground, kicking up a great cloud of smoke and dust...

"No." the shape in the shroud retorted with nonchalance that bordered on a chilled spine. Though it couldn't be said for certain which of the Fool's remarks, offers, or inquiries the thing now responded to, the tone hinted at a good chance that it may well have been be all of them, "Measures will be taken."

The sentinels stepped out from behind the figure, moving towards the Fool.

"Do not resist," the figure stated in a tone of respectful appeal, "and all will be done very soon. Oh...and thank you."

With that, the cloak dropped to the ground, crumbling first to dust, then to nothing but thin air, and revealing the veiled man to not be a man at all. In the dark form's stead now hovered dozen or more small craft that bore close resemblance to the large, bi-fanned aircraft of the villain in the movie 'The Incredibles'.

They weren't nearly as big, however, only the size of a human head or so, and their lift rings certainly didn't seem to contain any propellers, nor require air to keep them aloft.

There the extent of detail abruptly terminated, the sentry duo grasping the Fool by his arms with surprising speed and dexterity, locking him down with unbelievable strictness. Unless they blundered for a moment, there would be no escape from their vise-like grip, this the Fool realized immediately.

Without another word, the small flock of aircraft departed, zipping down the I/O path like a swarm of very angry hornets in pursuit of the most unfortunate being in existence.

The sentinels moved now as well, dragging the Fool with them whether he liked it or not, heading back from whence they came: the structure that stretched ostensibly endless into the bright abyss above and below.

They cared not for any protest, denying due response, and maintained their grip perfectly, not allowing the Fool even the slightest opportunity of flight. Still, they moved with speed and intent, stepping into an alcove the Fool could've sworn hadn't been there only a moment ago. Then again, that was almost certainly normal here - the shifting structures had proved that time enough.

Behind the three, a plate shot from the floor and into the alcove's ceiling, sealing off the little space. Not a split second later, one of the sentries reached for the symbol of an isosceles triangle on the wall directly ahead, assumedly to transmit information to whatever program this niche represented.

But the instant said sentry touched the upward-oriented geometric shape, his grip on the Fool loosened ever so slightly - an opportunity...!

--------------------

Ryat66 arose with a start, the android's countenance coming to life once more as the sentient machine stood to survey its surroundings in perfect silence.

"Glad you're back." Unai Kemen breathed a sigh of relief. Finally, things were looking up again, "We were starting to get worried when we lost the feed there. So, find any...say, are you okay?"

Ryat66, or more specifically whatever inhabited his body now, gave no reply, simply staring at the man with a cold, blank faceplate.

Despite the exressionless visage, he seemed to smile.

A moment later, the android lurched from the platform, the USB cord he'd used to jack into the laptop disintegrating in thin air. Only a faint cloud of smoke now hovered where it had once been, and this dissipated rapidly.

Against all logic and sense, defying all preparation that had been done to prevent just such an occurrence, the Fool somehow did not return to his body. His mind had delved much too deeply into the workings of the supercomputer. Indeed, technically he wasn't even in said computer anymore, but an eternity away.

Eternity, however, wasn't what the interloper needed. Ryat66's body bounded over to the portal, sprinting up the ramp as fast as the android's feet would allow...

Then slumped together right then and there, not a half a mater from the gateway.

With that, the spook seemed over and done with, the mysterious intruder having departed the body once more. To an observer, it seemed the defenses had succeeded, eliminating the intruder in the body of Ryat66. However, a keen witness would possibly note the small cloud of barely visible smoke that rose from the android's head, then floated into the active portal on what seemed no more than a passing breeze.

Only the wind had blown the other way - and Ryat66's body now weighed approximately 557 atomic mass units less than before...

--------------------

"Off with his head" probably wasn't the right thing to say, but with the sudden decapitation of the brassen madman, more than one of his assailants likely mused it in their own heads. The arch-villain crashed to the floor like a ton of bricks, the steam-tech armorsuit's boilers vaporizing any trace soon afterward.

The counterfeit Dark Watcher, however, was once more far from finished. Though it wasn't quite sure why everyone assumed it on its last legs (maybe they'd all missed the regeneration performed on behalf of Archlich), but it definitely intended to make use of the current underestimation.

"Om mani padme hum." the automaton repeated the mantra once more, vanishing in a blot of darkness before Grey could get a hold of it again, popping back into the room between Solid Shot and the Lady Grey.

Not giving either of them the time of day, the machine lashed out with all the power of the hero it had been modeled after, unleashing a massive detonation of mire into the area. Lady Grey had attempted to do the same, but the automaton had been faster, blasting the head of Vanguard away and into a wall. Her Dark Servant didn't even stand a chance, the overwhelming power of the blackstar shredding it to naught despite its inherent resilience to strikes of darkness.

Then a crackle came over Toy's radio, "Possessive declaration: backs: your."

The blast of a Rikti weapon slammed into the fake Dark Watcher's side, C'Kelkah on her feet again with renewed vigor. The plasmatic energy bolt didn't seem to have done critical harm due to the mitigating shadows swirling about the impostor, but at least the force had slammed the automaton to the floor.

In a corner, Toy could already see Lk'Onik revitalizing several Vanguard operatives, the Psi-Scout knowing well he wouldn't be much help against a machine that didn't even have a mind. Still, he did what he could to help.

Sah'Teece, however, was nowhere in sight...

--------------------

The kicked TacOp recovered quickly, Malta's grueling training regiment and cutting-edge equipment giving their operatives a fair amount of hardiness against the super-powered. Still, the TacOps duo knew they needed their cell's support to take down such a highly rated threat, calling in some manner of code on their radios. Then the two opened up with their high-tech assault rifles, seeking to pump Matt McGinty full of lead.

On the roof, the sniper swore again, damning it all to hell. He tore his fancy suit in twain, a TacOps Commander peeling out of the pudgy disguise in mere moments, dropping the rifle to the roof as well. It was no longer needed.

By now, the Sapper's weapon had fully charged, the man letting loose on the motorcycle with the bio-feedback device capable of draining just about anything of its energies. The TacCom didn't hesitate to jump in, whipping out his own ultra-modern rifle and peppering the bike with ammunition that could take down even heroes who called themselves tankers...

--------------------

Nemesis automatons weren't known to stay down long, and in short order the first few Cher'tak had incapacitated already came for him again, the insulted Jaeger lurching forward like a headcrab to do the Warmaster in.

It ended its moment of Half-Life homage in a brilliant explosion.

Beside Cher'tak, the armored foot of Sah'Teece ground its sole into the floor, the athlete turned soldier carrying his terrifying gunaxe with skill. The blade had sliced neatly through the offending machine, going so far as to slam it back a safe distance with the force of impact.

"Never again." the Chief Soldier gave a nod to his comrade Warmaster with his weapon in a defensive position, stepping in front of Cher'tak to provide a shield for his fellow defender of Rikti civilization, "Take all the time you need."

Now taking fire himself, Sah'Teeche returned it with a vengeance, beginning the task of blasting apart Nemesis' creations...

--------------------

Small Toy would likely be quite surprised by a sudden echo from the passage ahead and to the left. It knew that sound anywhere: a mechanism had engaged and now performed its function.

Speeding round the corner would yield the sight of yet another quick motion, the tip of a tentacle (or something to that nature) slipping speedily away beyond the heavy gates of an already rapidly closing blast door...

--------------------

With battle still raging about the impromptu Vanguard ops center, it stood to reason that the likelihood of anyone currently keeping an eye on the portal in the adjacent chamber practically sat at nil. In the doubtful event that anyone did pay it mind, however, the chance of someone actually spotting a small cloud of dark vapor emerging from the gateway was extremely remote.

Its importance, however, was not. Now it was here. Now it needed a host. A host who knew what needed to be known A host like...C'Kelkah.

Lining up another shot at the Dark Watcher Automaton, the Rikti scientist never even noticed a vapor trail pass into the leg of her suit, nor did she ever suspect the sudden idea in her head to not be her own.

It wasn't even foreign - merely there, where instants before had been but a blank. She simply knew now. Knew what to do.

So she set about it.

Leaping from her position near the portal chamber, C'Kelkah bridged the distance to the still-sealed blast door of the main chamber with skillful swiftness. Upon arrival, her fingers seemed to act of their own free will, manipulating the keys of the gate's panel with incredible speed.

A mental impulse entered the small network of a certain Rikti quartet.

[Emergency measures engaged. Backup atmospheric containment now in effect.]

The vents Penny had been hurdling to close sealed firm once more, all at once and with not a malfunction in sight. At the same time, a film that closely resembled the static of a television screen flashed across the gaping hole in the first corridor Delta team had entered. Almost instantly, the harsh winds ceased, carried debris falling back to the floor as the energetic barrier terminally stabilized, growing fully transparent as the process completed...

The Oni took his chance when he saw it, not hesitating to try and slash the Assault Bot to burning embers. The demon knew he wasn't long for this world - in fact, if the robot managed to get loose for any reason, the resulting strike would nearly instantly discorporate him.

Not so the dragon. It ducked low with remarkable speed, bringing a wing up to disperse the Flyer's rapid-fire munitions, apparently shielding the martial artist atop its blank, white eyes from harm. Hotaka's chuckle echoed once more.

Curiously enough, the man himself didn't even move a muscle. It must've taken every last bit of his concentration to now command the creature he'd called to this plane, the dragon lurching ahead with speed, beating its mighty wings but once to leap at the aircraft.

Indeed, it seemed unbalanced somehow - the left wing seemed just slightly out of place, a tiny bit lower than the right, like the beast had suffered a sprain of some sort - but still more than capable of catching up to the ascending aircraft.

The Flyer bobbed wildly in the air as the two collided, a clawed hand crashing through the cockpit windshield without mercy, crushing the life out of the poor man now trapped in his harness. The second set of claws dug deep into the craft's armor, drawing long gashes as the dragon tried to get a firmer hold, the massive gouges penetrating all the way into the vehicle's passenger compartment...

((Oh, and you've yet to send everyone away to Croatoa, BB. ))

The murk all about seemed to literally swallow up the force of Grey's footstomp, absorbing its potency and preventing it from ever reaching the bogus Dark Watcher. If one didn't know better, one may have said the strike had been deflected.

The automaton didn't utter any vocal response, instead slamming its fists toward the tanker in an attempt to break through his stone armors like a cannon blasting through a castle wall.

Nemesis came on the rebound as well, chuckling with delight as he forced Binro into a stalemate. Of course, he wasn't quite satisfied with that.

"Yes." he brazenly rose to the tanker's challenge, ramming one of his massive feet into the alien's gut with greater force than an industrial-grade hydraulic piston. With both hands on his mace, Binro couldn't have possibly defended himself against the low blow; the tanker's back crashed to the floor.

"I do." the brassen madman went on with his reply in a tone most mocking, his staff's gear now hovering not a dozen centimeters from Binro's exposed head, "Goodbye."

A blinding flash washed over the tanker, but instead of the expected force bolt sending the hero's brains flying in all directions, it was Nemesis who did the flying - straight into the wall. A second crash from the other end of the room signified the Dark Watcher Automaton had met with the same fate.

"Was that really necessary?" the arch-villain complained, shoving his arms against the wall that had so courteously stopped him. He pried himself loose like a sentient crowbar, leaving the hemispherical impression his shield had made (as well as a few parts of his frontal armor) behind in the material.

The result was truly garish, the decrepit, beaten form of Nemesis barely recognizable as such. Most of the maniac's face had gone missing, welded to the wall by the arcane blast. Standing slumped somewhat to the side, the arch-villain resembled an automaton undergoing assembly more than anything else.

"Allow me to repay you in kind." Nemesis growled with broken tone, throwing his arm forward at the undead mage.

And realizing his staff had gone missing.

"Some days it does not pay to get out of bed." he complained, instead going for the staff that Binro had let drop in his defense.

At the other end of the room, the counterfeit Dark Watcher looked much the same - broken and battered, pieces of his armored frame shredded away, exposing the gear-filled mechanisms underneath. Combined with a number of large flaps of fake skin hanging from the impostor, the automaton had assumed a truly nightmarish form.

"You'll FILE CORRUPTED: REPRISAL_MONETARY_REFERENCE.TXT!" the impostor spat in a quarring tone, its voice like that of grinding metal fragments. Clearly, the thing was on its last legs, "I'm going to make sure you don't rise again, lich. Om mani padme hum..."

Gathering nether energies about itself, the automaton cast its sights on Archlich, catching the undead sorcerer in a grasp of twilight, and used the mage's on vitality and concentration to mend a great deal of its damages. The sudden regeneration of metal and dark cloth alike had an almost ghastly nature to it.

Following this, the counterfeit hero repeated it's model's mantra once more, encasing Archlich in a howl of twilight from which there was no escape. The shadows licked hungrily at his very deepest energies, slowing him greatly and even attempting to overwhelm his senses with their disorienting nature...

--------------------

The sentry didn't give counter. He didn't even seem to understand. Indeed, he did not - the man was, after all, only an illusion, a mere representation of a programmed warder. As such, he didn't need to know more than what to keep out and what to let in.

"Your speed will be increased." he only stated abruptly, and before the Fool even knew it, the section of I/O stream beneath his feet took off like a rocket, barreling down the tunnel at blinding speed, its passenger securely in tow. The sentry didn't even seem to notice. The action was part of another program already, which meant he could return to executing his primary function.

Like telling the monitoring attempt to hit the road. That data transfer was certainly not authorized, and if it persisted in its endeavors to enter, the sentry would take the same action as he'd taken many a time now. The observer effort would end up like every other attempt to pry into the current workings of the supercomputer.

Deleted.

The Fool, however, was no longer to be concerned with that. The I/O path stopped dead just as instantly as it had accelerated, though of course he didn't go flying off the thing. This wasn't the 'real' world, in spite of everything.

The Fool's destination could be described as an intersection in one of the strangest sectors of a city anyone had ever seen. The I/O path had become more solid, gained semi-transparent side barriers, and split off here in three more directions, each quickly lost to the depths of the place.

At first glance.

Upon closer inspection, the Fool could easily tell the things that looked like buildings weren't buildings at all. Not only did none have a base (they floated freely in the air, often, but not always, connected to one another by some other constructions), but the things also seemed to be in continuous motion. The myriad of lights and symbols of their surfaces never stayed the same, ever shifting, ever changing, and even their size and shape wasn't exact - it seemed that every single one continuously added or subtracted from its volume, growing larger, smaller, wider, or taller depending on whatever appeared to be needed at the time.

And while the I/O path certainly looked more solid now, somewhat plated metallically (though large sections of the thing were still transparent), up ahead the Fool could see other data paths, more often than not stacked on top of one another, incredible amounts of quantum information flowing along a breakneck speeds on thin membranes of nearly invisible blue.
This place wasn't a place at all. It was an entity, a being - the self-image of the supercomputer.

"You are Ryat66." a grim voice called without warning, its tone low, yet polite. Alarm still tagged along the words, however. That had been a statement, not a question.

The Fool needed not look long. He quickly found its source in a dark, heavily veiled figure that made its way toward him from one of the more out-of-place 'buildings' (this one seemed to stretch on infinitely in the vertical; if it had ends, they'd been lost to the white haze above and below), its long robe dragging on the plates of the unreal path.

Two sentry programs accompanied the unknown function, their stoic faces not seeming to notice the figure looked any different than either of them.

"I require the use of your body." the idiosyncrasy told the Fool, "I am not at liberty to explain myself. Know, however, that lives depend on speed, and that your body will provide this speed."

The underlying meaning of the unknown function's speech stood clear as day - it wasn't asking for the Fool's permission; it was merely informing him what it intended to do...

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"Aw, hell!" the sniper swore as his round stopped not a centimeter from Simmons' head, the thick block of ice he'd manifested preventing his demise, "Damn metas don't never give no breaks!"

The TacOps lurching down the building's side, however, intended to turn Cory's little trick around. Fast as they could, the two assembled Claymores aimed squarely at the blaster, rigged with motion detectors that would detonate the directional mines the moment his icy safe house vanished once more...