Powerfrost sighed and leaned back in his chair as his office door closed. He pressed a stud on his gauntlet and the door sealed itself, full security measures active. He pressed another stud and his metallic second skin shimmered and flowed smoothly into its receptacles in his shoulder units, gauntlets and belt. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and savored the feel of the air on his skin. He scratched his unshaven cheeks, rubbed his eyes, and combed his hand back through his hair.
He stared at the stack of dossiers on his desk. He knew them by rote now. Murderer. Murderer. Thief. Murderer. Assassin. Murderer. Terrorist. Murderer. Arsonist. Murderer. He wondered, not for the first time, how he had ended up here. He opened his bottom desk drawer and took out a small Haliburton case. He set it on the desk and opened it. He took out a series of small mechanical parts, power sources, circuitry, tools. He laid them out in precise order on the desk in front of him. This was what he was meant for. This was what he does. He was a Builder, an Engineer, a Maker.
Doug Matthews glanced over to a small framed picture on the desk, the only personal touch in the spartan office. The picture was old and faded, an image of two boys. One slight and dark haired, the other hulking and blonde. A smile teased at the corner of Powerfrost's lips. Rob before he started to turn gold, before he started to change, hell, before everything changed. Doug had been the golden child, genius, prodigy. The picture was his 12th birthday, just before he'd started at CalTech. Rob started changing after that, becoming a true golden child, starting down the path that would change both their lives. Doug remembered watching his little brother crush a kidnapper's van on national TV, and the furor that resulted from the "great golden man". He'd known then that his life would never again be what it once was.
He set the dossiers aside. Such potential there. Such wasted lives. Some were simply lost, some misguided, and some deserved far worse than they were getting. Doug sighed deeply as named and faces flashed before his eyes. The worst part was that he found himself liking them, despite what they were. And that was a very dangerous road to start down. He knew what he'd be asked to ask of them, and knew the bloody fates that awaited some of them.
He stared down at the parts in front of him. He closed his eyes, letting his fingers move over them. If only everything were this easy. If only everything were a simple matter of understanding, building, and fixing. His fingers moved of their own accord, attaching parts to each other in ordered fashion. His thoughts wandered to the data files he'd stolen from the Crey Industries lab he'd been held in those many months ago. There was a pattern there, an answer. He could feel it, could taste it. He let his mind sift through the data as his hands worked on their own. Invoices, requisitions, secret accounts, memos, meetings between Crey, Council, Family, Tsoo. An hour passed, then two.
His eyes popped open as his fingers snapped the last part into place. He saw it now, saw what was next. He stood up, aiming the Cryo Pistol he'd just built from memory at his desk. A bright flash and a burst of cold, and his desk stood encased in a block of ice. He pressed the stud on his gauntlet again, and felt the familiar chilling embrace of his metallic skin. He powered up his Energy Transfer, drawing all the armor's might into his right gauntlet. He drove it down hard, shattering the frozen desk and dossiers into shards and fragments.
Powerfrost pressed the comm stud on his gauntlet. "Ms. McGrath, get me Wille zur Macht, Dark Proton, Everydaymouse, and Sharei. Call Gordon Stacy and tell him to be awaiting our arrival. Oh, and get me a new desk too. This one's broken."
hehehe... and I still don't hold a candle to the U-Wife...