The Super Hero RP Deluxe! (Closed, Started)

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Frederick Rolls

"Bah, Sere is nossing to vorry about. I am looking for see von sey call 'See Red Mist'. Vould you happen to know as to his vereabouts? Never mind sat, I am certain he knows vere to find me. Who are you to ask sese qvestions? Vat makes you so concerned vat it is I am doing here? On who's ausority is it mandated I vacate see premises?!"

"Right. Are you a tourist, perhaps?" Frederick asked. The accent was thick and easy to recognize, him having grown up with parents sounding rather similar. However, even with his experiences, it still was somewhat difficult to understand the other, and he had to push the temptation to address the other in German away.

I should probably avoid to be known as the German Phantom of the Opera, all things considered.

If nothing else, it was a ridiculous name.

Then again, so is the Phantom of the Opera in the first place.

And there would be a lot of explaining, ensuring that the other understood was better than having to keep explaining it. Finally, he started speaking in a rather decent German.

"To start off, I cannot make you leave, as I don't have the authority to do so. However, I strongly urge you to rethink it, as there is a superpowered individual with ill intent, whom we might not be done dealing with. Should something happen, the less people the better. That's why I am "asking these questions". As for Red Mist, I haven't seen him since he almost murdered a member of the mafia and a judge or something like that stopped him."

Clearing his voice, Frederick did his best to pretend that he didn't really know that much about what had happened.

"Now, can you please wait for the police to be done, or do you have some urgent business that cannot wait?"
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Tim Merridy

"If they love a villain why do they cheer when he's beaten? Yes heroing makes me feel good, but that's not why I do it, I'd do it even if it didn't, because I'm making the world a better place."

"Hahaha, you're making the world a better place?" Tim asked, mockingly. He then grinned. "If that's what you believe, then go for it, I know that you'd not want to be a villain. You're too naive for it, but in a good way, the kind of guy people can trust. Me? I'm bad news, you should have figured that out by now."

"I can't understand why you'd ever want to hurt other people. How could any reward be worth it if you had to do that? Sure I hurt people too, but only villains and only to stop them from hurting more people, who knows what happens to the people you hurt because of your actions. Do you?"

He tilted his head. "well, don't knock it until you try it then," he smirked. "To be fair, I don't really hurt them. Or, like, aim to do so, I just want to create chaos!" Tim replied, then added; "But no, I don't know what happens to those people. They're fine, though, insurance tends to cover these kinds of things. Besides, I'm not supposed to care, haven't you been paying attention?"

"I won't make you leave until you're better, but I just want you to think about it. You could be an awesome hero! So please, just mull it over."

Tim sighed, then looked at Tom. For a moment, he thought that it might be worth considering. It was Tom asking, after all, and he had become fond of his brother during this short time they had known each other. However... it didn't work that way, it couldn't! He forced himself to grin, widely, and spoke with an excited voice.

"Does it really mean anything to you? I mean, yeah, we're brothers, but we're like... we could be each other's arch-nemesis! It's a classic set up, why not embrace it?!" Tim started, though his grin faded, and a more serious, almost sad look appeared on his face. There certainly was an amount of guilt in there. He knew he was disappointing Tom like this, after all. With a dejected tone, he spoke again.

"Sorry, bro, it's just not in the script."

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All

The police cars and ambulances started filling the town centre, rushing out to help those in need of it. While half a dozen rather over-prepared cops surrounded Psyclone and the heroes around, ambulance workers went up to Loveless and the others.

"Who needs help here?" one of them asked, clearly surprised by the sight of a winged hero, but wisely choosing not to comment on it. Upon noticing Loveless, he called more people over, and the journalist was quickly surrounded by people examining his leg and asking him all sorts of questions, some directed at Karen and Sirius, the latter of which was tended to as he explained why he was hurt.

In the meanwhile, the police was thanking the Crick for having dealt with the threat. "Good job Crick, let's get this bastard into custody." They moved forwards to get the villain, expecting no resistance. If someone -for some insane reason- wanted to grab Psyclone, this would be the time to do so.

Karen hated this part of the job, a lot. She answered the questions directed at her, but was, as per usual, quick to leave the first chance she got. She never liked having to answer questions, especially when she felt they where stupid questions, like most the ones asked by reporters, so for now, she just headed home.

Rias on the other hand, waited till the police came to relieve her, she to had to answer a few questions but after that she dispelled her constructs and let the police take control of the situation. Rias and her group headed back to the bar for a little while, the rest of the band, as well as Claire and William discussed what they'd do next, Rias didn't say much, Now that she wasn't directing traffic a little bit of depression set in and she just sat there drinking Whiskey on the rocks.

Terry

The Crick watched The Specter drift towards the man in the lab coat with the strange pack. Today had been a pretty odd day. Mist reconsidering a few things, Psyclone showing up, all these different heroes. They'd all done pretty well. He wondered who he should talk to first about their organization.

"Good work taking him down,"

He looked over and watched Coil walk over. He'd never really had the chance to meet with the hero face to face. The past few weeks she'd been doing hero work all over time Neutropolis. A lot of work. She genuinely seemed like someone who really wanted to help. Terry liked that. Vaguely reminded him of his first weeks being a hero.

"Hopefully he stays locked away for a long time."

"Yeah...lets hope the jails can hold him. But eh, he doesn't seem to bright." The Crick chuckled slightly and stopped. Coil seemed nervous.

"Say, you've been heroing here a lot longer than me...Think you'd have any advice for a newbie? I've been trying my best but I can't help but feel that there is more I could be doing."

"Well, there are a lot of things I can tell you. Keep your suit clean, at least bring a second pair of underwear, never eat spicy curry before going on patrol...but the only thing I can tell you that matters is remember: You live for the people. Not for the fame or reward...it's nice when it happens, but don't expect it. And remember, criminals are people. Villains are people. Heck even Psyclone is a person...just a person with mistakes I bet. Try to go easy on them if you can...but sadly, they might not go easy on you."

The Crick wasn't much for advice or mentoring, but he felt that was right.

"Besides, you're doing all you can. And your'e doing a fine job...which reminds,"

He handed her one of the communicators, just as a group of officers moved towards them and the unconscious Psyclone.

"I'm assembling a group. Give me a call sometime."

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Gerald

Ears hurting.

Chest Burning.

Groin Aching.

Head spinning, spinning, spinning spinning, spinning, spinning....

"Al...Alari...hey Al...faceless Al, blank man Al, Al, walking French accent Al..." Psyclone muttered from behind his mask as the shadowy blobs of police officers began hauling him away.

"Help..."

Dr. Schwertner

"Now, can you please wait for the police to be done, or do you have some urgent business that cannot wait?"

The doctor was taken aback by the man's German. He didn't expect to meet a fluent speaker, though it certainly wasn't outlandish of an idea. Vinzenz grew a tad nervous at the mention of police. The last thing he needed was for the authorities to take notice of him, and in turn, his work.

"No," said the scientist before turning away. "I have no more business here." He looked off into the direction he came from, seeing if he could leave without any issues. I should be thankful I have not drawn any more attention than I already have.

Aldric

"Al...Alari...hey Al...faceless Al, blank man Al, Al, walking French accent Al..."

Aldric stood on the sidelines, watching the villain being taken away. "Non non, you shouldn't speak so much Monsieur Psyclone." Aldric thought, shaking his head. Clearly the villain wasn't the investment his employer hoped he'd be. Aldric considered removing the man in the near future but dismissed the idea. However weak, he still had some value for his flashy display. Psyclone would be freed soon enough; whether by his own power of Mina's. However, doing so with so many cameras and fools-in-spandex around wouldn't do at all. As important as they were to his employer's grand plans, being free to do things away from the camera was it's own advantage neither would overlook.

So, instead of attempting a daring rescue or assassination of the asset, Aldric made the call.

Mina

Mina had watched the entire fight through the many media outlets (several of them hers). She was... disappointed. She'd been right about Psyclone being the exact sort of villain to provide a compelling narrative for her play, but she'd failed to take into account how much of a zealot he was. He didn't know when to cut his losses and retreat.

Not like she did.

That was when she received the call. "Aldric" she said, answering the phone. "Opinion?" he said, ever efficient with his words. Mina shook her head absently. "The asset is depleted. Leave no loose ends." she said, hanging up. From there, she went about buying up all the footage of the festival she didn't own to make sure the maximum amount of profit could be turned from the short-lived asset.

It was going to be a long day.

Theodore

Nothing but questions. The medical team seemed intent on questioning him about his wounds, the police on what had happened (as if it hadn't been recorded). All in all, it took a while before he finally made it to the ambulance and, by extension, the hospital. Worse, there they insisted on all kinds of tests as though he didn't have a massive task ahead of him of putting together a show on all of it. Couldn't they just slap some band-aids on him and let him go?

The hospital insisted on keeping him over night but allowed him to at least use a laptop to get some research done until the sun set. It was because of this that he noticed - in real time - the same "phenomenon" as the first fight with Psyclone. Lots of footage was being bought up, edited slightly, and released for public consumption at almost no cost. His own digging had revealed little the last time and he doubted that would be any different this time.

It was time to call in backup. Activating his powers, he sent a quick message to The Crick via the same way they'd made contact before. All it said was "We need to talk. Soon. -T.L."

Tom

"Sorry, bro, it's just not in the script."

Tom shook his head "Then your script needs an editor," he said, turning and leaving the room.

It seemed there was no talking with Tim, or no persuading him at least, which made Tom quite sad. I need to eat something, watch a good movie. That'll make me feel better. Whatever Tim said he knew that his brother couldn't be all bad, he just needed to figure out why he was so opposed to using his abilities for good. I suppose the way things are going I'll at least get a few chances to beat some sense into him...

Sighing he made his way to the kitchen and began scrounging about for something to eat, or something to make then eat. Preferably something unhealthy.

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Tess

"Well, there are a lot of things I can tell you. Keep your suit clean, at least bring a second pair of underwear, never eat spicy curry before going on patrol...but the only thing I can tell you that matters is remember: You live for the people. Not for the fame or reward...it's nice when it happens, but don't expect it. And remember, criminals are people. Villains are people. Heck even Psyclone is a person...just a person with mistakes I bet. Try to go easy on them if you can...but sadly, they might not go easy on you."

So like a hero, she thought, though she made the act of hanging on his every word nodding in agreement with his statements.

"I'm assembling a group. Give me a call sometime."

"This is..." she said, something Mina will want to hear about, "an honor."

She took the communicator, examining it briefly before pocketing it. A hero team, as a member I could disgrace the whole group following Mina's plan. This is excellent. She didn't have to hide her delighted expression, merely work to keep the maliciousness out of her smile and eyes.

"I'll be sure to give you a call," she said, "I'd love to be part of a team. Right now though it looks like things are well in hand, so I think I'll be off, work never stops eh?"

With that she turned and started to walk away, turning over the comm in her mind. Need to be sure I call from a safe place. My apartment probably. Can't have anyone here overhear me reporting.

Tess carefully searched her apartment, making certain things were in order before she made the call. She didn't like to be paranoid but something like this had her both on edge and a little excited.

"Mina, I've got a report," she said as soon as the phone was picked up.

Mina was reading a report on her recent acquisitions when her "personal" phone began to ring. Looking at the number, she knew it was Tess.

"Tess-" she said as she answered. She heard Tess say she had a report. "On the events at the festival I assume?" she asked, mostly as a courtesy. She doubted it would be anything but.

"Yes, there's been an interesting development," she said "Crick has offered me the chance to join him, he's forming a team."

Mina raised an eyebrow at that. They were forming a team? Already? She hadn't even begun to subtlety push for the creation of a team yet. the heroes were putting her plan into place by their own power; it was perfect.

"That is interesting." she said, her excitement audible. "I trust you've taken them up on the offer?"

"Of course, it's easy to see the potential," she said with a smirk.

"Good... this is excellent news. Once I've got the rest of my plan in place, I'll let you know when to start Phase 2." she said, staying on target. "It looks like you're going to be paid a lot earlier than expected. Excellent work."

"Glad to hear it, any further instructions?" she asked "if you can get me a bug I could have you listen in on the 'team communicators'."

"hm..." she said, thinking about it. "I'll arrange for you to get a bug, but I want you to hold off from using it. I don't want to leave any evidence that there might be a traitor among them. For now, just use your eyes, ears, and good sense. Otherwise, use the bug at your discretion and let me know when you use it."

"Of course," she said "I'll keep you updated."

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The Next Day

Tess

Tess groaned as she rolled out of bed, something about the deal with Mina worried her. Maybe it was how casually she had offed that guard, always the worry that when she says 'get paid' she means 'get killed' that's an unavoidable danger I suppose. She wasn't about to let herself feel sorry for Crick and whoever else was on his team though, they should be more careful about recruiting, I bet that unicorn lady is going to be there, and that blobby idiot.

That thought put a bit of a smirk back on her face though and she set about making herself something to eat. What time is it anyways? Hope I didn't sleep in too much, who knows what nonsense is going to happen today.

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Tom

Tom was out the door pretty quickly, he didn't particularly want to stay around the apartment right now, too much to think about in there. Besides he was certain there was a lot of work to be done reporting on the disaster at the festival, his college paper would certainly appreciate a firsthand account, maybe he could write it up during his spare time at work.

Man hope I'm not too busy today, things should calm down after that villain went away but even so... Gah just need to focus on work.

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George

George found himself pacing in the hall outside of Tom's room, Tom was probably already gone to work or something but maybe he wasn't. He just needed to knock on the door, he knew that Tom had been at the festival, he had to ask if he had seen him there. The gap in his memory was really starting to bother him, especially given what he'd heard had happened there after the fact.

Did I get hit on the head? Just come down with something? Man I don't want to think about this, maybe I should just go see a doctor. It's not the first time something like this has happened so maybe I should just stop worrying... Yeah yeah, I can forget about this, but I should still see if he saw me there first.

This thought in mind he turned and knocked on the door, waiting nervously for a response.

Frederick Rolls

Frederick had somehow managed to avoid being yelled at by Sofia this time. As a matter of fact, she didn't seem to be aware of what had happened with the anti-hero. Then again, she did seem to have quite the ability to ignore everything around her. Figuring that Theodore probably had to recover quite a bit from his injuries, he sent him a message in the morning rather than the same evening.

"Hey, are you fine? It certainly got close yesterday. Next time, you might want to just keep the interview to over phone, there's a lot less chance of getting stabbed that way. Hope you make a speedy recovery, you fool, and let me know if you're up for some drinks in a couple of days.

-Frederick"

He figured that the other would get the sarcasm, it wasn't as if Frederick hid that side of his any more than he hid his fondness for bow-ties. Speaking of which, since the festival had been cancelled, he had to be in court today, in a case he had no idea what was.

As long as it's not the arraignment for that Psyclone... No, that should be fine.

He knew that it would happen quite quickly, they couldn't let Psyclone out, after all, and there was a limit to how long you could hold someone before formally informing them of what they had been accused off, but likely they would wait until they knew of a way to do that without risking the lives of everyone in the courtroom. Besides, with the inability that the police seemed to have when it came to keeping slightly super-powered people locked up, how long would it be before someone like Psyclone escaped?

That's why I prefer to go for the not powered crime. Bring sufficient proof, and they are locked up.

In theory, anyways. The police sometimes let some of those escape too.

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Tim Merridy

Tom had acted awfully distant ever since they had gotten back to the apartment. He supposed it wasn't exactly a surprise, but it was annoying, he had been forced to make something for himself in the evening when he realized that Tom wasn't going to, and since it was hard to move, that had kind of not been possible. Having uncovered a bag of chips, however, he had at least not starved.

This morning, however, it was harder to deal with his hunger. He supposed he could go outside and try to find a nearby fast-food restaurant open in the morning, but walking around was painful enough. Tom was elsewhere too, and, to be honest, Tim doubted the other would even answer if he sent a message asking for food. Still, he did so, if not for breakfast, then for dinner, and was waiting for a reply when there was knocking on the door.

That's not Tom, is it?

No, Tim hadn't heard the other lock the door, and even if he had, it couldn't possibly be that inconvenient. Holding his breath as he stood up, Tim moved over to the door, slowly, then opened it. Only after he had, he realized that if this was some sort of burglar, he would be completely unable to act against them. Then again, he was fairly sure a burglar wouldn't knock. Seeing that it was Tom's friend from a week ago, something like George, if he remembered correctly, he grinned.

"If you're a burglar you're a horrible one," he joked. "Seriously though, this is the second time you've just missed Tom, and met me instead, it must be destiny," another joke, spoken as Tim wondered if begging would make the other go get him a meal.

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Sirius Hamilton

Sirius was rather worried about what had happened to Ash. Well, worried was an odd term for him to use, not exactly something he could experience, but it bothered him a little. Enough to cause him to knock on her door, only to get no reaction whatsoever. He knocked again, but it seemed she was not there, nor had she been for a while.

What happened?

He thought to himself, before going back to his apartment to prepare himself for the day. It wasn't a particularly important day, not any more than any other, but he had a mind to go check out what the university was like. Well, that could wait for a bit, first of all he had something he wanted to sketch out, one of the buildings he had spotted from walking home from the ruined festival, a rather expensive hotel that seemed to have been built out of pure gold and everything that was bright and shiny. He knew it wasn't gold, but still, rather interesting to draw.

Putting a soft brown sweater on, Sirius examined the bandaged wound in the mirror. Upon having recognized him, one of the health personnel had taped a piece of band-aid over it, before covering the whole thing with a bandage, telling him not to take it off in a week or so. Confused as to how he would shower, Sirius had just nodded, he wasn't sure if she was speaking to him like one would a child or not, but it wasn't exactly new to him either way.

With the new art supplies -the bag had stayed hidden behind the speakers, so they were still usable- he went to this hotel, before sketching it. One of the guards there raised an eyebrow, but left him be, probably because he wasn't making a mess or racket.

Terry

Terry finished wiring the last of the power cables together and pulled himself out from under the subway car. Everything was in check. Security cameras and alarms connected, sapping power from the third rail, back up generators were place, the subway cars were rather comfortable command stations and lounges. He still had to clean out an organize a few of the old maintenance rooms, but so far he'd worked out the placing of a dojo, and a few other rooms. One being a storage room, for his personal "project".

"Well, it's not a watchtower or a hall of justice, but it'll have to do for now."

The Crick hopped out of the old abandoned subway line, checking his communicator. Loveless had sent him the message after the Psyclone-festival-incident. The Crick needed to speak with him too, work out the whole communicator situation. Loveless could only send out messages, not receive them. Luckily, he thought he'd found a solution to that. He was on his way to meet Loveless and hear what was up.

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Gerald

Psyclone sat in the sell, staring at his gas mask across from him on the table. He looked down at his handcuffed hands before turning his head slowly over at the mirror across the wall. He knew there cops and detectives behind the window, watching and talk. Probably wondering what unlucky lawyer would take up his case. Gerald grinned at the window.

He'd figured out a few things while he sat there. He was of the payroll and his former employers weren't coming for him. Fair enough, he wasn't getting bailed. Given yesterdays disaster, he probably hadn't killed anyone. No one really knew any of his former crimes, or at least anyone willing to come forward. His life was seemingly gone, his neighborhood renovated and no missing child report ever filled out. Psyclone was villain, but Gerald was a ghost.

Of course, his earlier damage with the tornado and the city might be enough to put him behind bars but he was dissapointed. He was wishing he could've gone out with a bigger bang. They wouldn't be able to hold him, not for long, but so far he'd agreed to play fair. Prison was something new. Something to look forward to.

He stared at a screw on brace keeping him handcuffed to the table.

Dr. Schwertner

After the events at the fairgrounds, Vinzenz found himself in a bit of a predicament. He had a generator that had no power and no way to transfer the energy back from the super magnet efficiently. He stared thoughtfully at the device sitting on the workbench, wondering how he could put it to use. At the very least, he had a less strenuous means of moving parts and machinery. As for the matter of finding a new supply of power, surely there was some means of securing a power line nearby. He stepped out onto the wharf and looked over the abandoned freight machinery. They loaders and lifts evidently hadn't been used in years, and while it was unlikely they'd still be operational having been idle for so long, the doctor doubted that section of the harbor had been stripped of its electrical systems. Restoring power would simply be a matter of finding the source and flipping a switch.

"Vell...zis should be an interesting project," he thought aloud. He hurriedly strode towards one of the power boxes of the wharf to look for any indicators as to where its source of power may be. Sure enough, there was a marker painted below the breakers' housing. He figured there would be more markers just like it, all of them leading to some point of access. After some snooping, he came across a manhole cover a couple warehouses over. He looked around for any prying eyes, and though it was in broad daylight he was in an abandoned wharf. His eyes hesitantly returned to the manhole and he sighed with no small amount of reluctance. "I suppose 'interesting' does not mean it vill not be accompanied by awful smells."

Karen

this post brought to you as a colab by TheNaut131 and myself

He'd seen her on the television, new reporters beginning to connect the dots to who she was while Terry's description of her fighting style as well as the limited video of her fighting confirmed it. It was definitely Leviathan alright. A part of him always felt like she was alive, despite the guilt him and his wife felt over choosing to help Mighty Guy against his own foes vs whatever horrible eldritch evil Leviathan had gone off to fight. Or was it something demonic? He couldn't remember. Mockingjay never could get a hold of what was what, and always felt uncomfortable when dealing with "magic" or anything arcane in origin.

But she was one of those things, Mockingjay supposed, and she was one of his closest allies. He was glad she was alright after all these years. Mockingjay descended onto the rooftop, a gentle, yet low and heavy whompwhompwhompwhomp moving through the air as Mockingjay lowered himself with soundwaves.

He grinned at Leviathan, shifting slightly in the purple overcoat, adjusting his white tie, his fedora, and his mask covering the upper half of his face. His costume was old school, older than the era they'd actually been fighting in. Detective X gave him the idea. Detective X...he was gonna have to bring him up to Karen as well.

He walked over to Leviathan and did the simplest thing he could, he held his hand out to Levithan to shake hers."Long time no see, Leviathan. Hope you've been well."

Karen had spent the rest of the day relaxing after the indecent at the festival, for the most part, she did go out on patrol that night but it was shorter then usual and just packed it in early.

The next morning was quiet as well, usually was after a big fight like that, so she enjoyed the down time for the short time she knew it'd last. early afternoon however brought a surprise.

As she was taking the trash out she'd heard a 'whomping' sound. she ignored it at first. She was hardly the only winged one in town after all, then it got closer and she started looking for the source, finding it in time to see it landing on the roof of the house. naturally Karen was up and after the figure, who seemed to be waiting for her.

He looked like he'd stepped off some film noir movie set, and approached her hand out stretched for a shake.

"Long time no see, Leviathan. Hope you've been well." Karen was naturally, surprised to hear that name again, more so the voice. Karen, didn't shake his hand, instead she just grabbed him and hugged him "Hey MJ" she said before letting go of him "Yeah, It has, sorry about not coming by to visit. Been meaning to." Karen said, happy to see one of the 'old gang' again.

Mockingjay was slightly surprised by the sudden hug, but embraced her back. He could hear heartbeat speed up slightly, excited.

"Hey MJ" she said before letting go of him "Yeah, It has, sorry about not coming by to visit. Been meaning to." "It's alright," he said, remembering her voice. He'd missed it, the texture, the way certain things rolled off her tongue. He heard the world differently, and Leviathan had always been a good "different."

"My sons lost their minds when they realized we were superheroes, if they new most of their uncles, aunties, and friends of the family were also supers? They'd lose it!" He chuckled slightly, shaking his head.

"Then again...you've already met one of them." Giving Leviathan a sly look. "Mind if I come in?"

Karen chuckled "Wish I could a been there for that" she said as she opened the door for him and let him in. "Tony and Annabelle are at the doctors right now, so we got the place to our selves for now." she said as she lead him to the living room. "So which of your boys took over the 'family business' as it where?" Karen then had a look cross her face like she remembered something "And how is Sandra? You guys still together?" Karen asked, curious to know how they'd been doing since she 'left'.

"Are we still together? Levi, I'm rather hurt," He said jokingly. "Though I do remember there being some sort of bet on how long we'd last together when we started dating..." He took a seat on the couch.

"Anyway, my oldest son, turns 26 this year. Hes currently on some college internship around the world. He's into photography. Kids powerful, got his mom's strength and my sound manipulation but didn't really take to fighting crime. Yet funny enough, wherever he goes with his camera, a figure doing amazing feats tends to follow. Either stopping arms dealers, saving sinking ships, ecetera. He swears it isn't him." Mockingjay slapped his knee and laughed.

"On the other hand, our youngest took to being a hero quick. Not gonna lie, I was worried about him, but he's come a long way these last few years. You know him as, "The Crick."

He reached into his pocket and handed her a communicator. "And he's making an interesting offer. He wants to start his own team, and I trust in his judgement, but I'd feel a lot safer if you hopped on board."

Karen smiled when she heard the two of them where still together, it was tough for people like them to find such stability and happiness, so she was glad that they did.

Karen listened as Jason talked about his sons, and laughed a long with him at the antics of his oldest. "Oh? Crick is your son?" She said with a tone of 'shoulda known' as she took the communicator. "A team huh." one the one hand she wasn't sure she really wanted to be on a 'team' just yet, but then, she felt the same way when she joined up with Tony and then the first time, Karen smirked "I'll give him a call when Tony and Annabelle get back." Karen said as she put the device in her pocket. "Assuming that is, he'll have me on his team."

"I'm sure he will..." Mockingjay frowne slightly."But that's sorta what I'm afraid of," he said, leaning in slightly.

"Remember Detective X? Oliver Bass...guy was paranoid, a conspiracy nut, but the man was essentially a genius and overall a pretty good guy. Yet he did something, that uh, scared us-well, before we understood why he'd done it."
"So, back in the early, days, when we were all starting out, I made a bet. A rather dangerous bet. I-I bet he couldn't figure out my secret identity in week. I knew that given enough time he probably could, but a month? No way in hell."

Jason took a deep sigh, feeling his age as he leaned back and rubbed his eyes. "He...he figured out not just my identity, but ALL of our secret identities in a matter of hours. Not just that, our weakness, aliases, social security number you name it. He even had some things on you, things I still don't really understand..."

"Detective X, Oliver, was our friend. He thought differently from the rest of us and I could never read him..., but that day, he scared me. Was he being friendly, joking around in the only way he knew how. Or did he genuinely believe someone had to have dirt on us superhumans, someone to keep us in line? I don't really like thinking about it...all I know is that he saved my life more times than I care to admit."

Mockingjay walked over and put his hand on Leviathan's shoulder. "But what if someone like Detective X joins their team and...and they aren't as good as Oliver was? If they have their own intentions, their own agenda...my son wouldn't see it, or maybe he wouldn't want to, I don't know...all I know is I want you to keep protecting this city, keep an eye on this team. And keep an eye on my son...please."

Karen frowned a little when Jason mentioned Oliver. He was a decent enough guy around her but she always found him kinda creepy in a way. Hearing he'd snooped around her back ground, made kinda wanna punch him now. Still, Jason had a point, if some one like Oliver, only with more harmful intent dug up that kinda dirt on this new generation of hero, it could be a disaster. "Of course I will. You'd hardly need to ask me that. Not because just because he's your son, but." Karen paused a moment, at this point, she knew she wouldn't be able to keep her 'not dead secret any longer anyway. "Because its time I started to do for this new generation, what you, and Tony did for me when I first transferred over from fighting monsters and evil spirits to people." she said, referring to the mentor-ship she'd gotten from them.

"Eh, don't mention it. You fought things my nightmares couldn't dream up, teaching you to fight guys in ski masks and not kill them wasn't too hard."

Mockingjay pulled her in for a quick hug. "Sandra would've loved to see you again. I'll send her your regards."

Karen smiled and hugged him back. "I'll be sure to swing by later, and maybe bring Tony if he's up for it." She said as the hug broke "we can sit around, tell story's about the old days, and I'm sure you and Sandra will wanna know why I'm not dead." Karen said.

Dr. Loveless

Theodore was a little surprised when he saw Fredrick's text. Not because he didn't think Fredrick wouldn't text him or that he wouldn't be concerned when a friend was in the hospital, but because he'd assumed the man would be buried in work after the events of the festival. He knew how everyone even tangentially related to the the legal system tended to find themselves in a tsunami of paperwork - from warrants to legal proceedings, to processing minor crimes more quickly - whenever a super-villain was captured in the hopes of getting the individual moved to a the "Super" super-max before the inevitable jailbreaks started. Regardless, Theodore sent back a text in reply.

"And miss out on getting the closeup? You really don't know me at all! (jk). I look forward to some delicious - and real - coffee.

-T. Loveless"

After that, Loveless took a nap for the first time in years. The doctors would approve.

*several hours later*

Loveless awoke to The Crick's arrival. There was something about an electromechanical suit with that much tech in it that just shocked his powers awake. It was like they wanted to talk or something. "Glad to see you're still up and running there Tinman." Loveless said, a wiry smile on his face.

Tess

It wasn't long before Tess felt settled in for the day, there wasn't a whole lot to accomplish after all so she found herself on patrol again. The most boring part of heroing, though I suppose I only do this because I'm being paid to be a hero. For now at least. Maybe I should give the Crick a call already, find out more about that team...

Looking around to make sure she was properly secluded in the alleyway she pulled out the communicator and began the call. I don't see anyone around, and honestly I've already leaked the info to the most dangerous person who could have it, so what's the harm?

"Hey Crick," she said, speaking in a hushed, conspiratorial voice "I said I'd call about the team and so I am, what do you need me to do?"

Lets just hope he doesn't want to put me through any sort of test to prove my loyalty, that would be annoying. Also sounds more like something that Psycho would attempt if he made a villain team.
_______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

George

"Seriously though, this is the second time you've just missed Tom, and met me instead, it must be destiny,"

"Ha, I guess so," George said nervously "Uh, by chance were you at the festival yesterday?"

If Tom was maybe he brought Tim with too, he looks injured so maybe he got hurt in all the chaos... That would be kinda awful, hope I'm not reminding him of what happened or anything.

"I'm asking cuz, I think I was there," he said "but uh, I don't remember anything so I was wondering if you could fill me in. I've seen the news reports but I'm kinda hoping someone I know might have seen me there or something..."

This is a stupid idea, what are the chances of him having actually seen me?

Terry

"Hey Crick," Coil said, speaking in a hushed, conspiratorial voice "I said I'd call about the team and so I am, what do you need me to do?"

The Crick picked up the message from Coil, seemingly always eager to do what she could. He appreciated it, but didn't really have the time given that Loveless was waiting.

"Right now, just keep doing what you're doing. I need to temporarily shut the communicators down anyway. Get back to you in a bit." He said, hopping down to Loveless.

"Glad to see you're still up and running there Tinman." Loveless said as The Crick landed in front of him and walked over.

"Nice to see you too, Radiohead." The Crick said, grinning behind his mask. "You handled yourself well against Psyclone; I guess you're more of a 'hero' than you think."

The Crick couldn't help but wonder what would happen if Loveless fully utilized his powers and took to the street. What would he even call himself? Sentry? Relay? Then again, Loveless isn't much of a trained fighter and Terry had no way of knowing the full extent of Loveless's powers. Besides, Loveless seemed to be using his powers rather well, especially in terms of what The Crick had planned. He reached into a compartment on his suit and grabbed a small black pager-like device with a series of lights on it.

"So I think I figured out our little relay problem and being unable to receive messages. This device is essentially linked to all the communicators, acting as a simple receiver. The blue light just means the receiver is active, but the rest of lights mean you're receiving input from a communicator. Yellow means something's going down and they want back up. Too many suspects, super human with a nasty power, something they want someone to look at you name it. Audio can be sent through the communicator, but the receiver can't play that sound. You on the other hand can take those signals, and relay the sound to the rest of our communicators, and I'm assuming you can loop it if necessary for a short period of time. The rest of the colors are simpler; green means all clear and that something's been dealt with, while red means a communicator has been damaged or tampered which. In that case, you send a message straight to me. It's not a perfect system but it'll have to do for now."

The Crick held out the device.

"So to sum it all up you of course can transmit to any communicator independently thanks to your power, but for you to receive any our signals, someone with a communicator simply needs to use it. The buttons are labeled essentially the same way on the communicators, so the heroes using them should understand their functions rather easily...well hopefully. Oh and the receiver and communicators only connect when in use, so we shouldn't have to worry about anyone being able to trace them...unless they get their hands on a communicator but something tells me that'd be a challenge given the owners. Plus, thanks to the warnings I have in place, we'll know."

The Crick finally took a breath, a bit too indulged in explaining the newest gadget he'd managed to cook up. It had taken him longer than he'd liked to admit to come up with a solution, but here it was.

"Right now, everything's in standby mode. Originally they were just walky talkies essentially but that way too traceable. So with that out of the way, Loveless, what was it you wanted to talk about it."

Frederick Rolls

"And miss out on getting the closeup? You really don't know me at all! (jk). I look forward to some delicious - and real - coffee.

-T. Loveless"

Frederick had to chuckle when he saw the reply. It came when he was in the middle of working through the statements of the people who had lost money with the festival, stands had been broken and tools had been destroyed, and him and the other people there had to help bring together the case. Well, that wasn't entirely true, it wasn't part of his job, but if he didn't help out, it would take longer than if he did. Besides, someone had to control the chaos.

Not to mention, with this I'm no longer a viable option for the trial.

Helping the prosecution building the case was, after all, getting involved with one of the sides. Still, he took a break when he read Theodore's message, arranging the last of the statements and handing them off to one of the prosecutors. They were in an office at the police-station, it was easier to work with the evidence that way. Typing the message, he started walking towards the closest coffee-machine.

"It's cute that you think that'll happen. Either of those. I'll see you then."

-Frederick"

Getting a cup of coffee, he greeted the cops and lawyers there, who were apparently discussing something.

"Oh, Judge Rolls," one of them said. It was a young defence lawyer, Clarkson or something, employed by the state. "Don't you agree that the police should be the ones to interact with the directly with the client when the client is dangerous like this?" Frederick raised an eyebrow.

"Is this about Psyclone?" he asked, though he already felt like he knew the reply. "What's the issue?" One of the cops, whom he hadn't seen before, spoke up.

"The defence team is too cowardly to appoint a lawyer to the guy, and refuses to send someone in to mention that there will be delays while they sort it out." Frederick shrugged.

"And why don't the police do it?"

"It's not our responsibility, we're already risking interacting with the suspect when we're interrogating him." Frederick sighed.

More like you're afraid he'll get upset when you tell him that no one wants to defend him in court even though they're required to by law.

"Give me the folder," Frederick then said. "I'll deal with it. I can't take his case, but at least I'll let him know about the delays." Bringing with him the folder, he quickly read through the main parts, he already knew very well what had happened, after all. After that, he informed the policeman in charge of keeping an eye on the door about what was going on, and while hesitantly so, he was let in. With a somewhat honest smile and a confident attitude, Frederick stepped inside.

"Hello, my name is Frederick Rolls," he started, walking over to the chair, but not sitting down yet. "I'm here to let you know that there's a delay in the process and that a defence lawyer has not been appointed by the state yet. I'm also here to answer any questions you might have relating to the process." With that, he took a seat, not afraid due to his own powers.

"Also, you don't need to worry about anyone listening in. While this isn't an official meeting with your lawyer, you're still entitled to discuss these matters without the detectives writing everything down. There is someone keeping an eye on the room for safety purposes, so I wouldn't recommend trying to harm me, but anything you say while I'm here is between the two of us." With that, he put the folder down. He had gotten rid of the coffee, something told him that going inside a room with someone who could create wind with a cup of hot beverage might not be the best idea.

"Anyways, enough about that. What do you prefer to be called? All we have so far is Psyclone, and I assume that's not your actual name." After getting a reply, Frederick continued.

"So, do you have any question to start off with? Or would you just like me to explain the procedure?"

He hoped he wasn't being too official, it was quite a long time since he'd had a conversation with anyone like this, especially since he never had been a defence lawyer.

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

Tim Merridy

"Ha, I guess so. Uh, by chance were you at the festival yesterday?"

Tim nodded. "Yeah, I was. Well, I was for a while, I got there sort of late, and then..." he lifted hurt arm as high up as he could, cheerfully. "I got sort of hurt. Tom thinks I deserve it, though, he's kinda upset with me because I got involved in it. Speaking of which..." he trailed off, not sure if he did want to ask about the food or not. As he did, George continued, explaining the reason why he was asking.

"I'm asking cuz, I think I was there. But uh, I don't remember anything so I was wondering if you could fill me in. I've seen the news reports but I'm kinda hoping someone I know might have seen me there or something..."

"You don't remember being there?" Tim asked, surprised. He couldn't help but feel sort of... worried, actually, he might not know George all that well, but anyone saying that they didn't remember being somewhere like that couldn't be well. Perhaps the other had gotten hurt when people were fighting?

I don't think I saw him there, though, so I don't think I had anything to do with it.

However, Tom's statement from the day before came back to him, the one about whether he knew what happened to his victims. Frowning, he looked at George, before smiling again, as if trying to make the other feel better.

"You think you might have hit your head, then?" he asked, then gestured towards Tom's couch. "I don't remember seeing you there in particular, but I can tell you what I know. I'd need to be sitting, though, it's getting sort of tiring standing up and I haven't been able to get any breakfast yet, I can't really move or cook with all of these bandages and casts on. But seriously, come in,"

he pretty much ushered the other inside, not giving up until he could at least close the door behind the guy. He himself sat down in the couch, pushing away the sheets he'd been sleeping in and all that, making room for George to sit down.

"What do you remember?" Tim asked, curiously. "So that I know where to start, I mean."

Gerald

"So, do you have any question to start off with? Or would you just like me to explain the procedure?"

Psyclone stared at the man for a second before giving him a slight grin. The suit, the way he walked, this guy was personified definition of "chill." Maybe a bit too chill, he thought, noting the way the man moved in his skin. He moved like any other man but something seemed...off, yet strangely familiar.

"Fuck it, I'm good, I think I've seen enough episodes of Law and Order at this point. Besides, it's out of my hands." He raised his hands, a slight gust rising over them, gently moving the dust in the room towards the ceiling slightly. He watched for the man's reaction.

"Don't worry, I won't hurt you...well today, at least. I've got a bit on my mind right now. So I'm wonderin' you have any questions for me Mr.Rolls...hehe rolls...'heads will roll' I quite like that. Personally, I guess you can call me-" He stopped for moment. in thought.

"Mr.Rolls, have you had somethin' taken from you?"

Frederick Rolls

"Fuck it, I'm good, I think I've seen enough episodes of Law and Order at this point. Besides, it's out of my hands."

"I don't really think Law and Order would be enough," Frederick replied. He noted the dust, though he didn't have much of a reaction, if the other was trying to startle him, he was not succeeding. "Besides," he grinned. "If watching crime shows was enough to become a lawyer, my law career would have started when I was a child."

"Don't worry, I won't hurt you...well today, at least. I've got a bit on my mind right now. So I'm wonderin' you have any questions for me Mr.Rolls...hehe rolls...'heads will roll' I quite like that."

Well, that's a new one.

He'd been called "Sweet Rolls" before due to his passion for making -and eating- pastry, but never put like that. Then again, he supposed you had to be at least slightly deranged to be a villain.

"Personally, I guess you can call me-"

The other trailed off, though Frederick wasn't sure if. The again, it would've been too easy if Psyclone was willing to give up a name without hesitation.

"Mr.Rolls, have you had somethin' taken from you?"

Frederick hadn't expected that question. A bit of a bitter tone surfaced when he replied.

"Yes."

My life.

"Though I think I got it back. It's... difficult to be sure."

While he was a bit opposed to letting the other know anything about him, it might get Psyclone talking. While he couldn't do anything with the information received, it was commonly assumed -and in his experience, it seemed to be at least partially correct- that one you got someone talking, they were more eager to speak. Then again, Psyclone hadn't exactly been quiet out there.

"Why?" Frederick then asked, expression growing slightly amused. "Is this when you explain why you're here? Confess something heartfelt?" He bit his tongue, he hadn't been able to keep himself from being sarcastic.

"If so, feel free, but my time here is limited, and I assure you, you'd want to know more about how this works. You're... not exactly in the best position, seeing as many people would like people with powers locked up because of what they can do."

Gerald

Psyclone grinned at Roll's reaction. Unphased, unimpressed, all were expected, but the test had given him something to work with. It wasn't much to go off of, but it was something to contemplate. Aside from all that, the guy had a sense of humor. He liked that. But his big question veiled something interesting.

"Yes." Frederick replied.

Psyclone could hear the spite in his voice. Struck the slightest of nerves. What was it?

"Though I think I got it back. It's... difficult to be sure."

Interesting...

"Why?" Frederick then asked, expression growing slightly amused. "Is this when you explain why you're here? Confess something heartfelt? If so, feel free, but my time here is limited, and I assure you, you'd want to know more about how this works. You're... not exactly in the best position, seeing as many people would like people with powers locked up because of what they can do."

"Alright, alright Freddie I was just thinking...why should it matter what you call? My real name or the name I've made for myself? My birth name means nothin', I've been erased...my family, my life, gone. Fuck me man, I couldn't even find my neighbors! I keep worrying about that life, the other guy's life, and yet it means nothin'. Absolute shit! So why do I keep bringing it up? That's part of why I lost yesterday, I was too worried about his life...maybe it would be easier if I just accept that it's gone, taken, unattainable. Accept that there's only one thing now."

He stared at the mask facing him and spun it so it was facing Frederick.

"Psyclone."

He leaned back.

"So explain away. Probably the last day I'll listen...who the fuck am I kidding, I never listen!"

Daniel Luxe

The sharp dressed demon left the Winnfield Tower's café with a smile on his face from reading the crime stories in the morning paper and full of crêpes. And while his breakfast satisfied his sweet tooth, the reports of armed muggings and an attempted murder that could have had a deliciously gruesome outcome kept him happy. There was a front page section on the recent festival and a super powered party-crasher which certainly was an interesting read, but it hadn't concerned him too much. He was here on business after all. However, that didn't mean he couldn't have a little fun while he was here. As he exited the lobby's grand foyer, a figure a ways beyond the front door stood out to him. "Hmm." was all Daniel said. Tacky sweater, bandaged head, and the creative type. Either he's an asylum escapee or someone that probably should be.

Casually, Daniel walked around his field of view, crossed the street, and with his usual quiet and soft footsteps, he approached the artist. Looking over a sweatered shoulder, he could see that the guy had talent. While Daniel's view of the man's face wasn't clear, he could see no emotion on display. Perhaps it was merely concentration, or perhaps the man really was crazy, likely a psychopath. Maybe even a sociopath, which would certainly be interesting. Crazies were always fun the deal with, and typically when it came to turning their souls sour, half the work was already done. "Beautiful building, isn't it?" Daniel asked, standing beside the grey-eyed sketcher. "You should see the inside. It really is impressive."

Dr. Schwertner

"Scheisse!!" Vinzenz exclaimed in fright as a rat the size of his head brushed past his leg and off into one of the darker corridors. He stood frozen for a moment before erupting into a dramatic fit of shivers, disgusted to have been in contact with such a filthy creature. It took a moment for the doctor to gather himself, but once he had regained composure, he pressed on. Along the wall there were conduits and piping, all of which led to a more centralized power transformer. From there, he would have to devise a means to get it operational and supply power for his laboratory. Or at the very least, give him a larger supply of energy with which to start up a much more efficient generator than the decommissioned husk in the warehouse. He couldn't stop himself with wondering, with all his intelligence, he hadn't considered to bring a flashlight. It most assuredly wasn't the first time his ambition made him careless, and it wasn't likely to be the last, but he made do with the low lighting the overhead grates provided. He just hoped he would reach the power transformer soon.

Take your time, Doctor. You have all the time in the world, a voice called from the recesses of his conscious. Comforting, but cold. He had a slight chill as there was a feeling of something, not really physical, caressing the back of his mind. Again, he shook off the discomfort and kept moving, switching his train of thought to how he would get a power line to the warehouse. With his brain occupied with thought, Vinzenz paid no attention to the dark voice that added, smilingly, As do we...

Karen

After MockingJay left Karen was left to her thoughts till Tony and Annabelle returned.

"You missed Jason" Karen said as the pair came in. "Oh? Been awhile since he and Sandra swung by." Tony said as he made his way over to the couch "Sandra wasn't here, it was more a business visit" "Business? He's not seriously thinking about trying to get back the 'band back together' is he?" "Thankfully, no. he came about putting a new one together, with his son at the helm." Karen said as she pulled out the communicator she was given. "So he wants you to help Terry" Tony thought aloud. "Not a bad idea really, from what I hear, the kids gotta good head on his shoulders." "Jason is more worried about some one like a less morally guided Detective X getting in and exploiting his inexperience.

"Good call on Jason's part, I assume by the fancy walky talky you got there, you agreed?" "Yeah, I was just waiting for you guys to get back before I called in. But since your back I'm gonna go make that call now" Tony nodded as Karen picked up the communicator and hit the 'talk' button as Annabelle and Tony sat quietly. "Crick, this is 'Unicorn', or as you might have heard from your old man, Leviathan. You gotta minute to talk about this team your putting together?"

Tess

"Right now, just keep doing what you're doing. I need to temporarily shut the communicators down anyway. Get back to you in a bit."

He hung up on me, jerk. She sighed, what a waste of time, she hoped the team got more organized once it was formed otherwise it would likely be a pain to keep up with. Great so that just leaves me with the task of continuing my patrol, screw that I think I've earned a break, just need to find a place to change and I'll go get something to eat. Or hmm, I wonder if anyplace offers discounts on meals for heroes...

With that thought in mind she set off to find out, after all 'heroes' needed to eat too.

_____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

George

"So that I know where to start, I mean."

George entered and sat down next to Tim, thinking hard for a moment about where to begin. I remember I was on my way to the festival, and then I think there were sirens maybe? I'm not sure... Was I at a crime scene?! No no, I couldn't have been. Unless you count the whole festival as one, it did sorta get attacked...

"Uh, I remember I was heading to the festival and then I think I heard sirens, maybe an ambulance or something?" he shrugged "I don't know, but after that I don't remember anything until I was walking away, with the place looking wrecked."

He tried to remember but nothing was coming, he hadn't just passed out on the sidewalk he knew that much, so what had happened? It felt like there was a block or something, keeping him from remembering. Maybe I did hit my head... Or maybe I'm just going crazy.

"Everything in between is just a blank space," he continued "I only know what happened at the festival because I checked the news afterwards."

Frederick Rolls

"Alright, alright Freddie I was just thinking...why should it matter what you call? My real name or the name I've made for myself? My birth name means nothin', I've been erased...my family, my life, gone. Fuck me man, I couldn't even find my neighbors! I keep worrying about that life, the other guy's life, and yet it means nothin'. Absolute shit! So why do I keep bringing it up? That's part of why I lost yesterday, I was too worried about his life...maybe it would be easier if I just accept that it's gone, taken, unattainable. Accept that there's only one thing now."

So did the police say as well, no trace of whoever this man is beyond the Psyclone alias.

They had nothing on who he actually was, even if the man was in custody there was no trace of anything in the databases. Not a name, not his fingerprints, or origins, or anything. At least, if the main prosecutor in the case -funny how eager they were to take the case in contrast to the defence attorney that would eventually get chosen- had everything in order. Frederick would hardly blame the other

"Psyclone."

"Hello then, Psyclone. I would prefer if you called me Mr Rolls or Judge Rolls, but I suppose that's up to you," he said, smirking, before letting the other continue. He had no comment to give on the whole "turning the mask" thing, it was likely for some sort of effect, but, like the dust, it was lost on him.

"So explain away. Probably the last day I'll listen...who the fuck am I kidding, I never listen!"

"Well, it's simple," Frederick started, then he continued with a brief explanation of the system. From the first appearance, the initial arraignment, where the bail would also be set, then the second arraignment, then the preliminary hearing, where the prosecution would have to prove that there was probable cause for the crimes Psyclone were suspected of committed. Psyclone would be allowed a lawyer during most of this, and that was where the process had been halted, but he would be unlikely to get bailed out, due to the price it surely would be. Anything to keep a dangerous super-powered individual from the streets, after all.

"As for what follows, I suppose you'll find out, unless you plead guilty. The prosecution is unlikely to accept any deals, however, since the case against you is not only rather solid, but also involves an attack on a beloved public figure."

It wasn't necessary to mention that this public figure was also a friend of Frederick. While he certainly doubted his ability to keep himself neutral during a possible trial because of that, he knew he wouldn't be officially involved in the process. Frederick had considered giving the other bad advice, but that too was unwarranted for, he wasn't going to corrupt himself in order to take revenge on Theodore's behalf. The prosecution, and very possibly, the defence, would already handle that. As he spoke, he picked the mask up, studying it.

"This might be a stupid question," he started. "And it's certainly none of my business. But, for the sake of curiosity... why a gas-mask?"

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

Tim Merridy

"Uh, I remember I was heading to the festival and then I think I heard sirens, maybe an ambulance or something? I don't know, but after that I don't remember anything until I was walking away, with the place looking wrecked."

Tim let George try to remember, instead trying to figure it out himself. Heading for the festival, then sirens, Tim had watched most of it on TV, only caught the latter parts, but he knew that no one had been in danger before after the hostage situation had gone on for a while happened. Well, apart from the hostages, of course.

Hitting his head seems unlikely then. I mean, unless he just slipped and like, hit his head, of course, but that'd be awfully clumsy. I wonder if it has happened before?

Surely, George would mention it then. Then again, he hardly knew Tim, George probably wanted to keep something like that secret if it had happened. As he waited for George to continue, he studied the other closely, trying to see if he had any bruises or if his eyes seemed off in some way.

"Everything in between is just a blank space. I only know what happened at the festival because I checked the news afterwards."

"Oh, well, I don't remember seeing you either... but Loveless, the famous powered journalist guy got held hostage, and some fights broke out. Before that... well, I got there a bit late, Tom was there from very early, though, so if you were there, he'd know." He smiled, then sighed a bit, feeling somewhat dejected. He couldn't help at all, it seemed.

"So, you probably didn't slip and hit your head, and I assume you weren't drunk. Do you have a history of not remembering things? Or would you rather not talk about that kind of thing?" he asked. "Because if so, you could just wait for Tom to get back and ask him... though, I was thinking about getting some breakfast, so if you know any places that delivers food this early, that'd be great."

Tim had decided not to ask the other to make him breakfast, because, honestly, George probably wasn't feeling too well.

Besides, perhaps being nice would make Tom rethink the whole letting me stay here thing.

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

Sirius Hamilton

Sirius had been sketching for a while when he heard a voice next to him. He hadn't noticed getting approached, and it was a bit surprising, though he reacted in the same dull manner as he usually did.

"Beautiful building, isn't it? You should see the inside. It really is impressive."

"Yeah," Sirius replied, monotone voice and eyes at the other, fancier dressed man. "I probably should. But I don't think I'm allowed inside." With a few more lines on the sketch, he then stopped, a bit unsure of why the other hadn't left yet. Then again, he had noticed that people tended to get curious when they saw him, though Sirius could not understand what someone like him could do to make people interested. Draw, perhaps, people liked watching the pencil go back and forth.

I should probably say something more, just staying quiet would be rude.

Or so he reasoned, anyways.

"I assume you've seen the inside?" he decided to ask. If nothing else, he might get some description of the place. "What does it look like? As fancy as the outside? Is it beautiful?" He tilted his head, questioning, though there was nothing in his face or tone to portray that.

Psyclone

Psyclone nodded slightly, unsurprised. After what he did to the city? The structural damages alone exceeded the average bail for fucking a serial killing banker rapists. But he wasn't too concerned or bothered, he was looking forward to messing around in court.

"As for what follows, I suppose you'll find out, unless you plead guilty. The prosecution is unlikely to accept any deals, however, since the case against you is not only rather solid, but also involves an attack on a beloved public figure."

"Ah, good ole Doctor Loveless..." Psyclone said with a grin and a very noticeable bitter growl as he said the name. He was gonna have to get back at Loveless when he got out, no playing around. Dangle the doctor above a building for at least 20 seconds and drop him-no no, juggle him for another 30 and THEN drop him.

That would be fun.

Psyclone was pulled out of his fantasy as Rolls reached for his mask.

This might be a stupid question," he started. "And it's certainly none of my business. But, for the sake of curiosity... why a gas-mask?"

"Haha, now that's a funny fucking story! Playing dice with some guys during the winter in these old abandoned apartments. I win of course, guys get's pissed, comes at me with a bottle, I spin the dirty torn-up carpet under our feet and he goes flying into the bonfire these bums have put together. The rest of the bums try to bum rush me-HA-I do the same thing AND knock their drinks into the fire! Wasn't even thinking about it, it just sorta happened. Funny how that works. Anyway, carpet burst into flames, the wooden banisters catch, and the fire spreads to apartments people are actually livin' in...well people with money, all the homeless and druggies were still in the other floors. I yelled at them to leave my bachelor pad but eh, what are you gonna do! Eventually fire fighters show up and I'm just sorta spinnin' the smoke around me, drunk off my ass in my own little air pocket since I decided to down a few spare bottles of vodka."

Psyclone was pretty much laughing his ass off, reminiscing on his drunken tail of debauchery. It was nice to remember the havoc and carelessness of his life. But he suddenly stopped, remembering that the fun always has to end.

"All the other fire fighters were trying to work around me or just wait for the cops, but this one asshole had to be a fuckin' hero, had to try some shit! He comes at me out of the smoke, with his gasmask one, and pushes me in. The asshole is holding me down, trying to asphyxiate me. I lose focus, vortex collapses, I'm being chocked out. Can't focus on anything to spin, can't make him spin since he's fully clothed. So I'm coughin' up a storm, my eyes burn, and the guy is sitting on top of me, laughing as I start to pass out. And as I'm passing out I hear him say...'sweet dreams, kid.'When I woke up their was a colossal vortex of fire and smoke surrounding what was left of the demolished apartments. I look down and see the guy staring at me from behind his gas-mask, absolutely terrified, half his body under debris and building supports. I reach out...and take his mask off."

Psyclone stared down at the mask for a short time after telling the story behind it. He remembered the look on the man's face as he toar it off and started walking away, the vortex beginning to collapse around them. He heard the yelling, then the screaming, then the coughing, and then...silence.

"See, that guy made two mistakes that day. One, he used the same words this one 'teacher' at 'the school' would use before knocking me out when I got to rowdy during testing and examinations. And two, he made the same mistakes people make about people like me, telepaths, psychokinetics, you name. He thought that he putting me out of my misery would stop me, that stopping my conscious would make a guy with powers like mine weak and ineffective. No no no, my conscious mind is what makes me weak. But unconscious? Pure raw instinct, survival, and whatever fucked up mental layers are in play? Well, that's another thing entirely."

Frederick Rolls

"Ah, good ole Doctor Loveless..."

Frederick didn't like the tone Psyclone was using when talking about Theodore. Likely, the other wanted revenge for what the journalist had done to him, and that wasn't good at all. However, he chose not to respond to it, Psyclone seemed like the kind of guy to respond the wrong way to someone telling him not to stick a fork in the electric socket, and reacting to this kind of thing meant risking that it would make the other even more eager.

No need giving him more of a reason to try to go after Theodore, should Psyclone ever get out. However, if he does escape, then I would at least know who to protect.

Unless the other decided to go for pure mayhem, of course, the wind-powers the other had seemed to be extremely devastating when it came to destruction. Regardless, Frederick just kept quiet, now listening to the tale of the mask, certainly not an uplifting one. Frederick hadn't expected anything too sensible, but the story he was delivered, and the manner it was delivered in, made him feel disgusted on several levels. He frowned, unsure of what to say, because he had so many things he could comment on, and very few that he should.

The lawful side of him made him want to, ironically enough, break the law and let the police know about this, break his vow of confidentiality and ensure that Psyclone got locked up. Then again, it couldn't be difficult for the police to find that information on their own. Of course, if what Psyclone had been saying was entirely true, there would be a rather large part of that story missing.

It was likely covered up, after all.

Regardless, he didn't ask anything about that. The investigative side of him that often drove him to look into things, especially as the Specter, noted the way Psyclone said some things, school, teacher, and the way he described these. It was beginnning to piece something together, something from this and from the fact that his past seemed to have been erased. He'd heard something akin to this before, when listening in on the conversations of... no, it wasn't important. He wouldn't think anymore about it. Or rather, he wouldn't do it for Psyclone, the other power-user was at best mischievous, and likely far more malevolent.

Of course, what had sprung to Frederick's mind initially was quite similar to that as well, he supposed, as he'd considered, if only for a brief moment, to put the gas-mask on and say the things the fireman had said, "sweet dreams kid" or whatever, just to gauge the reaction. In his mind, it would just be a bit of harmless fun, though he figured it wouldn't be quite that fun when he had to escape through the wall because Psyclone got angry or over-eager, one or the other.

What he finally decided to address was the very brief thing mentioned towards the end, about telepaths and psychokinetics and such. He wasn't exactly sure where his abilities when it came to moving objects around would fit in -he'd always considered them to be "poltergeisting" or something akin to that- but the very least somewhere inside the broad range that was considered psychokinesis. For what it was worth, Psyclone seemed sure about what he was saying. It wasn't the thought of gaining more power that caused Frederick to get an interest in it, but what sounded to be a dangerous side-effect, one that he might already have seen something of the former week.

"You sound very sure about that," he said, not letting his worries become apparent in his face. "About people mistakes when it came to people like you, I mean. How do you know that's not just how your abilities work? You almost sound like you're an expert on the matter, and I kind of doubt you've been conducting research about it. So how would you even know? Surely, you're not just mistaking everyone else for yourself and deciding that you're by default the rule, right?" Frederick muttered, a bit mockingly, an attempt to keep himself from giving away anything he shouldn't.

"So, what do you know about it? Only because I'm curious, of course."

Psyclone

"So, what do you know about it? Only because I'm curious, of course."

Psyclone sighed, shaking his head with a slight chuckle. This was gonna be fun.

"What don't I know, shit man. Shit I got a few files back at the last place I was holed up. Just uncuff and I promise I
ll be right back."

He put on the largest shit-eating grin he possibly could. Psyclone was coming to realize certain people weren't so easily rattled. They weren't too fun. Pretty much anyone with a set of powers or anyone who'd been around the block a couple of times could take whatever he dished out. He was learning to stop playing along and just put them in the ground as soon as he could. But Rolls was asking some interesting questions, so Psyclone give him mostly honest answers.

"Well, you see, I've seen 'it' first hand. I hung out with 'it', had lunch with 'it', tested with 'it'. Psychokinetics were always fun to hang around, but the teachers were always keepin' a close eye on them. You know, since they could pretty much make fire whenever, and there was no way to really keep a hold on them-well aside from the constant threat of sucking all the oxygen out of a room but I digress. See, that whole sucking-the-air-out-of-a-room thing wasn't just for putting out fires, it was for knockin' the kid out too. But this one kid, really big and fuckin' mean, he wasn't having it, even as he went under. We could hear screaming, but not his, fuck no, it was the teachers. The more air they sucked out of the room, the hotter and brighter he burned."

Psyclone sat back in his chair. Reggie, the kids name was Reggie.

"His max range when I had last seen him that day was about 6 feet, 5 inches His max temperature was 200 hundred degrees. During this shit, the kid not only burned the entire testing room, the observation room in front of it, and every subsequent room in that wing of the school, so...about 32 room. I heard a teacher yell that he was burning at about 30,000 degree Kelvin and risin fast. He was burning at over half the temperature of the fuckin' Sun's surface and RISING. And he was essentially unconscious. An 'administrator' showed up and ended him. Ended the fucking kid hard. Nothing left but ash."

The fucking administrators. Those fucking assholes! Psyclone could see the imagine in his head, him, Cry, and over a dozen other kids fighting their way through them as they took down the school. The administrators had always made it clear to the kids that they were "just like you...only better." They said that the students should look up to them, that if they survived education, they'd have everything they ever wanted. What a load of shit. Many of the kids identified felt like they sorta recognized them as villains, others said a few were heroes.

"Administrators. Fuckin' bastards. This shit always ended the same. Girl who could control people. Living things. She gets a bit upset, they want her to get a group of rats to kill each other. A group of regular teacher's walk in with some...uh...fuck it, we just called em guards, to take the girl back to her room. The girl turns too fast, guard puts a round in her chest, she goes into shock, next thing you know the guards and teachers are tearing each others throats out. Administrator makes all the remaining guards turn their guns on her. Repeat. Illusionist boy, has a drug induced nightmare, traps teachers in mental loop, administrator puts him a coma, dies. Repeat. Photokinesis girl, put her in a room that absorbs light, she has a panick attack, gives teachers epilepsy, pretty sure the administrator pulls her fuckin' eyes out, dies, repeat, repeat, repeat."

Psyclone looks straight at Rolls.

"The human brain wants you to live. A brain like mine, like everyone like me, wants to fuckin' survive. And their definition of survival is fuckin' scary if you're on the wrong end of it. But the scariest were always the astral projectors. Because they had no real fight and flight mechanism really. The could float around and watch as things went wrong, or as they slipped away, but that was it. See, there was no screaming, no blood, no horror, just...death. Maybe the teachers put them under for two long, or the kid had something like an asthma attack in their sleep, they tripped, etc. It was always just a regular ole accident, or just the usual 'love and care' from the school. After that, two things would happen. You'd see them everywhere, in the halls, bathroom, testing rooms, the corner of your bed, watching silently. Or screaming. Screamers were the worst. And then...they'd find their way back to their bodies."

Theodore Loveless

Theodore took the device and looked it over. It was certainly an interesting solution to the problem, but it did leave him with a question. Reaching over to the table, Theodore grabbed his phone and held it up. "There a reason you didn't just make an app or something?". Regardless, he slipped the new device away with a nod of thanks.

"...So with that out of the way, Loveless, what was it you wanted to talk about it." The Crick finished. "Yeah, there's something I think you need to know. Remember that first fight with Psyclone? The one downtown? I wasn't there at the time so I was forced to use footage taken by others for my report. While looking for footage, I found something. Nearly all the footage that had been taken had already been bought up. That in and of itself isn't that surprising given all the news around it. What was surprising is that they'd all been bought up by these no-name shell companies, edited, and then given away to the press at no charge. For the last week I've been trying to figure out why. They can't be making money off it if they're just giving it away. The same is happening with the footage from the battle at the festival for the record." Theodore said, his voice calm and face pensive.

From there he continued. "I can't help but wonder if it's a coincidence that a week after I started digging, the same psycho in the video tried to kill me on TV. As it stands, I don't know if I'm going crazy or if I've stumbled on some kind of money-losing conspiracy. Regardless, the point is I'm looking into it and, given my recent brush with death, I want to make sure you're aware. I'll keep you in the loop for my investigation should... the worst happen." Theodore finished, trying not to think too much what the "worst case" was.

Terry

"There a reason you didn't just make an app or something?"

Terry blinked hard from under his helmet. Cricket droppings!

He shook off the moment of realization and focused on Loveless's investigation. It all seemed very...coincidental. A random villain makes himself known, tears up half the city, and fights off two separate heroes, and gets away. Of course media outlets would be interested...but selling prime footage for free? The Crick wasn't a corporate export, but that was just bad business.

"I can't help but wonder if it's a coincidence that a week after I started digging, the same psycho in the video tried to kill me on TV. As it stands, I don't know if I'm going crazy or if I've stumbled on some kind of money-losing conspiracy. Regardless, the point is I'm looking into it and, given my recent brush with death, I want to make sure you're aware. I'll keep you in the loop for my investigation should... the worst happen."

The Crick took an a few seconds to contemplate Loveless's information, his hand on his helmets chin.

"You wanna know something? I'm trying to figure out why anyone would be interested in Psyclone. I mean, yeah he's a villain, he's bad, but I don't get the point of...exposing him like this. Assuming something, let's say unlawful, is in fact happening here, what's the end game? As far as anyone knows, Psyclone has no former affiliates, he doesn't have any overarching plans or any political ties, he's just some guy. Some really, loud, destructive guy-"

He came to a dead stop, the word hanging on the end of his tongue.

"Destructive."

Officer Wilkins's investigation came back to his mind, random strangers seemingly looking for the most destructive superhumans they can find. And now someone is making sure Psyclone, one of Neutropolis's newest and most costly villains, is fully exposed in the media for absolutely no cost at all? Terry didn't like replying on coincidence. Relying on it too much can make you paranoid. But with all the coincidences in the air, maybe a healthy dose of paranoia was necessary.

"Loveless, start looking for any footage being shared and sold in fashion similar to Psyclone's. Anything large and destructive most likely. I have a hunch, a pretty strong hunch, but I don't think I'm in the right to expose anything to right this second." The Crick would have to speak with Willis before saying anything too major to Loveless.

"Find out anything you can on Psyclone, his activity for the past few months. I know you have connections, so maybe you can see if Psyclone's said anything interesting in the past few hours that you can get your hands on. He's in custody, somebody's probably asked a few questions by now."

The Crick opened the communicator frequencies, activating the messaging system between them and Loveless. He was pacing back and forth, instinctively hopping slightly, like a runner getting ready for a marathon.

"I'll start reviewing what Psyclone said at the fair. As crazy as it all sounded, he may have let something slip to give us a clue of what he's up to. Till then, I think I have a lead I can work off a lead. So far there are only two real things tying Psyclone's attacks. The way his footage was bought up and the hero he seems to show the most interest in: Coil."

Daniel Luxe

"I probably should. But I don't think I'm allowed inside."

Not looking like that, you aren't, Daniel agreed internally, looking over the way the young man was dressed. His eyes went to the sketch then back to grey eyes that were now upon him. Completely and utterly void. Something isn't right in the guy's head, that's for sure.

"I assume you've seen the inside? What does it look like? As fancy as the outside? Is it beautiful?"

"Well, it's no Palazzo Righini," he started, "but even so, 'fancy' is a bit of an understatement. I'd bet it's the most lavish hotel in the city. Where most places would have odd contours for the sake of it, the Winnfield is more traditional. More orderly. That isn't to say it's bland, not at all. It just knows where everything belongs." He turned to the tall, glimmering building and thought for a moment. "I really wish I could describe it better, but I'm not a writer and I doubt my words could do it justice. But I'll tell you what," he said as he reached into his jacket. Daniel withdrew a card that was blank on both sides. When he swiftly brushed his thumb across the surface facing away from the grey-eyed man, letters appeared burnt into it. It read 'Daniel Luxe' over 'Visual Arts Publishing' in flourished lettering with his personal number beneath it. "Here's my card. Feel free to give me a call if you ever want to see what's behind those doors." Daniel left on that note, smiling before turning away to continue on with his walk about the city. He wondered if the card was too hard of a push, but those thoughts were swiftly put away. He knew what every aspiring artist wanted. Recognition. It was sure to keep the guy in touch.

Frederick Rolls

"The human brain wants you to live. A brain like mine, like everyone like me, wants to fuckin' survive. And their definition of survival is fuckin' scary if you're on the wrong end of it. But the scariest were always the astral projectors. Because they had no real fight and flight mechanism really. The could float around and watch as things went wrong, or as they slipped away, but that was it. See, there was no screaming, no blood, no horror, just...death. Maybe the teachers put them under for two long, or the kid had something like an asthma attack in their sleep, they tripped, etc. It was always just a regular ole accident, or just the usual 'love and care' from the school. After that, two things would happen. You'd see them everywhere, in the halls, bathroom, testing rooms, the corner of your bed, watching silently. Or screaming. Screamers were the worst. And then...they'd find their way back to their bodies."

Frederick shuddered at the thought, it sounded eerie. He knew he was different, somehow, but yet it made him want to get out, more so than Psyclone's clear mental illnesses and the stories from this so-called "school". Frederick wasn't one of these astral projectors, surely not. His situation had been different, no instincts had driven him to try to regain his body. Heck, his instincts had driven him away from his body, out the window and into the air, using his powers for what they were worth. It was his concious mind that had driven him to that, emotions, memories, knowledge, responsibilities, the list was endless, but in the end, it was almost everything but his instincts. And that's how he knew that he was different.

How different, however?

Different enough to not be so damned creepy, that was for sure. Psyclone's description of it, as well as other things that might have happened in the villain's past, just made the school that may have existed -or might even still- sound worse and worse.

I am going to have to look into that.

But not for Psyclone, never for a villain like this, a mere, yet very dangerous criminal. However, if there were others who had been there, what was the consequences? And how had this gone down without anyone knowing? Standing up, he regained what little of his posture had been lost, and smiled as if he hadn't just heard about children getting murdered.

"I see, thank you for your input. I assume that's it?" he asked, mentally taking a note of that he likely should ask Theodore to meet him a bit earlier than planned.

I feel like just going for a trip around town, though.

Flying, of course.

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

Sirius Hamilton

"Well, it's no Palazzo Righini. But even so, 'fancy' is a bit of an understatement. I'd bet it's the most lavish hotel in the city. Where most places would have odd contours for the sake of it, the Winnfield is more traditional. More orderly. That isn't to say it's bland, not at all. It just knows where everything belongs. I really wish I could describe it better, but I'm not a writer and I doubt my words could do it justice."

By the description given, Sirius became very aware of that it was a sight he needed to see for himself to understand. It sounded like it would be quite amazing, however, and he shuffled a bit where he stood, not eager, but at least expecting something rather striking.

"But I'll tell you what. Here's my card. Feel free to give me a call if you ever want to see what's behind those doors."

Sirius looked at the other, confused, though he was already walking away. Looking at the card, he saw the name Daniel Luxe, and what seemed to be a description of what he did -or perhaps even the name of a company- Visual Art Publishing. For a moment, he wondered if it was because of his curiosity or because his art was good enough for the other to be interest, though, he decided it didn't really matter. Examining the number on the card, he brought his phone up and dialled it.

He didn't say I had to wait.

Even if he had to wait until it was more convenient for the other, it wasn't as if he wouldn't be sketching for a couple of hours either way. He heard the phone connect just as he saw the well-dressed man vanish behind a nearby building, and spoke.

"Hi, this is Daniel Luxe, right? I'm Sirius Hamilton," he started. He hadn't introduced himself to the other, but it was always polite to state your name when calling someone. Besides, if this really was because of his art, showing respect was important. "You just gave me this card, but I figured I might as well let you know that I want to see what's behind those doors."

Having said that, he waited for the other's reply.

Theodore

"Loveless, start looking for any footage being shared and sold in fashion similar to Psyclone's. Anything large and destructive most likely. I have a hunch, a pretty strong hunch, but I don't think I'm in the right to expose anything to right this second. Find out anything you can on Psyclone, his activity for the past few months. I know you have connections, so maybe you can see if Psyclone's said anything interesting in the past few hours that you can get your hands on. He's in custody, somebody's probably asked a few questions by now."

Theodore chortled slightly. "That's what I was gonna do anyway. Keep me in the loop and I'll do the same. Also, try to keep the number of reporters you speak with to a minimum; I'd like to keep the exclusive if at all possible." Loveless said, obviously joking. Besides, in all honesty, he didn't think anyone else would be close anyway.

Theodore wanted to ask what made his "dangerousness" so significant that it had brought the heroes line of thought to a stop but he didn't. He knew how heroes operated. Like their villainous counterparts, information was more useful than superpowers in the game. Villains made plans, heroes kept secret identities, and it's not like the police broadcasted their investigations unless they had to. Information was a super power in and of itself.

"I know just who to ask. And good news; we're gonna be going out for coffee soon."

Police Station

He opened the door with one leg, struggling only slightly from the large paper bag labeled "evidence" he carried. This wasn't exactly an unusual sight today; Psyclone had apparently caused quite the collateral damage. With this being the station in charge of the investigation, it had people coming in all day. To be perfectly honest, this wasn't even the first time he'd shown up today. It sadly took several trips to get everything he needed in without suspicion. The only things he even needed from this final bag were the briefcase and his cane.

He was waved through - by this point the station was all too familiar with the faceless officers from other stations bringing in material to really try anything. Combine that with the fact he was dressed like a crime scene investigator and wasn't carrying anything suspicious in and of itself and why would anyone really care.

As with so many times before, he made his way down the hallway, stopped at the fourth door on the left - a men's bathroom - and went in. He put down the bag of evidence and pulled out the briefcase then walked into the first stall. Then the second. then the third. In each stall, he opened the tank on the back of the toilet and withdrew one of the plastic bags of "presents" he'd left for himself. And so on he walked in and out of stalls until he reached the last one.

From there, he changed into something more comfortable; a proper, nondescript grey suit. He slipped a few items into the briefcase; papers, files, a book... and most importantly a box of pens. Now in costume, he slipped on a fake visitor's badge, grabbed his cane, slipped the now empty bags (save the one that held his old costume, now in the final stall) into the garbage, and washed his hands.

The whole thing took only a few minutes; he had years of practice at it after all. Once done, he made his way out and down the original hallway. He walked past the same police officers he'd seen all day. They didn't recognize him; no one ever did. Finally, he came to the guarded door before the interrogation room. He stepped up to them and held up some papers. "Excusez-moi. I'm with the Law Offices of Wolfram, Hart, and Fey. We've been appointed by the state to represent the... ahm... "accused". I need to speak privately with the client. Shouldn't be more than a few minutes." he said, feigning annoyance at the task only a master actor or former spy could. It didn't hurt he was French.

He gave them a few minutes to look the papers over. There wouldn't be a problem; they were real after all. He just wasn't the real Mr. Fey; he was far too busy slowly rotting in a dumpster six blocks to the east.

George

"So, you probably didn't slip and hit your head, and I assume you weren't drunk. Do you have a history of not remembering things? Or would you rather not talk about that kind of thing?" he asked. "Because if so, you could just wait for Tom to get back and ask him... though, I was thinking about getting some breakfast, so if you know any places that delivers food this early, that'd be great."

"I... kind of forget things from time to time," George muttered, shifting back and forth uncomfortably "I know I don't have epilepsy or anything like that though, and I wasn't drinking..."

He shook his head "I don't know what to do about this, its really bothering me."

The thought of breakfast did cheer him up some though, would get my mind off this I suppose, though I need to eat less I think... Maybe I'll just get some fruit or something. There are a few decent places around here though.

"Yeah I know a couple good places, there's a breakfast joint just down the block actually," he said "I guess if you're hungry we can go get something."

He stood up and waited for Tim to put shoes or anything else he needed on, then started leading the way.
________________________________________________________________________________________

Tess

CAN SOMEONE JUST MUG SOMEONE ALREADY? Preferably in line of sight of me. Tess was bored, there wasn't really any way around it, and unlike the good old days when she could just steal something to alleviate this condition she was now dressed as a hero. God how do they handle this? This is dreadful! No wonder Sir Goopy gets so excited when stuff happens, he must be bored out of his skull the other 23 hours of the day.

Personal revelations of the insanity of heroes aside she could tell that she was somewhat on edge from the whole 'joining the hero team' thing. Crick hanging up on her didn't help, as it left her with the tiny paranoid concern that he might have realized something about her. That's unlikely, but still... need to be on my guard.

She sighed, maybe I'll just go change to civvie clothes and go clubbing or something, no its too early for that. Damn it. Whatever. Oh hey, there's that breakfast place, lets go see about that hero discount.

She was pleasantly surprised to find that there was in fact a small discount for heroes, not enough to make the boredom worthwhile of course, but still pleasant enough.

Frederick Rolls

Frederick was about to ask again, when he heard knocking on the glass. Walking over to the door, he noticed someone he didn't really recognize, as well as one of the police officers. By the way the man was dressed, he assumed it had to be one of the defence lawyers.

"Right," he muttered. "I'll leave him to you," Frederick said as he opened and closed the door behind him, quickly. Couldn't let the suspect get out, after all. "Be careful, though, keep an eye out for anything that moves, and don't agitate him." He didn't bother asking for a name, this was getting... tiring at best. Besides, he had decided that he had to tell Theodore something, and that soon.

Soon came quicker than expected, however, as he was told to leave by the chief prosecutor, Drake Keller, a man he had known ever since he had been a prosecutor underneath the old man.

"Why?" Frederick asked the man, getting a reply the other must have been prepared to give.

"I heard you were introducing Psyclone to how the system work, and apparently he was acting up. I couldn't possibly expect you to keep working today, especially not considering..." he gestured at Frederick's chest, being one of the few people within the system who knew about what had happened.

"I'm fine," Frederick replied, though the expression on the white-haired man's face made it clear that he wouldn't be deterred. And, since Frederick wasn't officially doing this kind of work, being a judge and all, he had no choice but to leave, or sit around doing nothing. Or, you know, return to his work as a judge, but since everything had been turned on its head, that was likely not happening either.

At least this means I can message Theodore.

If the other wasn't drowned in work, as Frederick should be.

"Hey, are you free at any point today? Something... happened at the station, and I figured I should tell you -don't worry, Psyclone hasn't escaped yet, jeez- so when you're up for it, let me know."
___________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Tim Merridy

"I... kind of forget things from time to time. I know I don't have epilepsy or anything like that though, and I wasn't drinking..."

"Oh... I'm sorry to ask, then," Tim replied. Damn this guy's ability to make him feel bad, there was something about George that made him seem a bit... fragile? He wasn't sure if that was the right description, but it was the only he could think of. Fragile and shy, that wasn't really the best combination.

Then again, perhaps I'm just assuming too much.

It wasn't good of a villain to assume everything, this guy could be a hero in disguise!

Eh. Probably not. I mean, what's the chance of having three super-powered individuals in the same building?

"I don't know what to do about this, its really bothering me."

"Oh, I... well, I'll let you know if I see you passing out. Or acting odd, I suppose, you might not actually be unconscious when it happens." He shrugged, it wasn't too important, and talking about it might make George feel even worse.

"I'll keep an eye for you, Tom'll probably help you figure it out too," he quickly said, grinning encouragingly. Tim didn't know how long he would actually stay in the town, probably not that long if he kept getting his ass kicked and Tom threw him out... but this was mostly for encouragement either way, so that didn't matter.

Besides, if I tell Tom that I need to stay here to help George...

It could work. After a short while of the two sitting there, George replied to the question about the food.

"Yeah I know a couple good places, there's a breakfast joint just down the block actually. I guess if you're hungry we can go get something."

"Awesome," Tim replied, and got up, following the other. "I've been so hungry all day." He half-way wanted to joke about it being too early for a date, but with as shy as George seemed to be, the other might take it the wrong way. And then there would be no breakfast for him.

"Can you believe Tom? He just left me without any food, but luckily you came along," he said as he struggled to get his jacket and shoes on, before following George to the breakfast place. As they walked over to order something, he noticed a heroine -hadn't he seen her before somewhere?- in front of them and snickered, leaning over to George.

"Is it a requirement for heroes in this town to look like walking jokes?"

As Karen tried to get a hold of Crick a second time, Rias arrived at the part time job she still had. Last night was mostly spent in a conversation of 'Well, now what?' the answer to which seemed to be 'same ole same ole for now', it was kinda depressing but it was better then nothing. Rias still had her fans and her dream wasn't really any further away then it was before so she couldn't be to down about it.

As she clocked in, and found she was to be on the till, again, she logged into the register. Unlike the job she quit, her boss here liked having a 'local celebrity' working in his store, and was generally more supportive of her career, mostly cause it meant his store had something to draw people in, hence Rias spent a lot of time working the cash register. Once she was clocked in she waved over the next in line "This till is now open" she announced to the people inline, taking note Tim was there, as well as heroine she'd seen on the news a few times 'Jeez lady ... it's ok to take a day off ya know ... she thought as she took the first patrons order.

Daniel Luxe

There was a buzz and jingle in his jacket's breast pocket the moment he turned the corner. Daniel figured it could only be one person. And I thought I was being quick on the draw. He swiped his finger across the screen and put it to his ear. Before he could even say so much as 'Hello', the man he had met just moments ago was talking.

"Hi, this is Daniel Luxe, right? I'm Sirius Hamilton. You just gave me this card, but I figured I might as well let you know that I want to see what's behind those doors."

Of course you do, Daniel thought. "Well, Mr. Hamilton, I'd be happy to oblige. I'm afraid it's going to be a while before I'm free, I'm on my way to a meeting," which was certainly a lie, though the man on the other end wouldn't know it. And it would remain a lie if he hadn't found something, some poor soul he would hope, to keep him occupied. He looked around and subconsciously began gauging people's prices, their fare that would entice them to commit varying sinful deeds, as he was apt to do when in thought. "But let's meet up later this evening, if you're free. We can get together in the Winnfield foyer. Have a good look around the place. Talk a while."

Dr. Schwertner

The further he ventured through the tunnels, the more he began to dread the inevitable return trip. With any luck, that monstrous rat would have made its way across town, or would otherwise be too occupied to cross paths with him again. After a couple of twists and turns, Vinzenz noticed the unnatural incandescence of industrial lighting further along his course. The light was accompanied by the recognizable hum of a power transformer. A smile crept onto the doctor's face as he drew nearer. There was no doubt in him that he was looking at the solution to his energy crisis. His focus darted all across the large power box until it rested on the housing for the distribution controls. He located the lever and with the flip of the switch, directed power back to where he needed it.

Looking back to the tunnel he came from, he could see the similar glow of incandescent bulbs flicker to life. His smile grew even wider with this small obstacle having been hurdled. He had already recognized the likelihood of some inspector to see what had happened, but by then his new generator will have long since been operational. With a pep in his step, and whistling a favorite tune, Vinzenz started his journey back to his lab.

Sirius Hamilton

"Well, Mr. Hamilton, I'd be happy to oblige. I'm afraid it's going to be a while before I'm free, I'm on my way to a meeting,"

"Oh, okay," Sirius replied, it made sense. After all, Mr. Luxe had seemed like the kind of person who would be busy. However, before he had the time to feel rejected, the other continued.

"But let's meet up later this evening, if you're free. We can get together in the Winnfield foyer. Have a good look around the place. Talk a while."

"That sounds good, I'll find something more fitting to wear too," he continued, if he wasn't supposed to be in there dressed like this, then getting something more formal, like a shirt and so on, would probably make it more official. Besides, if he was going to see the inside, he might as well sort of fit in.

I have some expensive shirts and a pair of suit-pants at home, that should be enough.

"But yeah, thanks, I'm free tonight. When does it work for you?"

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