Raveled

Dahlia laughed aloud, the sound echoing in the enclosed warehouse. "Foolish, foolish heroes," she taunted. "Don't you get it? The plan's already starting! You missed it entirely, and by the time you figure it out, the Deep Ones will have what they want! And then they'll come back to stand by the Mayombe, and we will have all the assistance we need to squash you heroes like the bugs you are." She shook her head, which only set up more oscillations in the web she was hanging from. "You were standing right over it, and you were too blind to know what it was you were seeing!"

Tona gave Cerys an odd look when she mentioned 'shooting hoops.' A hoop was just an empty circle; hitting it with a projectile would be quite the feat! Was everyone here trained in archery? Or did they stretch a bulls-eye over it, first? That might be interesting, but she wasn't sure how hard it would be. She followed the group, making sure to memorize the path. Inside, she marveled at the machines. Each seemed different and was apparently designed to work a single muscle group; part of her grumbled that it was all horribly inefficient and that she'd done just fine without all this, but the bigger part of her was fascinated at all these new sights and wondering how each one worked. Then Mali showed off her grip, lifting the heavy weight almost without effort. Well, Tona couldn't turn down a challenge, so to bar had barely settled before she stepped up to the bar. She grabbed the weight with both hands and lifted, straining. Her face flushed and the muscles on her naked arms stood out in sudden definition, but the bar moved only slowly. She widened her stance and closed her eyes, breathing deep and gathering her strength. She tried again, gritting her teeth and groaning as she tried again -- and this time the bar rose, so slowly but inevitably. It came off the rest, up to the short girl's chest and shoulders -- and there it halted. She couldn't shift her grip enough to get it past her shoulders, and she wasn't willing to simply capitulate. In the end though, gravity told and the bar came down, just a little too fast to be entirely in Tona's control. When it clanged down into the rest she sagged against it, breathing hard and deep for several seconds. Then she looked up with a smile and looked at Mali. "Okay," she said. "This place is more my style, I think."

Starlight raised an eyebrow as she pulled a cell phone out from her pocket. "I am the worst possible person to talk to you about human relationships," she admitted. "They're so... messy and uncoordinated. If it was --" She stopped herself. She had almost said, If it was like how it was in the Unity, but that wasn't any better. Perhaps messy and uncoordinated was a necessary side-effect of free will and liberty; if so she would defend it, but she certainly didn't want to take part in it herself. Instead of vocalizing her conflict, she dialed the number Lucy gave her and waited for someone to answer.

GM Inside the warehouse, the villain was held up in the air by a complex web of crisscrossing lines, nearly invisible except where they shined in the overhead lights. Dahlia herself was bound hand and foot, totally immobilized and spinning slowly in the air. When she came around far enough to see El Heraldo and Glow, she spat at them. "Idiotic heroes," she snarled. "If you think this fight actually meant something, you're dumber than that hat the big guy's wearing."

Just so we're sure we're both on the same page. Starlight convinced MaT to release most of the hostages, but she kept three? Including Starlight herself?

Ironclad A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to the Office Wellness Wishes A Convocation of Eagles Killer Frequency Glowstar Street Sharks Starlight The Sins We All Share Right By My Side Starlight's were meant to Fly Leave Only Wreckage, Take Only... Blue Jay An Arrow into the Air Paint the Town Helping Hand to Hand Riffsensational GM Shark Week: Ghost Sharks Medical Maladies Leave Only Wreckage, Take Only... A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to the Office

GM Warren Stils had been a big man once, maybe even a quarterback or linebacker. That much was obvious from his wide shoulders and deep chest, easily discernible under his tailored suit. However, he'd let himself go since whatever prof-sports dreams hadn't panned out, and he'd acquired a bit of a beer gut. That much was very obvious when he tried to leap out of his chair, only to sprawl onto the ground. He cowered in front of the approaching superheroes, his entire world turned upside down by the impromptu Crimson Assurance. He covered his face with his arms, trying to back away from the invading troupe. "Oh god! I swear, I didn't know about the subsidence!" Young Britannia and Jubatus were, indeed, at the right building and a quick check of the building directory led them straight to Highfollower's office. He turned out to be a roughly-handsome man in his last forties, going gray at the temples but with a strong handshake. His office was a smallish affair with the usual stack of papers awaiting grading on one side of his desk, but once the heroes introduced themselves he invited them to take a seat wherever they could. "So, what can I do for a pair of honest-to-God superheroes?"

Ironclad Breaking the Bank June 23rd, 2012 Ashton, Freedom City, United States The Ashton Business Bank was a tall building of pale stone, with the letters A-B-B in brass high on each side. The front was composed of dark, reflective windows and they turned the entire face of the building into a perfect mirror. Now it reflected a dozen or so police cars with lights flashing, bathing the night in red and blue. The police themselves milled around outside, keeping a perimeter around the building. Thankfully it was night and a business district, so they didn’t have to worry about evacuating the surrounding buildings. The officers in charge were in consultation with STAR squad, when a shining, armored figure came rocketing out of the sky and made a two-point landing in front of the van. Ironclad’s green and yellow form was known to the city’s finest and if STAR squad felt a hero was horning in on their territory, they didn’t show it. The officer in charge walked forward and offered the armored heroine his hand. “Ironclad, right? Captain Nash. This is Lieutenant Stills.†He indicated the STAR officer, already kitted up in body armor and visored helmet. “Glad to see a cape patrolling this beat, at this time of night.†Ironclad, for her part, gave the STAR officer a quick nod and addressed Nash. “I couldn’t sleep,†she said. “Heard on the police band about a robbery out here, decided to drop in.†She turned and surveyed the bank; her sensors cut through the glass fronting effortlessly and probed the interior. “I’m only seeing one criminal in there, is that right?†“Just about what we’ve got, yes.†Nash led her over to a nearby cruiser, where a blueprint of the bank’s main floor was spread out. He pointed out the entrance and the vault as he spoke. “We think she got into the bank at about eleven thirty: the silent alarm didn’t go off, but a patrol car noticed one of the lower windows ajar when it was doing a drive-around at about that time. He called it in and we got the bank manager on the line while we dispatched some back-up. Eventually we got hooked up to the bank’s CCTV and picked up an image of a single female moving around in there.†Nash reached into the patrol car and pulled out a humming laptop computer, but Ironclad had already linked into the machine and downloaded the file. She watched on her HUD; a black and white image of a woman in tight clothes, high boots and gloves, and a spiky, reflective mask that radiated out from her face in all directions. The costume was decorated with spikes and spines everywhere, and she wore dual belts of what looked like ball bearings around her waist. The woman walked through the lobby confidently and vaulted behind the teller desk, then disappeared toward what Ironclad assumed was the vault. Some minutes later she saw a spill of light from the open front door and a uniformed police officer wandered into frame, holding a flashlight. The beam flashed around and then something streaked across the screen too fast for the camera to track. Suddenly the officer had his gun drawn and was backing out of the frame. “Records have tentatively identified her as Ricochet,†Nash told Ironclad as the same video played on the laptop. “Micromagnetokinetic, whatever that means. She’s mainly a safecracker, but she was involved in a heist at the Hunter Museum back in April that went bad. We think she’s trying to get some cash to get out of town. Which means if we don’t catch her here, she might disappear for a good, long time.†Ironclad watched the video a few more times before speaking. “Moves around metal. Very small amounts, but apparently very fast.†Nash blinked at the apparent non sequitur, and Ironclad added “Micromagnetokinetic. Kinetic means she moves things, magnetokinetic means she moves around metal things, micromagnetokinetic means she moves around very small amounts of metal. So she doesn’t toss around cars and the like, but don’t let her near any ball bearings. I wouldn’t be surprised if she could crack a safe by moving the internal mechanisms without even drilling in.†She turned her attention to Nash; the police captain had a deer-in-the-headlights expression from the rapid assessment and Ironclad briefly considered a smile, before remembering that she was wearing a full face mask. “In any case, I doubt she’ll have enough oomph to move my armor, so I should be fine.†She stepped away and was considering the best point of entry when Stills walked up to her. His visor was up, but the chunky black body armor with STAR printed across the front and black was an imposing sight, to anyone not wearing bleeding-edge power armor. “We were prepping for insertion from the upper levels,†he said to the young woman, his tone grudging. STAR squad was never happy with handing a situation to Freedom’s superheroes, but they were smart enough to recognize that someone who could block bullets and fly at super-sonic speed was better at handling a straight-up brawl with another superpowered entity. “Go in with flash bangs and smoke. We’ve got two snipers up high.†“Thank you,†Ironclad replied politely, “but that shouldn’t be necessary.†The young woman was almost impatient to go ahead, secure in the knowledge that her superior firepower would see her through. Of course there was property damage to consider, so she gave a few moments thought to where exactly to enter the building through. Eventually she chose a pane high up on the side of the building; at least she wouldn’t have to worry about Ricochet running out of it! She burst through the pane and tinted glass fell to the lobby carpet. Inside it was dark, except for the spill of light around the front door, street lights augmented by the flashing lights of the police cruisers. The suits sensors worked far more efficiently, though, bathing the space in LIDAR and radar and sonar, building up a model and overlaying it on her view as a wireframe. She toggled the exterior loudspeaker on and projected her voice into the building. “I’ll say this once,†she said, “though I think the police already gave you this option, but if you surrender now everything will got a lot smoother.†Something streaked at the side of her helmeted head and Ironclad felt a huge impact twist her head around; if she hadn’t had the extra reinforcement of the armor, she might’ve suffered a broken neck. As it was the on-board computer helpfully traced the projectile back to its point of origin, and tracked it as it fell. It was a ball bearing, and the woman crouching behind the counter had another three circling her at speed. As Ironclad locked eyes with her, she sent another pair hurtling at the armor clad heroine; Ironclad batted one out of the air and took the other one in her gut. Again the armor plating proved its worth and the metal sphere deformed against the armor, falling to the ground. “I think we can count that as resisting arrest,†Ironclad commented and unleashed a blast from her wrist-mounted particle cannon; the safecracker jumped out of the way, though, and sent the last ball bearing whistling around. Ironclad tried to track it and dodge, but as she turned it impact the ankle where most of her weight was and she went down to one knee. After a moment though, she rose again, fixing Ricochet with a faceless stare. “I’d surrender, if I were you,†she advised, advancing on the woman. She made to raise her wrist blaster again, only to find it harder than normal. She looked down and didn’t see any obstruction, but still it was like she was trying to move her arm through quicksand or molasses. There wasn’t any question of who was responsible, especially not as Ricochet was glaring hard at the metal-clad arm. Ironclad could have switched to her other blaster, could have used any of a dozen other weapon systems, but there was a point to this. She groaned as she forced the arm up until it was in line with Ricochet’s body, and triggered a blast – only to have the criminal abandon the tug-of-war at the last moment, causing the blast to jerk upwards and obliterate part of the roof. Annoyed at the extra property damage, Ironclad stalked forward again. Ricochet reached out again to stop her, but the heroine engaged the suit’s lifting servos and with the extra strength powered right on through the resistance. After several steps where she strained the suit to its limits, she finally managed to grab Ricochet by the other woman’s arm. “Not gonna win this one,†Ironclad promised her, shaking her hard. “I’m too strong for your talents to handle. It’ll be better for you if you simp — WOAH!†Ironclad retreated instinctively when the criminal’s mask warped around and the sharp spikes started stabbing at her face! Of course the armor warded them off, but when something starts stabbing at your eyes most people will retreat. Ricochet used the distraction to put some space and a couple of tables between herself and the heroine. “Why won’t you people leave me alone,†she panted. “I’m not trying to hurt anyone!†“Tell that to the folks whose money you’re stealing,†Ironclad retorted, trying to decide on the best way to get close to her again. Sure, she could just charge through the desks, but there had to be a way that led to less property damage. “They won’t lose anything,†Ricochet insisted. “The government insures this money! Everyone will get everything back!†“Except the government,†Ironclad pointed out. “And folks will probably want to take their money out of a bank that can’t protect.†“Big corporations! Who cares about them?†“Lady, you’re talking to a shareholder of one of the biggest corporations in the country. Might want to try a different tact.†Ricochet snarled suddenly. “I can’t believe this. I’m trying to use my talents to make some money, and you have the gall to walk in here and tell me that I shouldn’t? Just because it might hurt some suit?†Ironclad shook her head. “If you want to reform America’s corporate culture, doing it by robbing banks makes you just another part of the problem. If you want a sympathetic ear, I’d recommend giving up and serving your time. Then maybe take some lessons in economics and trying a — ahh!†The young woman felt a cold spot in the small of her back, like someone had just stabbed her spine with an ice pick. She tottered and fell, catching herself on her elbows. She tried to stand again – but her legs refused to cooperate. She looked down and yes, they were still there, but she could feel them. And a trickle of fear began to work its way down her spine. Ricochet was breathing heavily, though Ironclad view was blocked by the table just at the moment. “I told you,†she said. “I didn’t want to hurt anyone. Did you think that meant that I wouldn’t hurt anyone?†She came into Ironclad’s field of view, more ball bearings rotating around her. “I could feel the metal in your bones and in your brain. I don’t know what messed up stuff happened to you to put it in there, but I know it’s there. So I grabbed hold of it, and pushed.†The ball bearings flew at the immobilized heroine and pelted off her like rain off a tin roof. Then Ironclad felt pressure around her middle and gasped as her armor tightened suddenly. “You’re an idiot, you know that? Coming against me with tin skin like that! Maybe I couldn’t do much when you were trying to blast my skull, but put you on the floor and I can do whatever I want!†The armor groaned and squealed as it constricted around her stomach, and soon Ironclad couldn’t draw in a breath. Ricochet glared hard at the heroine at her feet, and a trickle of blood started working its way down her face. “I’ll kill you, and then I’ll get the money, and then I’ll leave. And you’ll just have to deal with it, hero!†There was a crash of a window, a shockingly loud crack, and suddenly more blood was leaking down Ricochet’s back and front, just over where her left lung would be. She looked down at it in disbelief, touched it, brought it up to her face to look at the blood more closely. Then all the color seemed to drain out of her at once and she collapsed next to Ironclad. The next moment the doors were flung open and men in dark uniforms and bulky armor swept in, the STAR squad securing the room with the ease and speed of long practice. Captain Nash, wearing a heavy Kevlar vest, hurried over and kneeled next to Ironclad. “We could hear her gloating outside. The sniper saw you were down and, well, he had a shot.†He touched her leg. “Are you okay? What did she do to you?†Jessica was gasping in her suit, close to graying out. Normally she would’ve dismissed the armor with a cyberpathic command, but for whatever reason she couldn’t hear the computers and machines all around her. Her mind seemed duller too, and it took her an eternity – three or four seconds, that is – to remember the emergency commands. She tapped at her gauntlet as the last motes of oxygen were used up by her body, stabbing at the air as holographic menus were projected on the inside of her helmet. System commands to overrides to armor dismissal, and then a quick visual key. The armor almost exploded off of her, each piece disengaging and falling apart, revealing the auburn-haired young woman inside clad in a flightsuit. Jessica took a deep, gasping breath, grabbing at Captain Nash even as she coughed hard. The police officer held her as she got her breath back and started trembling. “Something… she did something to my legs. To my spine, I think.†She took a deep breath and fought back tears. “I think I need an ambulance. Now.†Freedom Medical Center was the most advanced hospital in Freedom City, maybe the most advanced medical care facility in the United States, save for the Lab just over the river. Jessica Parker’s room gave her a beautiful view at the cylindrical, glass-walled structure that the city’s press loved to liken to a Fifties-era space rocket. She’d been there for three days, though an MRI had confirmed her suspicions only a few hours after her admittance. Now her room and the bed was confined to was littered with papers, and right now she was pounding away furiously at a laptop. The door opened and her doctor, Dr. Timothy Yates, came in, followed by a nurse. “Jessica,†he said. “I hear you’re refusing physical therapy.†“Yep.†Jessica’s attention was on the laptop and what it held, and she had no patience for interruptions at the moment. Yates rubbed at his chin pensively. “If you don’t make the effort, then there’s no chance of recovery. Worse, your legs will atrophy and become useless.†Jessica’s laugh caught him off guard. “Doc, I’ve seen the MRI results. I’m missing two vertebrae. The fact that there’s any neural connections at all down there is frankly amazing. Unless you’ve got tech I don’t know about – which you don’t – no amount of physical therapy is going to help me walk again.†Yates frowned. “Well it’s not like your life has to be over. There are plenty of people who live productive, fulfilling lives in wheelchairs, but you have to be aware of the health factors, and accept that physical therapy is going to be part of your life, now.†Jessica stopped typing long enough to fix Yates with a penetrating look. “Doctor, I wasn’t born with the ability to fly, or lift cars, or bounce bullets off my chest. I built a machine to let me do all that. If you think I’m going to be sitting around my whole life, you’ve got another thing coming.†With that she went back to her rapid-fire typing. “So that’s it,†Yates pressed. “You’re just gonna bang together something to let you walk again? After your spine was broken?†Jessica laughed. “I’ve had half the solution for a year or more, and been working on the other half since February. Really, if you expect one bank robber who’s seen Bandits too many times to put me on my ass, you don’t know half the stuff I’ve dealt with.â€

The mention of the gym animated Tona again and she started rocking on her heels, energy suffusing her as she anticipated the experience. "Sounds like more sort of place," she said. "I was told this place had the best machines for working out. I definitely want to see those." She walked over to a window and peered out, then started examining the frame. "Okay, so who's racing me down this time?"

Glowstar empathized with Kirkstrom. He'd spent a lot of time figuring out how not to intimidate or outright scare people with his condition, with his innate nature, and he would certainly be angry if someone else decided that he was the perfect tool to strong-arm someone else. It must be a hundred times worse of Kirkstrom, he figured, since his monstrous side was entirely the doctor's own doing, while Glowstar's own nature as a T-baby was at least out of his control. Still, Kirkstrom had laid down the law and Cannonade had apologized, so no need to make things more awkward by bringing it up. Instead he focused on Gabriel's words. "I've never been much of one for pounding the pavement," he said, floating a few inches into the air even as he spoke, "but there should be a business listing somewhere. Who wants to try googling for it?" Meanwhile, he floated over to Kirkstrom and lowered the syringe into his hands. "Might want to take a look at that, doc," he said. "Apparently it's what the bad guys are shooting up with to get all scaly."

With Skill Mastery, Starlight gets a 22.

Starlight can hit that without rolling.

Tona followed along behind Subito, absorbing it all silently. She kept a look out for them, but if any of the students thought she was odd for dragging a bow and quiver through the stacks, none of them stared at her while she was watching. The computers interested her, but she was privately pessimistic about her chances of learning to use them; but that wouldn't stop her from trying. The microfilm and microfiche seemed even more esoteric to her, and she silently walled that part of the building off from her mind. The silent study rooms went even more against her nature. If she wanted to get away from folks, there were plenty of trees and roofs to sit atop of, so why build a special room for it? The only part that really piqued her interest was the locked, forbidden door. Nothing was likely to grab the girl's attention than telling her that she couldn't do something, after all. "It's pretty impressive," she allowed. "But I just don't see the point of so many books. If you need to know something, you can just go find someone who knows about it and ask them, right? Why take the time to read about it when you could talk to someone?"

Liz was surprised at the speed of the attack, but it wasn't anything she had seen before. She just needed to adapt to the idea that such things were common enough on this planet to walk around wearing awful clothes. She moved away from the emerging tableau as more security officers hurried over, looking for a secluded spot to transform so she could unleash the Light of Pharos. The acrobat, in turn, frowned at Baxter. "What? I was giving them perfectly good advice and they moved to attack me!" He sniffed, indignant. "I thought you would understand. This place bores both of us to tears, I was simply trying to introduce some excitement into this dreary, dreadful place." Whatever was happening the rude man in the hoodie ignored it, too focused on the objects on display. He stopped before a glassed-in case, putting his hand against the front of it. The item on display was a canopic jar, a ceramic vase used to hold the deceased's mortal remains -- at least the bits that the ancient Egyptians thought were important, and therefore scooped out of the cadaver to put in jars. This particular jar was squat and wide, and depicted a coiling snake climbing the side. The snake's open mouth formed the lid, and its forked tongue was a handle. The lid seemed fastened down with gold straps, which had gone dull with age but still seemed as sound as ever. The man hunched in on himself and began whispering, though as far as Jen could see there was no one else around to hear him. "Is this the one? You said it was a snake, and this is the only canopic jar here... okay, okay. Just wait a little bit for Sirocco to draw off the guards."

GM Jubatus and Young Britannia set off for the Walking City. The cheetah-man's speed was phenomenal and he drew a more-or-less straight line between the edge of Freedom City and the heart of Boston. For all of his speed, though, he found the statuesque defender of the Isles waiting for him in the main campus of Tufts Medical College, right smack in the middle of Beantown. All told, though, the building didn't look very collegiate; a cube of pale, dressed stone and numerous tinted windows, virtually indistinguishable from the other buildings in the neighborhood. The Bostonians reacted with surprise when a cheetah standing on two legs and a tall woman in a red, white, and blue uniform materialized in their midst, but no one started screaming or calling the police. This might not be Freedom City, but Boston had had its fair share of superpowered battles over the years and they were willing to give these strange folks the benefit of the doubt. The search for the "Cult of the Dripping Pox" led to an Internet sit that looked like a relic from the Geocities era. There wasn't anything as useful as a name and current address of the founder, or even a forum for like-minded fanatics to stew in their collective juices, but a little detective work with the IP address lead King of Suits and Stormbreaker to a name: Warren Stils, a life-long Freedomite and a newly-minted realty agent. The firm he worked for was on the edge of the Theater District. It was in the middle of the working day so sneaking in was probably out of the question, but the heroes did have an interstellar clipper waiting to be used...

"There are many people here who are not valuable," Liz pointed out to the supervillainesses. "It profits you nothing to keep all of us confined, and by letting the least valuable of us go free it establishes a good rapport with the police. Plus, you will not have to keep track of so many hostages." If the office worker seemed a bit too calm and collected for someone being held by a superpowered villain, well Freedom City was a wild town. It probably wasn't her first time in this situation!

"Blue Jay," the heroine announced, slapping the Bee-Keeper's palm with her own. Or at least the new Bee-Keeper, it seems. Apparently she still had some recent superhero history to catch up on. "I did some stuff," she allowed. "It seems like between the four of us, we managed to save everyone." As the group began to break up, Blue Jay wandered through the emergency workers. It didn't take her long to find what she was looking for -- the four children she'd saved, the oldest girl standing to one side and watching while EMTs checked over the baby. She looked around when the hero approached and brightened up. "Thank you," she said. "If you hadn't come by, we could've all --" She pressed her lips together tightly and took a deep breath. Blue Jay wasn't exactly sure how to handle the situation, but she tried anyway. "You would've gotten out," she said. "You were already trying to get everyone out when I found you. Everyone would've been fine." The little girl's face brightened, so maybe it was the right thing to say after all. She into her pockets and brought out the gloves the archer had lent to the kids. "Here. These are yours." Blue Jay took the gloves back and tugged on the one she was missing, then paused. She handed the extra pair back to the girl. "Keep 'em," she said. "I can always get another pair. Maybe you can take up climbing, or something." She stepped away and was about to swing off when the little girl called out again. "My name's Natalie. What are you called?" Blue Jay stopped, glanced back, and smiled. "I'm Blue Jay. I'll be keeping an eye on you, Natalie!" And she was away.

Ironclad's Ini (1d20+5=6) ...

Zuth, want to get a post in for the Spider?

Starlight stepped back from the view screen as her heart skipped a beat. They were here, right here. Her creators, her siblings -- her worst enemies in the galaxy, were out in the star system where she was presumably supposed to testify against the Nes. This didn't bode well at all, and Starlight had the sudden, rash impulse to teleport away from all of this. But that would only send the mercenaries back to Earth to look for her, and that wouldn't end well for anyone. So she drew herself up and forced a blank look onto her face. "It is as I suspected," she said, hoping her voice didn't betray her apprehension. "The Nes must be some client species or off-shoot of the Grue. They use the same methodology, and I can't explain why else the Grue would be here."

Ironclad stared at the electrified jock for a moment, but her mind recovered and reconsidered fast enough that there wasn't a noticeable lag in her actions. She eyeballed the difference, took a step back, and activated the suit's servo muscles. One mighty kick connected with the ambulance's rear platform, and the suited heroine backed up smartly. "Only gonna say this once," she called out. "Put down the charge and come out with your hands up!"

This group is getting progressively whittled down. Okay, since Scuffles is back on a more-or-less regular basis now, should we try to get this going again? With just El Heraldo and Glow?

So it looks like Jubatus and YB are going after Highfollower, and Stormbreaker and KoS after the cult dudes. Is that right?

Ironclad was hesitant to leave, but Wail wasn't going to retreat without her and even if they survived the blast, Desmaris wouldn't. So she rocketed back in the direction they came, following the shaft upwards. Block & Tackle had disappeared, but the other unconscious mercs were still scattered around. The armored heroine grabbed them and hauled them out of the warehouse, just before a huge crash and a plume of smoke and dust from the passageway signaled the underground base's collapse. She went out to the edge of the harbor and watched the water spin into a short-lived whirlpool, pulled down by the sudden subsidence. Ironclad took a seat there, staring at the water where the base had been, and shook her head. "Dammit. All that and the chemicals are still missing."

After Agnus had been introduced and the interview was under way, Liz had retreated to the backstage to watch it all play out. She was genuinely interested in hearing her friend sing, so she simply leaned against the wall and settled in. Maybe that's why Merge Trois caught her off-guard -- either way, the superheroic shapeshifter found herself being herded onto the stage with all the technical people who made the show actually run. Three villains, all with matching outfits? That struck her as more than just coincidence. In any case, the first thing to do was the keep the bad guys from hurting the innocents. Liz stepped forward from the crowd, facing one of the Merge Tois' at random and speaking up. "Alright, then," she said. "You have us. Now what do you want from us?"