Heroes: Shadows over Millenium

[Hotfoot]

"Well, that beats the hell out of me hoping my shield keeps out whatever crap is in the air." He paused for a moment and blinked. "Wait a minute, power rings? Like multiples? That some sort of perk for joining?"

[Cynical Cat]

"No, a perk for being in Saibot's good books," said Blackheart. "Pencil me in for sometime around 2250."

[Hotfoot]

"Heh, well let me know when he needs some speedy delivery. I'll even make sure it gets there nice and hot. It looks cool, right?" He smirks and heads up with the rest to the briefing room, bag in tow.

[Cynical Cat]

Blackheart hit the briefing room and began the clumsy job of putting on the NBC suit with one hand. It was akward and clumsy to say the least.

[Hotfoot]

Hotfoot started to pull the suit over his normal clothes, thankful at the moment that he wasn't wearing anything bulky, since the suit would be enough, most likely. He made sure all the seals were shut tight, then he flexed and stretched a bit, making sure he had his full range of motion available. It would be embarassing to rip the suit as he bounced around, only to start flipping out on the dismount.

"Hey, I've got this sealed up, right? Someone check me?"

[Cynical Cat]

"Give me a minute," said Blackheart, floating in mid air and using damn near half a pound of talcum powder. "No matter how many times I tell them, never in the right fucking size. Sometimes I miss the good old days." He finished getting the boot on and floated over to Hotfoot. "Seems, pretty good. Everything but the boot seal. Those are a bitch. Let me give you a hand with it."

[Hotfoot]

"Okay." He nodded and let Blackheart show him what to do. It wasn't going to be comfortable, but it was better than getting drugged out of his mind. He had no idea how drugs would even react with his system. Would he succumb faster? Was his body resiliant? Would his shield burn up any toxins before he even got the chance to breath them in? He hoped the latter, but he also hoped he didn't have to find out.

[Cynical Cat]

"Ever done anything mind altering?" Blackheart asked. "Some metas have unusual reactions. Takes a lot of anything to put me down, for example, and even more the second time and so on. System adapts and all that."

[Hotfoot]

"Uh, no sir, I haven't. Especially not since I got my powers, I didn't want to risk losing control. I'd rather not wake up one day and find out that I ran right through a train or something, you know?"

[Cynical Cat]

"I understand," said Blackheart. "You know alcohol counts as mind altering, right?"

[Hotfoot]

The young man nods, "Yes sir, I know. Like I said, I never wanted to risk it." He suddenly realized one of the benefits of wearing a mask as he blushed slightly. "I, uh, never really drank anything before I got my powers anyway sir." He didn't get into reasons, after all, here he was in a room full of superpowered people almost all of which were older and more experienced than him, with the possible exception of Blast, and while he was telling the truth, he didn't need to go into the specific reasons...not until he got to know these people better.

[Cynical Cat]

Another member of the boy scout brigade, thought Blackheart. Christ, was I ever that young and earnest? On reflection that was a yes. He just had the perpetual gloom cloud of the "hate me" aura and knowing his super tumour was likely to eat him alive. But yeah, he had thought the world was straightforward and that his duty to his species and his country were clear. Those were the days.

"Okay," said Blackheart. "Didn't mean to pry," he bit back the 'kid'. "Just seeing if there was a baseline to measure reaction with. And can you give me a hand with the boot? Tying it off is a bitch one handed."

[Hotfoot]

"Sure thing." He fumbled slightly with the gloves, but he tied down the boot with a solid tug. "There you go, all sealed and ready to kick some ass. Now, if you'll excuse me, I've got one last test to run." He stood back from the rest of the team and slid back into the world of slow motion, only a faint shield engulfing him as he went. He tapped his earpiece and transmitted over the radio. "Testing, one, two, three. Please respond so I can adjust." It was still not fully adjusted to his rate of speed, the transmission coming across like a sped up tape of gibberish to any listening in.

[Cynical Cat]

"Needs a little more work," said Blackheart. "You sound like a chipmunk that just did an eightball of coke."

[Hotfoot]

He waited, and waited, and waited for the response to come, and when it did, it was horribly drawn out, causing him to shake his head. It was slightly faster than reality, but not by much. He must have turned the dial in the wrong direction. He fiddled with the headset a little more, and by the word "eightball" it was properly attuned.

"You know, I've always wondered, why do they call it an eightball? I mean, it's white powder, right?"

[Cynical Cat]

"Because its an eighth of an ounce," said Blackheart. "Not that I've every done cocaine, well knowingly. Hell knows what went in some of those pill packs back in the day. I've worked with guys that needed enough opiates to kill ten junkies to affect them. You don't take drugs from someone else's kit in the field boys and girls. One of the benefits of signing up is we do a full rundown on you, see what works, what doesn't, and if you have any funky allergies. I suggest getting a doc you trust to do the same if you decide to go independent. This business has a high serious injury rate and the way the numbers work you're likely to get seriously hurt at some time or another."

[Hotfoot]

"Huh, didn't know that," he said, without transmitting Satisfied with the test, Hotfoot came back to the world of everyone else, just in time to hear Blackheart's D.A.R.E. speech and tips for new heroes. He nodded and checked the suit again to make sure he didn't accidentally melt anything. "Sure thing, I'll make sure it's one of the first things I do when we're done here tonight."

[Dark Silver]

He delayed as long as he could in getting to Freak Legion's hideout. Already, he had wasted a hour or two, but he managed to do a high altitude fly over - or as high as he could manage while his helmet's sensors still allowed him a good look at the terrain below.

Nothing, so far, to distinguish the supposed hideout from any other dilapidated scrapheap of a rundown shit house in this section of Old New York. A few seconds later, he opened the secure comm channels, hoping that the Legion didn't have anything to tap into government comm frequencies, and it dawned on him to dig up some of the old Guardian tech out of storage later...if he could manage to get Gravitas to give him a lift up there. One bad thing about that particular hideout, it's not someplace he could get to regularly, or with any reliability, the equipment he had which allowed it wore out years ago.

'Maybe I could use Ultima resources to get it repaired.....stop wondering, focus' he reminded himself, as he spoke, "Mirage, this is Saibot." the voice coming off the earbuds held the distant deep, flat, hollow intonations they had gotten used to when he was in uniform. Something never did sound right whenhe put it on, like he had become angrier, more prone to violence, and his voice conveyed it. "I've completed passive surface scan..I'll be proceeding underground shortly...I suggest getting rested for the teleport. I'll be maintaining radio silence until then. Saibot out."

With that, report made, the comm channel was shut, and his earbud disabled.

No more Saibot....just hope no one needed him for the next few hours.

Hopefully Gravitas made sure to read that file for more than the password....he'd like a bunker to go back to when it was all said and done...

[LadyTevar]

"If they offer you nanites, Refuse." Argent said in chill tones. She had followed them, but had yet to even touch the gear laid out for her.

[Hotfoot]

Nanites? The word brought back a handful of memories, old memories, fuzzy with the passage of time. He paused for a moment, looking at Argent quizzically. She couldn't have meant what he thought she meant, the tone of her voice didn't seem right. "Uh, sure. I'll keep that in mind."

[Agent Fisher]

Ghost picked up his rifle and put the sling on, and let the rifle dangle on the strap. He had nodded at Blackheart and Hotfoot. He made sure all his gear was squared away. "Ok, so we are just waiting for Gravitas to get back." He heard Argent's comment about nanites, but couldn't tell if it was directed at him or Hotfoot.

[LadyTevar]

The silver-touched black eyes glance to Blackheart, then slide away. "It does not matter now," Argent told Hotfoot, as shadow tendrils lifted the chemsuit for her to eye it critically. "You should be....."

"Mirage, this is Saibot." the voice coming off the earbuds held the distant deep, flat, hollow intonations they had gotten used to when he was in uniform. "I've completed passive surface scan..I'll be proceeding underground shortly...I suggest getting rested for the teleport. I'll be maintaining radio silence until then. Saibot out."

"... It seems we shall be leaving sooner than anticipated," Argent commented, a wistful look briefly appearing on her face as her Empathy stroked the link binding her to Saibot gently. *Concern/Well-Wishing* brushed down that tight link, wrapped in warmth, a gift for him alone. A blink, and the wistful look vanished as if it'd never appeared as she turned to their leader. "Blackheart?"

[SirNitram]

Gravitas picked through the bunker on the far side of Earth's only moon. The security system was Not His Friend. The security code had let him in easily enough, after a few minutes of inspecting the wierd distortion effect the place was wreathed in convinced him not to try teleporting in. Still, there were enough active defenses still watching and waiting he wasn't pleased. The energy weapons were his main concern; he had accidentally tripped the knockout gas, but as he hadn't been breathing anyways, it wasn't bothering him. He had gotten alot more careful.

It was like a mauseleum, though. Artifacts of a group of do-gooders who had tried hard, even if they had not been as professional, powerful, or successful as those he walked with had. Somehow, it made them easier to respect. Here, humans had tried very hard to be benevolent gods. Gravitas could, on a level, sympathize.

He past the miniaturized fission cores, ticking over in standby mode. A sealed display case held uniforms in a variety of colours. High tech toys were everywhere; Gravitas had no idea energy weapons had advanced that far. But what he was searching for...

The ring, once in his hand, didn't seem impressive to the mortal senses. But it was tugging at him in a unique way; it held no charge, but was trying to draw energy from him, the wierd mix of mystic and technological energy that made up his powers a beacon for this empty little toy. He carefully tucked it away in a pocket, ignored the faint feeling it was trying to leech off of him through the cloth and failing, and carefully extricated himself.

******

The swirling portal of warped space appeared in the room with the others. On the other side, a Moonscape showed the endless grey desert, and a night sky clearer than any on Earth. He nodded to the others. "I miss much?"

[Cynical Cat]

"Everyone ready?" asked Blackheart as he fitted his weapon clamp to the stump of his left forearm.

[Agent Fisher]

Ghost looked at Gravitas. "Not much. Just gearing up and getting ready to roll. Saibot is going in on his own, it seems."