(Lilliana Groves, 1st District, Melody's Residence)

Lilliana quirked an eyebrow when Melody pushed her hand aside, and she didn't resist, but she did twist her wrist ever so slightly so as to graze her fingertips ever so lightly over Melody's skin. In an effort to match all the genetic information being filed away into her brain, Lilliana took a deep, sighing breath through her nose. Satisfied, she stepped back to avoid appearing threatening, but she dropped the polite smile she'd been holding, not going to bother if Melody didn't believe in her image. When her polite expression faded, she settled into her usual emotionless state, empty of any sparks of feeling. She watched as Melody played her role as host and blinked slowly until she felt Melody was prepared to listen to her.

"My father is Scott Groves," she began, a flash of pain appearing and disappearing in her eyes, too quick for anyone who wasn't watching for it to notice, "I don't know if his name is familiar to you, since he tells me he met you before I was born. His story and research of you is how I found this place. I hadn't expected to ever use this information, but recent events have forced me to seek your aid." Lilliana paused, more to allow any listening to soak in the information than to gather her thoughts. "I intend to destroy the Levani, not send them away, not punish them or imprison. I will make sure every single Levani will breathe their last breath before I die. I thought that with your...history and ability, you could help me accomplish this. I, of course, do not intend to ask for nothing. In exchange, after my intentions are fulfilled, I will become your servant, obedient to your every order until I lose my life."

Once she finished her piece, Lilliana fell into silence, sparing a calculating glance over the rest of the people around her before snapping her gaze right back on the Piper's face. The others had potential to be useful, but if Lilliana was forced to leave without the Piper's agreement, she wouldn't bother to recruit the others around her. She could find skilled warriors anywhere, but for now, the Piper could make up for dozens of skilled warriors in improving the odds. Right now, that's what Lilliana concentrated on, improving the odds.

(Ophelia Evans, First District, Melody's Residence)

Ophelia wasn't exactly sure what to do when Nightstalker (she wondered if she would ever know his real name) moved to the doorway. She went rigid at his proclamation of company, and her flight instinct forced her to her feet, covering the distance between herself and a better vantage point in cautious steps. As it happened, she came to stand near Mr. Crawford, her back similarly close to the wall. She could feel the fear threatening at all edges of her consciousness, waiting to break the tenuous restraints placed on it by her subtle comfort level with the people who surrounded her. In truth, she had probably chosen the worst company for this encounter on a level of utility, but contrary to sense as it was, something about Mr. Crawford was less... threatening... than the others. Melody was friendly enough, and had given Ophelia no reason not to trust her, but it was clear that she hid much. Nightstalker was much the same. Mr. Crawford... well, he was emotionally unstable, and probably very dangerous, but at least this wasn't something he was keeping secreted away from her.

She was making no sense. Shaking her head, Ophelia flinched as her arms accidentally came into contact with the fabric of her paint-spattered jeans. Hissing a bit at the resulting pain, she realized that this might sound strange to the man next to her if his eyes had been fixed ahead as hers had. Ophelia quickly glanced in the man's direction, forcing a halfhearted smile to show there was nothing actually wrong. She didn't want to startle him, after all. Amber-colored eyes soon swung back to the scene unfolding before the two of them, as though they were but spectators in some great play. A drama, perhaps; the interplay of powerful people and the subtle machinations of personality, spread out before them as a display not for the eyes, but the mind.

A woman of good height brushed past the still-taller Nightstalker, and the artist had the impression of pride, haughtiness; a head held high, an angled face, straight nose, lower lip fuller than the upper. Rouge, brocade- Gothic architecture, perhaps. Yes, that was most certainly it. Where Melody was Celtic and tapestry and rich red, where Mr. Crawford was abstraction, distopia, impressionist, gray undertoned in purple, where Nightstalker was modern, sharp lines, the interplay of crimson and ebony, this woman, whoever she was, was most clearly Gothic; Victorian, perhaps, and muted silver.

She was getting the itch to paint, and the notion was almost enough to make her laugh. In the midst of what might be a dangerous meeting, and she wanted to leave it and take brush in hand instead. Perhaps it was a good thing; in a sense, this was the best way she'd ever dealt with the potential for confrontation. Nothing had exploded or been set on fire yet. But the artist's soul played host to the rational mind, and it was not long before the vivid impressions faded from her mind, to be replaced only by a curiosity. The woman freely gave her name, and seemed to almost demand something of Melody, not that the latter seemed particularly ingratiating to this fact.

In actuality, she seemed almost dismissive, and for whatever reason, that put Ophelia at ease. She briefly contemplated accepting the wine, but ultimately decided against it. Ophelia didn't usually hold her alcohol too well, and even a pleasant buzz was enough to make whatever inner mechanism governed her power go haywire. She declined politely, and was momentarily torn between the desire to see how this little staging would play itself out and the admittedly pressing inclination to be virtually anywhere else.

So the woman went for a compromise, and decided to stay close, but not in this room. Murmuring a thanks to Melody, she headed for the hallway the woman had mentioned, opening several doors with some residual hesitation. Most of them were guest bedrooms, plainly but tastefully decorated, but the last one held her attention. Within it, a few cabinets were pushed against one wall, the center of the room was dominated by a chair and a blank canvas, almost as though someone had been about to sit for a portrait. Judging from the entrance hall, that might well be the case, but why had it been interrupted?

Feeling slightly guilty for prying, Ophelia nevertheless pulled open a few of the cherry-wood cabinet drawers, smooth with wood stain and polish, and was surprised to find a number of art supplies, including paints, charcoals, and pastels in a wide range of colors. She shouldn't, but... the woman glanced back at the blank canvas, depressing her lower lip with a few teeth. If Melody really minded, a canvas wasn't outside her price range yet...

Her worried expression became a smile, perhaps a slightly-mischievous one, even, and Ophelia perused the cabinet further, pausing now and then to select some supplies, piling them carefully on the small table beside the easel.

(Soren "Nightstalker" Hawkins, 1st District, Melody's Residence)

Soren raised a dark eyebrow as the newest arrival brushed past him close enough for him to feel the disturbance in the air at her passing. He was careful not to allow contact, though he made no move to stop her. You never knew what could prove harmful to yourself when dealing with an unknown factor, and caution was never to be ignored. Apparently, this lesson was not one the woman had learned. Either that, or she thought herself informed enough to account for all the factors present. A ludicrous proposition, really, given present company.

Ophelia and Crawford were apparently both also in favor of wariness, assuming of course the older man hadn't crossed the line into full-blown paranoia years ago. The Piper was handling the situation with what he had come to take as characteristic ease, flowing smoothly from a rather subtly scathing comment into pouring everyone wine. The girl disappeared shortly afterward, and he might have made himself similarly scarce, having no particular interest in what this person desired of the Piper, but something she said made him reconsider.

"I intend to destroy the Levani, not send them away, not punish them or imprison." Well, that was a common enough motivation these days; Soren would not deny that the aliens' presence was an inconvenience for him, but a good number of his contacts were fully-bent on vengeance. That sort of thing happened, when most of the people you knew were supervillains with no heroes to take out their frustrations on. No, there was nothing new there, only more ridiculous posturing.

"In exchange, after my intentions are fulfilled, I will become your servant, obedient to your every order until I lose my life." Now, there was a new one. Clearly, this woman had never been subordinate to anyone in her life, that she would offer it so easily on a lifetime basis. People with pride didn't last long at the mercy of another, as he had discovered. Either they died, wills cleaved apart by subjugation, or they liberated themselves. Nobody who had ever known the struggle to remove oneself from a festering cesspool of a life in one of the lower districts would ever relinquish freedom like that, and he was slightly irritated at the suggestion.

He declined to pick up a wine glass; to drink would be to reveal his face. Rather, he studied those faces still present. Soren doubted very much that Piper would be the type to take the Groves woman up on this sort of offer; what use would the servitude of a mortal do one who was perfectly capable of seeing to herself?

Groves... he recognized the name. Scott Groves. Not a Super, if he remembered correctly, but a genius with a penchant for crime. The daughter was... yes. He'd been contracted by a Scott Groves, once, to obtain a government-controlled data storage system, for the filing of human genetic data. He hadn't asked why, obviously, that was not his concern. Most of his employers monologued at him anyway, and thus he eventually came to know what was going on. Groves had not, but he had seemed giddy, and continually muttered something about a "mutation." He'd never met the daughter, though apparently this was she.

(Joseph "Cocoon" Orson, 2nd District, Random street)

Cocoon released his grasp, entangled in the matted blonde that sat upon the now deceased hero's severed head, and let it drop to the tarmac. Eyes still wide open in shock, with an expression that resembled that which one may have when he or she discovers that his friends and family have thrown him a surprise birthday party but without the smile, it rolled slowly until it stopped in the water stream of the gutter. Behind the Cocoon Suit's mask and with an artificial tone Cocoon made a sound that could be interpreted as a sigh. He was disappointed. Years ago, killing a valuable sidekick would have brought the attention of a number of heroes. The spotlight would have swiveled around and focused on him. Now, however, because of those damned Levani, it seemed one could murder a defender of justice publicly without a single one of their allies bursting onto the scene. Fighters of virtue? They were all too afraid to come out of hiding. Super-powered turtle's too frightened to come out of their protective shell.

Originally, Cocoon had dropped the head to leave. There was nothing more for him in this district, at least for now, but he had been completely mistaken. He was powerful, yes, without a doubt, but there were others, so he always kept constantly alert. In his peripheral vision he had captured sight of a single figure, still quite a distance away but a possible threat nonetheless, who seemed to be, in his own little world of distraction, strolling along. At first he had been discarded from warranting constant attention, he was just a kid, at that hadn't changed, but what was about to happen would surely be entertaining. Cocoon didn't consider himself to be a sadist, but his mind was just about human, and scenes of interest were just as deserving of a few seconds of his life as much as they were to others. He passed his sword through two of his fingers, cleaning the neck blood from it's gleaming surface, and sheathed it on his back as he waited for the spectacle.

The boy, absentmindedly, was just waiting to be killed, or so it seemed. From the pavement he had stepped directly onto the road without even flicking his vision once from side to side to assure his safety. Looking before crossing wasn't some sort of pointless advice overprotective parents gave to their children, it was a basic principle of survival for the fleshy and fragile human in a world that includes hunks of metal on wheels hurtling around without instant brakes. As luck would have it, the boy was just about to find out how useful following that advice would have been, but too late. A fair distance away, but at a speed that was closing that gap rapidly, there was a vehicle of the large and heavy but fast variety. An SUV to be precise. It showed no sign of politely stopping, an judging by the kid's unaltered speed and degree of worry neither did he. What would in seconds follow would be, more than likely, a bloody mess, and Cocoon found it rather ironic that the event would probably wind up attracting more of the public eye than his recent attempt. This wasn't the funny, ha ha, sort of irony, however. Cocoon, for a moment, considered saving the boy, just for the sake of basking in the glory of it for a moment, but that contradicted his entire villainous reputation. No, the boy could die as he saw fit.

No more than a second passed and impact was imminent. The boy, still distracted by imaginative anxiety, failed to register the war cry of the vehicle's engine and now the predator was upon him. It roared ferociously until the end, but unlike Cocoon had expected based on experience, there was no horrible crunch and the sight of a young body being crumpled by an SUV's weight. Something else entirely happened. Just as the car was about to hit there was an unexpected turn of events. A final twist to the short play that had been acted out in those past seconds. The kid's arm began to change, and not because it was being crushed by tonnes of metal. The mutation was inhuman, a morphing of some sort. It grew in length and width. The shape appeared to sharpen, and flesh and bone became a reflecting materiel similar to common metal. As far as Cocoon knew, this was not a regular occurrence in people, and he had been a person as well as an observer of the species for quite a while. However, Cocoon was used to the abnormal in person's. He could generate potent electricity for crying out loud. This just meant that another super had appeared in the mess that was the Levani dominated city. Whether he was good enough to survive, though, was something that was about to be seen.

It seemed the boy hadn't even realized what was happening to him. This was a level of distraction that could possibly reach a superhuman level, but what was most interesting about him was, for now, the metal that had shifted around him arm into the form of a dangerous blade. A slash later and everything changed. There was no way of knowing just how sharp or powerful the blade was, but it managed to slice through the vehicle as if it was a slice of sponge cake. It began to open as the edge guided it's way through, separating the left side from the right with such ease Cocoon was also surprised. Of course, it had been traveling at such a speed that it hadn't simply stopped upon contact. No matter how divided it was there was always the factor that it still weighed the same and was still flying towards the kid at a dangerous velocity. So, when both halves were then behind the boy and the arm reverted to it's former, meaty state as if nothing had happened, Cocoon was ready to admit the only then was he shocked. In the chaos he had failed to see the halves cut at such an angle that they both glided past him before skidding to a halt. The young super then didn't even stop to admire his handiwork. In silence, and apparently now seeing just how much power he possessed if his expression was anything to go by, he turned and ran.

Idiot.
No-one with such capabilities needed to run from anything, let alone the smoldering remains of a decimated vehicle, owned by none other than a cursing member of some sort gang that was now shouting obscenities to the heavens. Watching as the super youth darted into a nearby alleyway, Cocoon approached what remained of the SUV and knelt at one of the pieces' sides. A clean cut, he discovered as he ran a single finger across one of the split surfaces. Only a few feet away it seemed the gangster type had taken notice of the strangely clad stranger examining the car remains that were still officially his, and began to unleash fury in Cocoon's direction.

“Who the fuck are you? What the fuck do you think you're doing here? Get out of here, man!”
Useless obscenities thrown in for effect. To really make use of them you had to first possess power, or at least appear to.
Cocoon looked from the vehicle to man's face, burning money floating down from the sky behind him. It seemed he had been carrying, or perhaps delivering would be a better a word, a large sum of cash. Far too much to be the amount one keeps in their wallet. Cocoon was no detective, but he could put the details together. This man was involved in some sort of illegal activity, and had been given a job upon which rested more than a little importance. Now, he had failed. The money was no more and his vehicle had been destroyed. Still, this wasn't the reaction of someone who had just seen a youth morph his arm into a blade. It didn't mean much, but Cocoon could still take credit for this. Once again he saw something in the corner of his vision; leaking petrol and fire nearby, and an angered gangster drawing a handgun.
“Yo, man. Don't you know who the fuck I am? I'm fucking Peanut! Listen to me when I am directing my voice to you motherfu-”
“Cocoon,” Cocoon said, in response to the man's first question. “Remember it!”
In a flash of movement he drew the blade from his back and swung for Peanut's arm. Peanut's finger pressed against the weapon's trigger, but no bullet emerged. The gun fell to the floor, half an arm still holding onto it, and as it came into contact with the ground it fired. During it's descent Cocoon had brought his sword back to his side before lunging forwards with the hilt and driving it into the now armless man's torso with such strength his feet had left the ground and his body had been sent through the air. Before gravity could do what gravity did best the gun with the rest of his arm let loose the bullet that had been planned for Cocoon, and immediately one of the car halves detonated, followed by the other. Peanut was skidding across the tarmac when he saw Cocoon enveloped in the following explosion, and when he finally came to a halt the flames were dying down. Panting with his arm injury and shattered ribs he clambered to his feet as another chemical reaction set off a third explosion. If the first two hadn't taken his attacker's life, then the final one that sent shards of heated metal in all directions like some sort of massive grenade definitely did.

As the flames died down and smoke began to rise along with the smell of burning rubber, Peanut approached in a desperate attempt to recover some of his precious cash, his still attached hand attempting to block the blood loss from the stump on the other side. To his surprise, there was no sign of the attacker anywhere. Only a tingle of static energy in their air that raised his air, and a sudden electrical shock that lurched out from the surrounding metal, causing him to shake violently and topple over.

On a nearby roof there was a brief moment of electrical cackling before Cocoon appeared in a flash of blue light. From his high, advantageous for observation, position he watched as Peanut received the shocking surprise he had left behind in his wake. That was one man that wouldn't be forgetting his name any time soon. But, as comical as recent events had been, there was something much more interesting to be taken care of. With a single turn of the head he saw the transforming boy running through a nearby alleyway. He had covered quite a bit of distance, but nothing that Cocoon's lighting fast speed couldn't cover. For a second or tow he charged himself with pulsating energy before taking off and leaping to the next building in pursuit.

(Crazie Crawford, 1st District, Melody's Residence)

Benjamin’s mind paid little heed to Ophelia as she took her place near to him. Her anxiety and doubt oozed from her like an infected wound, while Crawford’s own skittish irritation melded with it, creating a dangerous cocktail for everyone in the room. Still, deep within their minds there was an unspoken common ground. Buried behind the nervousness and frustration both dealt with on a daily basis there was a bond to be shared.

The pained hiss and fleeting smile that followed didn’t so much as flinch Crawford’s gaze. Ophelia threat had been all but written off, a feat virtually no one could claim when it came to the inner workings of the crazed super.

His scowl grew deeper as the foreign woman advanced sketchily into the room. Voices echoed their ethereal call for retaliation against the unexpected visitor as she offered the temporary leader of their party her hand.

“Don’t take it.” Crawford whispered hardly loud enough for his own ears to hear, all but forgetting Ophelia’s close proximity.

Melody seemed wise to his advice, brushing away the woman’s hand dismissively while simultaneously chastising her lack of social tact. For the paranoid mind of Benjamin the subtle shift in body language, the minute sigh she let out, even the neutral expression of her face spoke volumes. Something was going on, something Crawford wanted little part of. Violet eyes stayed locked on the newcomer, even as he circled the furniture, eager to retrieve his alcohol. It was clear the balance of paranoia had shifted in the man, for all the strangeness he had encountered this night, the latest arrival stank of convenience far too much to be ignored.

Even as he tilted back his glass of burgundy liquid he did so in a subtle way so that his eyes, unblinking, could remain fastened to the woman as she launched into her spiel.

Mention of the destruction of the Levani, coupled with the instant influence of the alcohol swiveled Crawford’s lips into an amused smirk. Only growing as the woman followed with the promise of her own servitude. Crawford let out a haughty chortle; filling the room with an as of yet unseen bravado which echoed through the long corridors of the Piper’s home.

“Your lips speak of revolution. Your eyes speak of desperation. Silky sweet lies the color of honey.” Crawford sneered his mouth twisting into a contemptuous grimace, “Those that come from the sky are many and mighty. You are but a snowball in a lake of fire, deceiver, a careless child in a pit of vipers.” Draining the final bit from his glass he clacked it down with decidedly more force than was necessary, agitation reading clear on his face. “One would do well to be wise with words, tip-toeing with great care, knowing the eyes who watch them.”

He briefly sent a pointed stare in Soren’s direction, as if to encourage the enhanced senses of the thief to be especially wary, before his lavender spheres returned the face of Lillian, awaiting her response.

(Melody Wiesse, 1st District, Melody's Residence)

At first, Melody wasn't sure what to say. She had smirked widely with satisfaction at the newcomer's goal, though the magnitude of the request hadn't escaped her. After hearing the payment, she almost dismissed the woman completely. Many a man had fallen into her spell and snare; if she wanted life-long servants, she would already have them... Of course, the idea of a willing servant was new. The bending and breaking of wills was no easy feat, and Melody barely repressed a shudder as memories flooded back; it had been a game for her, once, when the rich and lusty taste of power consumed her so fully that she dared to warp all creation to her fancies. Too many lives left stains of indelible blood in the darker recesses of her mind. Instead, swirling and stopping, sipping and swirling, she stared as flakes danced in the dark liquid, threatening to settle at the bottom; perhaps, like tea leaves, they might form together and share with her their thoughts and enigmatic insights on the matter?

As Crawford said his piece and brought his empty glass down with a decisive click, Melody decided she must have been looking in the wrong glass. Topping him off with an approving smirk, she added, "This ordeal you propose... I've been planning on it myself for quite some time now, though Crawford makes a point. Especially considering your dangerously peculiar sense of respect, to annihilate the lot of them before your last breath would likely take mine as well... Also," she took another sip, glancing down into her wine with a soft murmur of 'I forgot what a great year 2143 was...'; she continued, "I don't know that you could do what you say you will. You strike me as the sort person who's held the world at knife point all their life to get what they want- no, to get what they think they deserve. For whatever reason, you seem very committed to this cause for now... But a woman thoughtlessly determined enough to sell their soul and do whatever it takes so quickly reveals a woman so thoughtlessly ruthless, I couldn't possibly trust her with any such commitment. No... I'm afraid I'm not at all interested in your proposal. Unless you have a better offer, I really have nothing else to say."



(Zack Reynolds, 2nd District, Random Alley)

Zack's arm shot out, and with a metallic clank it connected with the Levani droid. "Stop.. doing... that.." he muttered, though through the fear and frustration the conviction was gone from his voice by now. As usual, his arm didn't seem to listen; the droid's insides whirred ominously, then went back to normal as tendrils of metal receded back into Zack's arm. "Fine, fine, covering our trail, whatev-" his sentence was cut short as his legs moved, on their own, to dash underneath and overhang. Zack panicked, unable to open his mouth to speak or breathe, when the beehive noise that had been hovering in his head tentatively solidified into (****) (**ng*rous fol**wer) (Sup*r) (take cover) (wat**ing fr*m th* *oof) (Qu***) (****) before falling back to quiet static. His mouth was released, and Zack tried hard not to gasp. Images now flashed in front of his eyes; a yacht, a dark alleyway, the same large impressive building as always, piles of money, a ventilation shaft, a penthouse, a yacht...

His adrenaline soared; there was the alleyway he saw, now the abandoned office... Inside like a flash, there it was, just as he'd seen it, only now the desks were gone, along with the smiling, politically correct co-workers. His limbs knew what to do; long, spidery metal claws stabbed out and spread, clicking on the dirty concrete ominously. Before the slightest sound of a silent follower came from the door way, Zack was scuttling at high speeds up the elevator shaft. Somewhere in the back, front and side of Zack's mind came (***) (Al**st th*r*) (k**p goi**) (h**ry).

Well... Until he rammed into the elevator cab.

(Joseph "Cocoon" Orson, 2nd District, Random Alley)

What an extravagant show of abilities.
Cocoon knelt on the corner of a rooftop watching as the super passed through the alleyways beneath. The fact that he had been able to form a potent weapon with nothing more than his own limbs had been impressive. Respectable even. What was on display now, however, was something else entirely. The boy had stopped before a Levani droid, one of those whirring spies for the dominating race that just didn't have the time to be around when Cocoon did something important. Once again, his arm had undergone a form of transformation, but instead of creating a cutting edge a number of... were they tentacles? Wires perhaps? No matter. Whatever they were they had connected with the droid, and judging by the kid's expression, his acts weren't intentional Either that or he was being forced to do what he was doing. Cocoon remembered with nostalgia those times long ago when there was a silly notion of a consciouns in the way of achieving greatness. Those times had been fun. Unlike most that were born, simply lived and died, Cocoon could claim with pride that he, as a person and as the next step in evolution, had developed and achieved what some would call Nietzsche's Super man. Sure, the crazed German had his faults, but he was correct in one aspect. People needed to rise above themselves. So far Cocoon had met few that could truly claim to have evolved. He was one of those few, of course. Heroes were bound by moral limitations. But, this boy seemed different. Whoever he was, it appeared he was beginning to fight off the buzzing fly on a summer day for the mind that was the morally acceptable.

As the newly formed connections with the droid were withdrawn once again into the boy's arm Cocoon noticed something that was impossible not to. He was starting to move, though seemingly not of his own accord. The boy looked possessed, and that was something that Cocoon only recalled from fiction. Not possessed by a demon, it must be understood. More, controlled by another force against his will. He wasn't speaking backwards in Latin and crawling around like some sort of insect. It was more subtle. His legs moved, and the rest of his body appeared to follow due to lack of choice. Strange...

…

Well, apparently a correction was in order. No Latin yet, but the crawling was underway. There was no way of knowing exactly how it happened, but it proved that not only the young super's arm could alter it's state. From the legs sprouted a number of metallic limbs, thin, almost spider-like. They touched the cement with a soft click and immediately after the boy scuttled away, headed directly for what seemed to be an abandoned building. Intrigued, Cocoon leaped from the building's rooftop to the alley below, and touched to the ground almost silently. Maybe this boy was more trouble than he was worth, but there was something curious about his raw potential and the clear innocence of his age in conflict. His situation was a complicated one, and who knew, perhaps Cocoon could maybe take advantage of it. With such mental instability he could be shaped. He could make a great sidekick, or maybe an apprentice to continue his ideas and assume his identity if all went wrong.

No! The only name to ascend above all others would be Cocoon, and the one carrying it to that position would be Joseph Orson. Nobody else had the right to share that glory with him, and he wasn't about to offer a free ticket. Also, there was no place for self doubt in his quest. There was no way for him to fail, and making preparations for such a case was only proof that it was possible. Cocoon straightened up and prepared to pursue. With a thought the Cocoon Suit's surface began to visibly ripple for no more than a second before stilling completely, now reflecting light in all directions, rendering him practically invisible, immune to thermal detectors, a ghost to the naked eye, not without of course making sure that the Levani droid spotted him before vanishing. Any publicity was good publicity.

Cocoon took off behind the scuttling boy, maintaining an incredibly short distance between himself and his target. The kid entered the building and immediately made is way towards the elevator. Was he stupid? A working elevator in an abandoned building? Only a fool would...

Once again Cocoon found he needed to correct himself. The boy entered the shaft and with his newly formed legs began to climb it. It was rather unlike him to leave out such a feasible possibility. Judgment clouded by intrigue, maybe. Not wanting to continue dwelling on the matter Cocoon approached the shaft and leaned in to look up. The spider-boy was ascending rapidly, and somewhere above was the elevator itself, completely still, blocking the way. Cocoon needed to catch up, and quickly. Following his target up was an option, he had his means of doing so, but at such a close proximity in such a closed space there were a number of things that could go absolutely wrong. There was one way, though, that would allow him to arrive before the other. Later he would have to find the floor his target had chosen, but that would be taken care of later. Cocoon pressed his palm against the wall and began to press with considerable strength, far much more than a human of limited capacities. With a moment of concentration he detected what he was searching for; electrical cables within the structure. With a sudden push a small portion of the wall, no bigger than his own hand, gave way, small pieces of rubble toppling over and falling to the bottom of the shaft. They would make an echoing racket, that was unavoidable, but hopefully the boy would discard the unlikely option that an invisible super was following him and consider something else.

With the cement and brick obstacle now taken care of Cocoon wrapped his fingers around the cables and began to spark. A crackle later and he disappeared completely, his very electrical essence now rushing through the copper conduit within. It was a rushing sensation, a sensation of complete weightlessness an such movement that was impossible to experience with the limitations of a human body, or in Cocoon's case, a highly advanced piece of equipment. Moments later he regained his physical form suddenly appearing in a rapid flash of static energy next to a plug socket. Luckily enough he had encountered an exit near the stopped elevator, and that meant that he would soon see how the interesting youth managed to get by the steel cube in his path.

(Lilliana Groves, 1st District, Melody's Residence)

Lilliana listened calmly as first the old man and then the Piper herself denied her proposal's authenticity. Desperation? Ruthless may be a given. She had long ceased to involve human emotion in her decisions, but thoughtless? These assumptions of her character were wholly incorrect. She supposed she should be offended, but she was merely puzzled, another problem to solve. It was her entrance, so sudden and abrupt, but the Piper couldn't honestly expect people seeking her out to make a phone call. Her presence was like a whisper on the wind, and Lilliana had only been able to find her because of her father's information. Lilliana had no other way to approach the mysterious woman. Still, she supposed she should defend herself. She cared little for the opinion others held of her, but if she wanted the Piper's help, well...

"You two speak as if you know me," Lilliana observed aloud, surveying the old man and the Piper with an emotionless eye, "But be careful as to where your judgments lie. You cannot, at first meeting, know who I am or my motivations, but I will not waste time in explaining them to you. There is no point. I will, however, say that I came here neither out of desperation or thoughtlessness. As much as it may seem so, you are not my last straw. I came here to improve the odds. If everything is calculated, the chances are fairly decent even if I went about it alone. I am not without...advantages. However, it is best to act when the odds are high. As far as presenting a better offer..." Lilliana ran through her mind of possible options, but just as the Piper did not know her, she did not know the Piper. Still, she had many resources at her disposal and felt confident she could match any of the woman's terms.

"I suppose it better for you to name your terms as I have named mine," Lilliana continued, "I cannot pretend to know what you want, and I will not try. That is another waste of time. I shall give what you desire, anything. Not because I have no other choice but because I can." Lilliana stood stone-still as she waited once more. The likelihood of the Piper accepting was slimmer than she had originally predicted. If the Piper refuses to the end, Lilliana pondered on what other methods she could use but decided to wait. She would not leave the Piper easily, discouragement not being something she commonly felt. Still, she could not force the woman. It wasn't within her capabilities. Lilliana would just have to wait and see.

(Soren "Nightstalker" Hawkins, 1st District, Melody's Residence)

It was something like watching a three-way tennis match, one where there were no defined sides. For the most part, the ball just kept bouncing between the Piper and the Groves woman, but Crawford's contribution had been interesting as well, particularly the veiled warning to himself. The man might be paranoid, but to a certain extent, Soren was too. And that meant he wasn't going to take any warning too lightly.

Still, he was beginning to grow a bit bored. He had seen enough people willing to put anything on the line to get what they wanted that such an attitude failed to surprise him anymore. He spent a few moments contemplating the relative oddity of such a thing, but it made sense, after a fashion. living with the Levani was a high-stakes affair; you had to be willing to risk nearly anything to survive. Or be very good at remaining hidden. By that logic, the most unexpected person in their group was actually Ophelia.

But that was a train of thought for another time. For now, it behooved him to focus on the present. Just as well; Lilliana was now offering the Piper anything she wanted. Did this woman truly believe she was capable of giving anything that could be requested? Or was it simply that she wasn't planning on honoring the deal in the first place? "You speak as if the world was yours to dole out as you choose," he pointed out flatly, then fell silent once more. In all likelihood, the Piper had picked out the very same logical discrepancy; it was hard to miss.

His mind was slowly drawn in part from the scene in repose before them, and back pastward. Anything... I'll give you anything was indeed a request made only by the pressured. Only they could forget what such a thing meant for them, what damage giving carte blanche to another soul could do. People had attempted to ply his own will with it, before. Before they died, before he had felt the weight of another spent, wasted existence settle over his conscience, or at least the shreds of it that remained. Awful people, each and every one of them, wailing out the offer as though a lie might turn his blade. And still, no matter how clean the carbonized weapon, no matter how completely the blood that stained his hands might wash away, it still did not disappear. Good thing he was strong enough to bear the weight, at least for now.

Nightstalker removed his pocketwatch, flicking it open. Time was a funny thing; it moved so very inexorably. Intangible, and yet in the end, the single most vicious, sadistic killer of them all. Slave driver and executioner of men. But time also eased wounds, redeemed sinners, faded scars. So what had Lilliana choosing to make this offer now, of all times? She claimed to be simply tipping the odds in her favor, but the odds of what? Piper could easily ask fro her death as compensation, even if he did not think she would. So it wasn't the odds of survival. The odds of killing all the Levani? A great lot of good that would do you, were you dead. Altruism was clearly not a motivating factor here, so he was back to vengeance. Foolish, so very foolish.

(Ophelia Evans, First District, Melody's Residence)

Ophelia sat heavily onto the chair placed in front of the easel, eyes fixed on the blank canvas. She'd almost had it, nearly been struck with something powerful enough to paint, but it had disappeared, a wisp of ephemeral smoke in a breeze. Sometimes, the muse was like that, fickle thing that it was. Still, occasionally if she stared at a blank slate for long enough, she would begin to see shapes and colors forming upon it, and as she would move to seize upon it, the blurs would resolve into something more solid. All she needed to contribute to the equation was a measure of reality, and not even a complete one at that.

She could hear the slight modulation of voices from beyond her shelter. There was Melody's musical soprano, the other woman's slightly huskier tones, and Mr. Crawford's tone, too, a good deal raspier than the others, though perhaps it had not always been so. Even Nightstalker's low baritone sounded once. She wondered what had moved the most silent of them all to speak, but speculation on this would be useless.

Her eyes wandered to her paints once again. She'd chosen a number of colors that weren't intuitively coherent. Most of them were dark, but there were also bright yellows, reds, and even a purple. The artist fingered the jaggedly-cut ends of her inky hair, trimmed just recently with an ordinary pair of scissors. She hadn't wanted to use her art supplies for something as inconsequential as hair, after all. She probably looked a right wreck at the moment; she doubted many people came out of her day's experiences looking fresh anyway, so it mattered little.

"Hmm..." she muttered aloud. The room, oddly enough, had not contained a proper palette, so she laid a piece of dropcloth over the table and squeezed the colors directly onto that instead, organized by shade. Tilting her head to the side a bit, Ophelia ran her eyes over each color in sequence, images that each evoked flashing across her mind. Truly, though she could call to mind a hundred things to paint, nothing seemed quite right. Her mind moved instead to the gallery outside, and how each of the paintings was of the same subject, but in a fundamentally different way. Well, why not? She might as well contribute, but perhaps with something of a twist.

She spent a few more minutes laying out the image in her head, and then grabbed a pencil from the pile of supplies beside her. She'd have to sketch this one out first, just to make sure it came out perfectly.

(Crazie Crawford, 1st District, Melody's Residence)

Lilliana’s retort did little to quell the cynicism that marred Crawford’s features. She seemed to casually dismiss their concerns as one might shrug off an annoying insect. Her own confidence in whatever abilities she had was enough to make Crawford’s stomach roll and twist into knots.

“Reminds me of you know who.” Piped the falsetto, knowing better than to stir his keeper into a frenzy with mention of Machinas’ name. It was true, in a way, the doctor considered himself a god among men, blessed with his powers to craft the world as he saw fit. Clearly this woman had similar delusions of grandeur. She spoke as though single handedly she could crush the Levani, and help from the Piper was merely an afterthought. Melody the icing on the grand, elaborate and altogether phenomenal cake that was Lilliana Groves.

The woman continued, unceremoniously offering whatever it was the Piper desired in hopes to entice Melody into accepting her offer. Crawford’s brow furrowed, his mouth shifting to a confused curve. Did she really believe there was anything Melody wanted she could not attain? Save for perhaps a clean slate and a weightless conscience something no one Crawford knew could offer. Violet orbs gazed around the room, taking in the relics and art from ages past.

“Ridiculous.” The falsetto chirped.

Nightstalker, seeming to read the crazed supers rambling thought process conveyed his own doubts in her offer.

“This one would encourage you to seek and suck of other straws, deceiver. If truly calculation is all you need to bring those that come from the sky to their knees, this one would also encourage you to invest in a calculator….” Crawford replied, attempting to match Lilliana’s own bored impassive tone before draining his glass once again. “And an insurance policy.”

(Melody Wiesse, 1st District, Melody's Residence)

Melody shook her head, staring down the defiantly confident woman in front of her. She wouldn't blink; neither of them would. "If you've nothing more to say, I suggest you leave," Melody ventured. Silence. In a tone riding the border between boredom and annoyance, she purred, "Well, then; you've found my door. I trust you can find it again?"

Lilliana didn't budge. Melody stared as an angry, dangerous sort of distaste crept over her ivory face. Then, slowly she did a strange thing; breaking her stare with a "hmph," she licked her finger; quickly twirling her wine glass, she traced its rim with a rather apathetic though concentrated air. The glass began to sing; low and sweet, a long pure note bounced about the room.

The room shuddered slightly, a light breeze picked up. Golden glowing circles formed; around the wine glass, along the edge of the circular room, and in particular in the tiles around Lilliana. More music began to join the note; whether it was Melody humming or singing or something else entirely, it was too hard to tell in the rush. In a few refrains, the music and circles were gone--along with Lilliana.

In the new silence, Melody smiled to herself; though seeing the others' expressions, she said, "What? Don't look at me like that; I haven't killed her, just... relocated her, is all." She sounded out of breath. Topping off Crawford's glass again, she then filled her own and downed it eagerly.

(Zack Reynolds, 2nd District, Abandoned Building)

Wherever the follower was, he apparently hadn't reached the elevator shaft yet. Zack found it odd, considering that he'd been making so much noise as his metal limbs stabbed and pried at the bottom of the elevator cab; though he didn't dwell on it--it was hard to concentrate on anything for long right now, anyway. The floor had been torn out of the cab in a few seconds regardless, and it fell, ringing and clanging, down the many floors below. That should surprise whoever was following.

Moving fluidly through the hole and on to the floor, he proceeded to work on sending the rest of the surprise--the rest of the elevator--when something caught him by surprise from behind. It only took a single touch, because whatever had touched him was generating electricity somehow. In a rush, all the buzzing noises and images, prompts and strange feelings left Zack's head; the spidery metal legs even retracted. "Wait! What..." a metal conduit still extended from Zack's chest to what at first looked like thin air; though now as electricity rippled through him and back, he could see the shimmering outline of a human form. "Oh... Kay..."

(Lilliana Groves, 2nd District, Somewhere)

As the golden swirls began to eddy away, freeing up Lilliana's line of vision, she sighed. Her father had also vaguely mentioned things like that. Interesting, really. A physical shift made with no equipment and quick enough to take anyone by surprise, unless they had been expecting. Lilliana, to a certain degree, had seen some kind of brush off occurring. The woman hadn't been very receptive at all, and Lilliana had a feeling her persistence would be futile. Really. What an obstinate woman, she noted dryly. She had even said that she similar aims, so why would it be such trouble for her to accept Lilliana's proposal. At least, Lilliana salvaged, she had not been reduced to showing her talent. That, fortunately, had remained a secret to the prickly party. Now that she was once more out in the open, Lilliana released her robe from it's fold and swung it about her shoulders, not even bothering to pull the hood up. The conversation had been a waste of time, though she could probably file away the information for later, but she would not waste the day. Patting her pockets, Lilliana located her earpiece and tugged it out of her pocket, fitting it comfortable in her ear as she walked. The earpiece itself appeared to be regular ear-mic object, but it held many detachments, useful when needing last minute data from her super-computer back at base.

"Computer," she murmured with mild irritation, "Current location." The whir of machinery coming to life sounded in her ear as the long-distance call activated her super-computer. 2nd District, a very human sounding female voice echoed into her ear, a product of her genius father's odd tastes. Lilliana took in the information without so much as a blink, glancing swiftly around.

"Remove the Piper from the list of possible candidates and tell me who is next," she ordered in a bored voice. She would at least try to find the next one today. His name is Deus X. Machina. Ah, that's right, Lilliana thought to herself, the evil mastermind. Well, paying that one a visit should be interesting as well. Like the Piper, he was high on the list of useful people. In fact, if she could get his cooperation, it would well make up for the loss of the Piper. Master, if I may, there's been an electrical disturbance near your location. Would you like to investigate?

"Why would I need to investigate a common electrical occurrence?" Lilliana questioned out of curiosity. She knew her computer would not notify her of something like that if it was trivial. The culprit you find may prove useful in your plans, Master. Ah. There. She had her answer. Another recruit. Well, she supposed she could stop by and see. If she was lucky, she could recruit the mysterious person and Machina today, making up for her lost time.

"Send me the coordinates and information over the culprit. Afterwords, power off. I do not need someone dabbling in electricity to short-circuit my connection to you. That would be an unnecessary annoyance." Understood. Lilliana focused in on the screen that slid out from the eyepiece and slid in place in front of her right eye. She memorized the flow of data across the screen and quickly snapped the earpiece back into its original position, sliding it into her pocket as the screen went blank. Following the direction the coordinates had given her, Lilliana came across an abandoned building. Thinking back to her last unsuccessful and unannounced visit, Lilliana decided to hang back and watch first, focusing on a strange glow and at least one figure, all of it faint due to the distance. No matter. She would watch and approach when necessary.

(Soren "Nightstalker" Hawkins, 1st District, Melody's Residence)

A somewhat exaggerated blink was the only show of surprise that Piper's display elicited from Soren, which was actually quite something considering the source. Nevertheless, the qualification had been mostly unnecessary. He doubted very much that she would callously kill someone for irritating her. He'd known a few people who would, mind you, and it wasn't as though the idea was entirely outside the realm of possibility, but... he hadn't figured the woman for entirely unnecessary violence, anyway.

"Well that was..." several words came to mind. Pointless. Mildly irritating. Somewhat unexpected. "Interesting." He certainly did not receive unexpected visitors in his warehouse, but then again, it would appear the Piper didn't employ much of a security system. He contemplated offering to install one, maybe something a bit more old-school like his own defenses, but it was likely the case that if she wanted one, she could have had it already. Besides, since when did he offer anything to anyone?

With the interruption taken care of, Nightstalker moved to take a seat across from Crawford, positioning himself so that his back was to a wall, but not so close that it would hinder an emergency movement of any sort. He did quite dislike being taken by surprise. "I do believe you indicated you had something to ask me?" he inquired. Soren generally wasn't exactly rude, but he was direct as a rule, and occasionally people took this the wrong way. He very much doubted it would be an issue here, and if it was, well... there were other places he could be.

He'd taken something of a risk by following the Piper here, and he was looking for the payout: in this case, a satisfaction of his immutable curiosity. To invite this particular collection of oddities back to your home was an interesting move; it could potentially provide an risk of its own, but it had also put the ball most decidedly in Piper's court. What happened next was largely in her sway, though there was only so far she could push things before whatever tenuous string was holding this group together would snap. It could succumb to any number of pressures: Crawford's paranoia, his own indifference, or whatever was wrong with Ophelia (he suspected control issues). She'd have to handle things delicately, had she the intent to keep them in contact at all, of course. He was interested to see how it might play out.

(Joseph "Cocoon" Orson, 2nd District, Abandoned Building)

"Wait! What..."

As Cocoon emerged from the socket he pressed his body flat against the wall, listening attentively to the sounds of metal on metal, one of the two destroying the other. From the back of his neck a single wire emerged, extendable rubber with fiber optic innings and a single, sophisticated lens almost invisible due to it's size at the end. Like a sneaking tentacle belonging to an uncharacteristically stealthy sea animal it crept to Cocoon's right before facing the elevator doors. What the device observed was transferred directly to Cocoon himself, who then saw the figure of the spider-legged youth within the steel box, the floor now left in ruins.

Fully invisible and confident in his abilities, Cocoon stepped out from his hiding place, only a few feet away from the one he had been previously following, and continued to watch. The boy was nothing special up close. Blonde, with a normal complexion for the area, and a tonne of other uninteresting features that simply added to the general regularity of the kid. Where it not for the metal appendages that protruded from his skin every now and then he would be completely forgettable. It was only upon this closer inspection that Cocoon realized how much of a waste of his time this little stalking episode could have been. Yes, this boy obviously had some power, but how would that influence his own activities? Curiosity had been the main reason for pursuing, but Cocoon felt that his strangely inquisitive nature, on this occasion, had been satisfied. The boy didn't seem capable of much else apart from what had already been demonstrated, and he obviously didn't know what he was doing or why. That much was clear from his puzzled expression. What else was there?

Cocoon was about leave when the boy's attitude changed. No more than a few seconds had passed since Cocoon had left the socket and already he was bored with the scene played out before him. Boy arrives in building. Boy breaks through an elevator. Boy in confused. It wasn't his type of narrative, not that he had time for such meaningless indulgences as films or books. But, the sudden twist that may have seemed like little to a less attentive person was the plot turn that Cocoon needed to keep him intrigued. The legs had appeared to withdraw back into the kid, and even as they did so, something started to protrude from his chest. Like the spying eye attached to the Cocoon Suit it was thin, a conduit, and it appeared to be approaching him... the invisible follower. Impossible! Cocoon's technology was superior to any other. The latest developments. How could his camouflage be defeated by a mere boy? How... laughable. Out of pure interest, however, knowing that at one point he may regret such a foolish decision, he stayed put, following the conduit carefully with his vision, and as it got even closer he noticed that the boy's eyes sat firmly upon him.

"Oh... Kay..."

(Ophelia Evans, First District, Melody's Residence)

Ophelia stepped back, trying to take in the pencil lines from a wider angle. It was nicely proportioned, she thought, the figures laid out in such a way as to retain the impression of distinct individualities whilst simultaneously forming some kind of coherent whole. It worked, but not in the sort of way she'd been taught to expect. there were still a few things to work out before she set paint to it, of course, but it looked like it might be getting somewhere. This was major progress; most of the time, she scrapped at least three of four canvases before they got this far, reusing them, of course.

It was then that she felt one of the people in the other room simply disappear. From this distance, she could not pin down which emotional signatures belonged to whom or what they were, only that a certain number of people were present. A useful skill with human beings, but not so much with Levani droids, as it turned out. Still, it wasn't as though whoever it was had simply moved out of her range (which was no more than two hundred feet or so, regardless of walls or physical objects in the way), but rather that they had simply vanished.

For a moment, she was worried that either their mysterious guest had done something to one of the others or that Mr. Crawford had lost control somehow, and so she dashed from the room she was occupying to the one where the three remaining people could be felt. The door was open, and she breathed a sigh of relief when she saw that the missing one was the newest addition. The worry resurfaced, though, because she wasn't sure if the woman had left under her own power or not. Concerned, she glanced back and forth between the expressions worn by the others, but couldn't discern anything terribly useful. Whatever had happened, she hoped nobody was injured. Despite being rather wary and unsociable generally, Ophelia was not the sort to take pleasure in suffering, nor did she find the excuse of necessity particularly compelling.

Still, there was little use in speculating; the others were possessed of poker faces much too good for that. "What happened?" she asked, trying not to let the the slight twinge of worry color her tone.

(Melody Wiesse, 1st District, Melody's Residence)

"Everything's fine... I sent Ms. Groves away, is all." Melody gave her as warm a smile as she could manage, while trying to hide the bad taste of contempt the visit and subsequent removal had left.

Turning to Nightstalker, she said with a wry grin, "But I suppose it's my turn now; I wanted to talk to you because I have a job for you. No small assignment, either, even for the best thief in the city... You see, years ago I had a run-in with a fellow named Dr. Deus X. Machina; he managed to take something very important from me, and I'd very much like it back. I would reward you with a boon, as there are few things more useful than a person like me in your debt... Of course, this day and age, words and promises are taken so lightly," Melody said with a touch of disgust in her voice, "so we could also settle upon some monetary figure if you insist. That is, if you are interested?"

(Soren "Nightstalker" Hawkins, 1st District, Melody's Residence)

Soren's eyes flicked briefly to Ophelia as she reentered the room; the girl held some degree of interest for him, but Piper's proposal was much more immediate in that sense, and the Nightstalker's business sense was already kicking in. Admittedly, he had expected something like this. When people wished to discuss anything with him, it was usually about what he could do for them. It had been this way for quite some time. He was not so petty or demanding as to resent this; indeed, he found it a great deal more comfortable than most alternatives.

"Money is unnecessary," he replied evenly, at last taking a seat, crossing one ankle over the opposite knee whist maintaining perfectly upright posture otherwise. In truth, he had more of that than he knew what to do with; turned out stealing expensive things and selling them on the black market was a profitable business. Who would have guessed? A favor from another Super was a much more interesting form of payment, and one that would likely prove valuable, given the current state of the city. Of course, the very suggestion that he would be stealing from the infamous 'Doc Mach' himself was more than a little intriguing, and it was this more than any matter of compensation that would determine whether or not he agreed to the proposition. He'd actually contracted for the mechanical Super a few times, or rather for the android that passed for him. Soren's eyes didn't miss much, and the illusion of humanity presented there, while perhaps quite an excellent one, was not beyond the capacity of his sight to separate from a reality of the same. There was an understanding obviously that he was a 'henchman' in name only and by contract, and thus could very well end up working for different ends for and against the same individual at different times. Still, he knew enough to say that Machina's technological expertise would make taking anything from him quite the challenge, and would stretch his abilities and his creative applications of them to a much different level from those he had known.

Nodding slowly, he continued in much the same inflection. "I would, of course, need to know exactly what you are proposing I steal before I agree to anything. There are very few things I won't do; you'll understand if I only tell you what they are should you ask one of me." While not the sort to consider himself a good person, even the Nightstalker had standards. He would not, for example, deal in the business of trafficking people, an increasingly popular practice underground these days. His code of ethics, limited in scope as it was, was something the thief played close to his chest, and rightly so. Reservations were often transformable into weaknesses in the right mind, and this was not something he wished to make any easier for anyone, regardless of whether he thought it would eventually be used in such a way.

(Ophelia Evans, First District, Melody's Residence)

Ophelia may have been both naive and somewhat suggestible, but her empathetic sense did not lie, and she was forced to conclude that the exchange between Melody and Lilliana Groves had not been quite so unobtrusive as the immortal was implying. Nevertheless, it was certainly not her prerogative to decide what the Piper did with (or to, really) her guests, and she let the explanation go without comment. There were no obvious signs of an open confrontation, after all, and if she were being truthful with herself, Ophelia wouldn't have known what to do even had there been.

Taking up a cross-legged position on the floor rather than utilizing any of the elegant furniture, the artist listened intently as Nightstalker and Melody discussed business. Not that it was any of hers, exactly, but surely if they were willing to talk here, they would not mind? She had little experience with how Supers interacted, having only met one or two others besides herself up until earlier that day, and though she doubted these two were an accurate representative study exactly, they certainly were intriguing. She could say that of all the people she'd met today, actually. It seemed to Ophelia, though she knew not from where the impression came, that there was something big afoot, almost as though this particular convergence (temporary or not, she couldn't tell) of solitary souls was the beginning of something momentous.

It would, she thought absently, be rather interesting to see how it all turned out. It wasn't as though she had anywhere else to be, why not stay and discover what she could about them, and hopefully by extension herself as well?

(??? and Zack Reynolds, 2nd District, Abandoned Building)

An invisible conduit met with the metal one, and in a flash the boy's thoughts were gone. Here in its new host, the ghostly program flitted about in surprise and glee; (Now this is more like it...). Like stretching one's arms after just awaking, it spread, explored the advanced circuitry, listened to its stories, turned off the cloak; and inevitably, the consciousness of the host was found.

He could feel the capabilities of high-end hardware, the comfort of impeccable design, though it was the memories of the machine he found most interesting. Through browsing recent conversations digitally spoken and heard, the program felt it almost knew the man personally--well enough, anyway. With that in mind, it was time to set up the hook; the Doctor's homecoming had been long overdue.

Meanwhile, Zack let out a sigh, staggered, then straightened up again, rubbing his head. "Man, Doc. You should have warned me what a trip I was in for, I would have stolen some Tylenol or something." The invisible form in front of him phased into sight, and sprinted forward. Zack's eyes went wide; that thing is sentient... As a fist connected with his gut, Zack's form stretched and rippled past his assailant, silvery, like liquid mercury, then formed a shell around Cocoon.

Much, much clearer than the buzzing jumble of noise Zack had experienced, nevertheless Cocoon now heard a similar voice.
(You'll find you won't be able to escape the hold of my associate, Mr.... Cocoon, is it? So hear me out and it will be worth your while.)

(There are three ways this can go. In one, you cooperate, and in doing me a service I shall reward you in no small way. In the others, you do not cooperate, and my associate and I will either have to force you along with us as my latest toy, or I will simply kill you and take your suit as a prize, depending on whether I decide like you.)

(For the sake of time and convenience for both parties, I really do suggest you assist; you're the one with more to gain. I see a lot of promise in you, and together we could go a long way. Just help me to this building... (Pictures flash in Cocoon's mind) ...And I, Dr. Deus X. Machina, will personally make sure you won't regret it.)

(Joseph "Cocoon" Orson, 2nd District, Abandoned Building)

Cocoon silently watched as the metal conduit drew closer. Maybe it was the curiosity or something else entirely, but even as he knew it would have been better to run he stayed on the spot. The conduit met the spying tube that had emerged from his back, and immediately Cocoon felt different. Suddenly he felt bloated, or as bloated as a machine could feel, as if there was too much within him, about to explode. He felt his mind bare itself to whatever had infiltrated his system. That was the problem with having a brain based on tech; the information stored within was all organized, and couldn't be kept hidden by the forgetful nature of organic intelligence. Anything capable of breaching his inner workings would have full access to Cocoon's very core. That was the only weakness of his that he could call upon, something that he had always made sure to prevent, and there he was, exactly where he didn't want to be.

It wasn't a comfortable sensation, having one's body explored from head to toe from the inside. It was like a horrible virus spreading throughout his circuits and taking control. A thousand invading worms slithering through copper veins, writhing along at high speeds with incredible ease.

Without paying any attention to outer goings on the electrical presence that was Cocoon's thought abandoned all bodily functions. The invader's control was growing and would soon reach the mind. It needed to be protected. Every miniscule spark that ran through Cocoon retreated to the head and surrounded the main circuitry that made up his being. Whatever had infiltrated his defenses so easily would have to go through him first, but what was it? It wasn't a single being emitted that he could distort, or some sort of device that had been sneaked in that could be fried.

As soon as Cocoon left his body to focus elsewhere his body should have fallen. Instead, his cloak phased away, revealing his position to the accursed boy responsible for the situation. His lack of presence had left the Cocoon Suit open to manipulation, a risky move on Cocoon's behalf, but probably a necessary one. Unfortunately, this had been taken advantage of. The suit lurched forwards into a sprint, that much Cocoon could tell from within. It then threw a punch at something, and halted completely. Why this was Cocoon couldn't tell. He had withdrawn from most sensors, and only when a voice began to communicate did he begin to understand what was going on.

“You'll find you won't be able to escape the hold of my associate, Mr.... Cocoon, is it? So hear me out and it will be worth your while.”

He did not answer, but just the fact that this voice knew his name was enough to mean something. At least a partial part of his mind had been accessed. Either that, or this was a negative consequence of the fame he had desperately searched for. Interest piqued, Cocoon allowed a small portion of his electrical composition to leave the protective gathering and activate sensors. What he felt, what he saw, was a layer of metal holding him completely still. That explained the stopped punch.

“There are three ways this can go. In one, you cooperate, and in doing me a service I shall reward you in no small way. In the others, you do not cooperate, and my associate and I will either have to force you along with us as my latest toy, or I will simply kill you and take your suit as a prize, depending on whether I decide like you.”

The layered metal also backed up the mysterious menace's threat to control him. He couldn't stand to admit it, but he was at a disadvantage. Where he in control he would never let this other monologue in such an arrogant way. It made his suit crawl, as did being referred to as a possible toy. Cocoon was offended, and if this invader had indeed opened the suit's mind, then he or she... or it, would know that. That said, the promise of reward was an intriguing one. Just how much did this presence have to offer.

“For the sake of time and convenience for both parties, I really do suggest you assist; you're the one with more to gain. I see a lot of promise in you, and together we could go a long way. Just help me to this building...” Clear images burst into Cocoon's sight, a surprising feat considering his lack of vision . They were images of an unknown building. He had done worse, and more difficult things than finding random structures. If this was all the presence needed then collaboration was a serious possibility. “And I, Dr. Deus X. Machina, will personally make sure you won't regret it.”

So, the presence had a name, and a well known name at that. Dr. Machina had earned respect that Cocoon was not yet willing to give, but just the fact that he recognized the alias was enough to alter Cocoon's train of thought. It wasn't Machina's accumulated glory that interested him, but his resources, and technological prowess. This man, and he thought man loosely, could perhaps offer Cocoon exactly what he wanted; a recreation of his human body, upgraded to the point of being as powerful as the Cocoon Suit, immortal.

Of course, he had no reason to speak, or communicate at all. If Mr. Dr. Deus X. Machina had the capabilities to infiltrate the suit's mind then his thoughts were probably being recorded, or watched. That meant that everything had gone through his circuits had been transmitted to Machina, and there was no need to elaborate on the point. Cocoon wanted to get things over and done with as soon as possible. He was interested.

(Melody Wiesse, 1st District, Melody's Residence)

"...you'll understand if I only tell you what they are should you ask one of me."
Melody nodded in understanding, and smirked; of course, because that would mean *far* too much talking for the poor fellow. "You'll have to forgive me for being so old-fashioned... Though when dealing with Machina, that's generally the best way to go." Melody opened a drawer and pulled out a thick docket; she opened it to reveal page after page of neat rows of handwriting, detailed sketches, blueprints, and a few photographs in a messy pile with everything poking out at odd angles. "I've been going through them rather extensively myself, so there are a few other papers lying around that I'll have to collect for you; though this is the majority of my research on where he'd be hiding it.

"I don't know if you've heard much of Apotheosis, Co.,but you should know that it's been his toy company for quite some time now. Research, power, money, and an innocent front to hide some of his less than legal operations.... The works. One thing you'll find is that one way or another it owns most modern private security contracts and personnel world-wide; though it also helps that as a very diversified, vertically integrated company even before the Levani, he could afford to have thousands of legitimate warehouses and private shipping for everything from flowers to radioactive waste while outsourcing and collaborating with third parties to hide other trades like drugs, guns, and human trafficking." Various pictures and documents to confirm this passed from one hand to another as she sorted her way through the impressive stack. "Now that both the law and the king-god himself are absent, the trades that no one kept a record of are now truly working off the record as not-so-organized crime syndicates, squabbling over who gets what.

"Now, as far as how that relates, you have to keep in mind that not every item, research or information Dr. Machina's kept hidden is of an illegal nature. I'm hoping- well, no, expecting- that the Archivist is still hanging on to or keeping track of most of Dr. Machina's more personal pet projects, which would mean my kit is still intact and well-guarded. It would have been his "Pandora's Box" project and it would be old enough that Dr. Machina likely doesn't remember it, but the Archivist certainly will. I have files on both of them somewhere in here, that should be enough to give you a general direction. Any questions?"


(Dr. Machina, 2nd District, Abandoned building)

Sharing a construct was a new and vaguely uncomfortable feeling, though watching--if you could call it that--Cocoon as mixed flares of anxiety and interest played out through a symphony of circuitry made the experience well worth the trouble. Digital consciousnesses, Machina had found, are rather similar to the internet, only several thousand times more complex. He couldn't possibly process all the pieces and still remain sane; information had to be gathered from the periphery. Instead of accessing the internet directly, he'd devised a sort of mental browser; instead of attempting to download and understand the entire life and mind of another person, examine the recent records of what the speakers have said, what the microphones and cameras and other sensory features have logged away. You wanted Peanut to remember your name, did you? And such a showman about it all, too... Well; nice to meet you. Even now, as Cocoon receded, setting up walls to prevent Machina from browsing further into the memory banks of his equipment, little unfinished commands--the light clenching of a fist, the changing angle of the neck, the shift from foot to foot, the forming of words that, were he not so fortified within himself, Cocoon would have acted upon--served as a whole new form of body language. Were Cocoon more practiced in exploring machinery and his own circuits, he may have noticed the similar movements in Machina; though in this case, Machina had the better poker face.

He almost gave away a smile, seeing the reaction Cocoon had to his intrusion. He thinks I've read his memories, his very mind... Even if it was only an illusion, Machina would try to milk the appearance of god-like power as best he could. Cocoon was obviously unnerved, though obviously interested... The only tricky part would be finding or guessing the desires and motivations of his host without revealing what little actual power he currently had. Above all else, he had to get back; he'd have no more of this stumbling blindly about the city with Zack like a lost drunkard...

(Soren "Nightstalker" Hawkins, 1st District, Melody's Residence)

The masked man accepted the large sheaf of documents without comment on the somewhat-dated nature of the Piper's record-keeping. He himself, being an essentially paranoid soul who knew enough to recognize a potentially dangerous former employer when he saw one, had all his information backed up in a like fashion, in addition to keeping certain documents in that form alone. This was to say nothing of the security measures of his warehouse itself.

Leaning back in his chair, then, he divided his attention between what his prospective client was saying and the documents themselves. Burgundy eyes flicked faster than should be useful over what it would only be a slight exaggeration to call a ream of paper, filing the information away on the proper places within his highly-organized awareness. It certainly looked to be an interesting job; the building itself was far more secure than one would expect of a toy company, the first obvious clue that it was something other than what it professed to be.

It was rather brilliant, actually; there were two distinct layers of security. One, more visible and obvious, consisted of those things which a corporation of this size could be expected to afford and use: security cameras, guards, and even a few motion-detectors. Beneath this, however, was a schema that could probably only work for a technopath like the Machina himself. Soren, not for the first time, was glad of the technical knowledge he'd picked up over the course of learning to infiltrate increasingly-complex systems of protection. If he hadn't already been an experienced thief, he would have had absolutely no idea what he was looking at. As it was, that knowledge only served to make him appreciate it more. Not even the level one security guards would know the system was in place, and they could very well think themselves guarding a simple toy company.

If he was paranoid, Dr. Machina bordered on neurotic. Finishing with the last document, he looked up, glancing at the silent Ophelia and Crawford before making eye contact with the Piper.

"Two questions: who is the Archivist, and what, exactly, am I retrieving?" The name was one that felt familiar on his tongue, but he knew not why, which was a most unusual occurrence for him. This would have to be rectified immediately. The second question was even more pragmatic; Piper had mentioned a 'kit' but that could mean any number of things. He himself had several, but he doubted very much this one had anything to do with electronic signal disruption or lockpicking.

(Ophelia Evans, First District, Melody's Residence)

Ophelia wasn't quite sure how he was reading that fast (or how he'd remember any of it later, for that matter), but it apparently did not take Nightstalker long to come to some kind of decision, for he began to inquire after the specifics of the task not too long afterward.

She had to admit, she found herself somewhat curious as well, all things considered. What sort of thing had Dr. Machina, the world's most famous supervillain (though he was more an antihero where she lived now, and people spoke his name with a certain kind of reverence that one might not have expected) that Melody wanted? Or rather, wanted back? She could not imagine that it was a form of technology or anything; that didn't seem to characteristic of the fragmentary pieces she had seen of the woman thus far.

Maybe it was a artifact of some kind? Something linked to her powers? Ophelia knew she could continue this sort of wild speculation all day, really, but perhaps it would be pointless to do so. Amber eyes flickered between the two engaged Supers. Was it something they would even discuss in front of herself and Mr. Crawford?

(Joseph "Cocoon" Orson, 2nd District, Abandoned Building)

Maybe it was because of the concentrated energy to the brain, or maybe it was because, for the first time in years, Cocoon didn't consider himself to be the all powerful deity in control. Whatever the reason was, it was making him think differently to the norm. There was a lack of communication from the invading entity, and he didn't feel his body or mind being manipulated in any way. As fearful as he was at that moment pieces were beginning to fall into place. Of course, no rash decisions could be made. For once Cocoon was delving into rational calculations without the blinding ego throwing itself into the path of his mind's eye. He had to find Machina's weakness and turn the tables around. But, how?

Well, Machina wasn't completely in control, that was certain. If he was then the offer wouldn't be open for voluntary aid. Cocoon knew how people thought, or at least he considered he did, and if someone had the chance to control completely his advanced technology, then they would. Quite obviously there was something behind the scenes here, and Cocoon had to find out as much as possible to take full advantage of the situation.

The electrical energy focused around the mind began to disperse, leaving the circuits open to attack. Being light it would take no time at all to return to his defensive position. Quicker than an enemy digital conscience anyway. Hopefully, this unoffensive stance would show Machina that he was ready to deal. Though nervous, a life trapped in a metal casing wasn't one he truly desired, and collaboration actually seemed quite viable considering the rewards on showcase.

“Well then Doctor... state your terms and I will hear you out,” Cocoon said, making sure, as easy as it was being nothing more the electricity, that no emotion was shown in the tone. Any clue that Machina could obtain as to his intentions would tip the balance even more in his favour.