Snippet #2817956

Atlas City Memorial 11:22 AM. The last speaker got a standing ovation for his heartfelt words of encouragement to the surviving friends and family of the Beast's victims. In the row next to the target, Precipitator was busy comforting an older woman. An old relative of hers, perhaps? A friend? A retired hero? Perhaps just a stranger she happened to sit next to and was comforting out of kindness. How noble.

Next to her were the five other members of SixStorm. Category-5 sat furthest to the right of the group at the end of the row. Perfect. His ability to read the flow of the wind currents needed to be taken to consideration and him sitting right at the end, made the trajectory of the projectile all the more easy to calculate.

A quick read of the old woman's vitals revealed she was not in perfect health. Palpitations in her lungs were currently on the rise given her current state of mind. Nothing would feel amiss when the dart hit her neck and she slumped over. Too tiny to see with the naked eye, the number of supers purported to have heightened senses were taken to account. Particular those with enhanced sight and hearing. None were in this row or two rows in front, but the cluster of seats adjacent to them, had two right within ear shot.

A risk perhaps, but a disk-drone was launched from the barrel. No bigger than a fly and remote controllable immediately after release. It'd emit a high frequency sonic wave. Annoying enough to turn attention to or catch the ear of dogs but otherwise it was nothing but a distraction. It land and bury itself within the sands after five seconds. Just long enough for those in attendance who could hear it to wonder what it was before being distracted by something else.

If Silentium was lucky, they'd even investigate. They couldn't trace it back to him if they tried. After all, even if they'd managed to follow the trajectory, he was never in the exact same place twice. His teleportation matrix was assure that. And thanks to his stealth field he would not be seen or heard either.

The old woman was in a catatonic state. Temporary. The dart had already dropped off. and fallen to the floor. Tiny robotic legs sprouted from it and carried it away from the scene. The puncture wound was miniscule and would not be seen right away. Even if it had he'd enough time as per his calculations. Heightening audio receptors...

"Nana! Nana! Oh no, it's her heart! She can't-"

An internal smile. More of a smirk. The entire teams began to panic. It seems the family connection was spot on. good. It would breed more irrationality. Pre-existing conditions meant she was less likely to check for external causes, less likely to ask for the opinion of any super qualified to examine her medically. And why would she. Checked for fever, checked her heart. Either way she wouldn't discover where he dart struck.

And what's more it was but a blip in this massive crowd, but a distraction She wouldn't want to disrupt the ceremonies. A phone call. An ambulance. Precipitator would carry her out of the premises. And her team would follow. A show of solidarity. Such nobility should be commended.

A quick scan of the target's row. Mindscape, a telepath sat it front. His helmet was an eyesore, but he shouldn't be a problem. A lot of ex-military and street level supers. Not an issue for his purposes, but as a precautionary measure, a disc-drone. Behind the last row of seats was a long line in order to get some refreshments. It was a long ceremony after all, even in this tepid weather people would get parched.

A quick scan of the line, showed a variety of supers, none posing an immediate threat. One was of interest, however. A speedster, with a containment suit. Appeared to be designed to house an unstable body. Perfect. The punch gets poured in and the drone follows. Run a quick diagnostic scan, and have the drone emit counter-vibrations to reverb against the speedster's vibrations and she'd experience a sense of violent vertigo.

Lashing out, she knocked the punch cooler, earlier and vomited on the floor. This was enough of a distraction to garner the attention of most of the backrow. What's more, the paparazzo had begun to swarm in. He couldn't ask for a better distraction as some reporters and other officials in the row of George Carlisle began to turn their heads. And all those sitting out in front were none the wiser. Silentium raised his rifle. No trick shots this time. This one would be plain and simple. Quick. Clean. And silent.