Snippet #2818453

Not far from the heroes, a jet-black BMW van rolled up. It drove slowly, in the shade, as two figures in the front seat observed the situation. Pyromancer sat in the driver's seat, hunched over, the goggles of his gas mask glowing a dim crimson hue. Maeve sat beside him, as his superior in rank. New recruits Spider-Blood and Scourge were tucked away in the back of the van, with the latter's obscene mass taking up much of the space. In each of their hands were a cone of ice cream (two cones for Scourge). Soft, creamy, and whipped into a swirling, classical shape.

"By the Lab Rat, this ensemble rides up somethin' FIERCE!" Scourge grumbled, his bright green, undead form obscured by the drab confines of a massive trenchcoat and hat set, exposing only his yellow, pupil-less eyes through the shadows. Half-eaten, cookies and cream ice cream had started to melt and trickle down the golden brown cones.

Pyromancer's gaze narrowed behind his goggles.
Others had arrived. Two unfamiliar faces behind unfamiliar masks. Pink-haired triplets. A roiling, eldritch, formless mass of black ink. ...Menagerie's Lost Asset? Pyromancer privately wondered. Capture if possible.

It was then that he noticed… her. White tabard. Silver plates that gleamed like pale moonlight. The Queen of the Damned. Slayer of Dark Crow. Champion of 100 Nights. The Dragon of Arizona.

His left hand clenched into his cone, cracking it open and scattering pink, melted globs all over the dashboard. He pulled the car into reverse, as quiet and gentle as he could.

Slowly, he turned towards Maeve, the fear palpable even through those emotionless goggles. "NAHLA's Silver Fang." He turned his attention back forwards, towards the shrinking group of heroes. "Seven of them. Four of us. Can't go in for a direct attack. Risk; Extreme."

"Whaaaaat?" Scourge whined, and nudged himself between Pyromancer and Maeve. "But this is what I'm here for! She's just a twig in an aluminum can, how bad can she be?