goshdarnspam | BETTER LATE THAN NEVER

[The blood stained the soles of his black shoes as he walked through the newly dripped puddles, causing a splash of plasma against the cold cement floor. The Riddler walked around the hanging corpse of his latest victim, clucking his tongue in mild dissatisfaction. Another disappointment, he thought. Another mind far too amateur for his brilliant challenges.]

And I had such high hopes for a physicist.

[The way the victim's gray skull content dripped down her cheek offered him no condolence. Baryon minus lepton with help.]

A blade, my dear.

[And now he had to clean the brain off of his, how rude. Edward strolled to the back table, which hosted his three (temporary) mainframe computers. His current warehouse was suitable only for a few more days, he knew.

Or perhaps even less.

An intruder was detected around his premises.]

[ It's February 14th, and today was going to be saved.

It had been a while since Calendar Man had last tried to save the day. He had been wounded badly at New Year's and had to take some time to heal. It was good there wasn't many good days in January. Days that didn't need to be saved.

Sweet little cupid creatures flutter around his head as he attempts to sneak into the Riddler's warehouse. He sent seven of them off to scout around the building, and seven to stay behind with him. The creatures aren't particularly powerful, but they're the only backup he has.

And besides, it's the fourteenth. He had to summon them today. Just as he has to save lives today. It's not a choice - it's a necessity. ]

[He caught glimpses of the beasts, on his digital interface. Tiny, winged hallmark cards -- the sort of arsenal that could only indicate one man.]

Julian Day.

[Eddie loaded two .44s, deciding that perhaps he should be somewhat straight to the point, upon this encounter.]

[ Three of his cupids had returned. They told him, in their way, what the building was like. There was a window nearby that could be broken into easily with some help. He headed that way. A fourth cupid returned, with new news.

There was a heart beating somewhere in this warehouse.

Hopefully it was Riddler's victim. Hopefully Edward Nygma was out. He ordered the cupids to keep a look out, and checked his sleeve for his tools. ]

[He watched it enter through the vent. The babyish arms squirmed against the iron wrought blockade, the white feathered flappings flickering to the ground.

A little, golden-locked head poked through. A tiny body wiggled past soon after.

Edward aimed, and fired. The tiny thing plummeted to the hard cement floor, cracking upon impact.]

That ought to lure you, Day.

[ Julian didn't know he had lost one at first, but he thought he heard a gunshot. The other cupids, however, knew immediately that they had lost one of their own and who had killed it. ]

Show me.

[ He was on his way. Breaking through the window and chasing after the cupids, who flew before him. They were agitated, as was he. ]

[Edward watched the display motionlessly. Only his sharp, smug smile indicated any hint to his thoughts. In his hands were his guns.]

Do excuse the mess, Julian. I didn't have time to clean up.

[ The cupids flutter around Julian's head. He eyes the guns, knowing that he will probably have to sacrifice a cupid or two.

His voice is calm, but there's an edge to it. Too late. ]

Calendar Man. [ he pauses, viewing the scene, calculating ] I don't think this would be considered a romantic evening, Riddler.

[ Felicia lowered herself down to the floor by the thick cord she kept around her waist, nimbly leaping down and surveying the puddles on the floor, the corpses. ]

Another one?

[He closed his eyes, an indecipherable movement behind his tinted mask. A smirk crept over his lips and he shook his head. He had modeled his security off of Felicia's techniques -- she was the best at sneaking into any spot, after all. He built it to her standards, and still she sneaked.]

Of course, my dear, why wouldn't I?

Oh, I don't know. I thought you might get bored. [ She shrugs, putting down her pouch of pilfered goods. Not just jewelry, there's computer files with life-ruining information in there, life savings in cash bonds. ]

You know me. Ever the optimist. [He paused, stepping towards her, and pulled one gun from the holster under his green blazer.] I keep hoping for some worthwhile competition. Someone to really make my experience noteworthy. But all I get are --

[He whipped out the pistol, and shot the corpse in the head.]

Airheads.

Maybe that means a vacation is in order. [ She leaned on him, draping an arm around his waste and looking boredly at the dead body. ] Maybe the pickings are less slim out of the city.

[He was fighting down the uncomfortable feeling that he was far too late. Of course he'd followed the trail as well as he could, but he wasn't a detective, he was a psychiatrist, and as a psychiatrist felt some degree of responsibility towards the man who was currently on his laid-back, intellectual murder spree.

Fear leapt up and twisted in his gut as he crossed the threshold of the warehouse. Fear that he'd fail. Fear of bodily injury. Fear of death. Fear of the death of others. No turning back now, no matter the pounding of his heart that felt like it was leaping up into his throat. No taming that snake inside.

He was knocking on the door. No need to crash in through the skylight, he wasn't here to intimidate.]

Nygma?

[just a little raspy.]

I'm here to help you.

[Eddie's hand froze as it hovered over his computer mainframe. A snarl wrapped over his features, one quick and momentary. He slid his eyes over to the left, nothing his riddlecane (and the blade within). The two knives in his jacket, wrist-ready. Doctor Jonathan Crane knew he was here.

Eddie needed to update his security measures.]

Doctor. Why don't you join us?

[he opened the door, and stepped in, movements quick and light and wishing once, just once he could do this thing with full control of himself. The anxious performance butterflies weren't exactly helping.

And then he saw the gruesome display of hanging meat and slapped a hand up to the mask's grinning mouth and tried, really tried not to vomit into it.]

Oh lord--Edward. You--you shouldn't do this.

[Over the years he'd made quite a name for himself. A name, but rarely an identity. For as widespread and easily accessible as this killer was for business, he was virtually impossible to track down for any other means. Transactions and meetings tended to be kept at a distance, drop off points and concise phone conversations, all kept to a minimum and never involving face to face. Bond liked it that way, his only interaction with another was his next victim, sometimes short and sweet and done from afar, and sometimes- if the money was there- slow, painful and exceptionally professional.

As far as assassins went, he was the full package, jack of all trades and an expert in all. Stealth was one of his many selling points, but just for today, that might not be quite on his priority list. One can only hope not, if he's already been detected, and he's not exactly hiding himself away despite the clothing, all black, with the hood up on his zip-up hoodie, along with a black face mask covering from the nose downwards.

The rooftop opposite the warehouse had been a good vantage point and Bond spent a good while observing silently, thermal imaging a slight aid, but a general layout of the area being his main aim.

They'd said his target would be a challenge, but that only tempted him further.]

Someone was robbing a bank. And Sandman was going to stop them.

It was relatively easy, smothering the hapless robber in sand and sweeping the guy up, depositing him on top of a lampost.

Jeeze, this isn't why he took this gig. Being a hero was all work and no payoff. Flint shifted back into his normal form, ready to head out on patrol again.

The robber's sack full of dough was still there, filled with a ton of green. It'd be so easy to just take it, pay some bills, buy something nice --- it was way better than the sort of stuff everybody else in this hive got away with. And if he didn't take it, some other chump would.

He hesitated, not moving off just yet.

Nobody would miss the money, would they?

"They say you can resist everything except temptation."

The space between the two potted plants outside of the bank was suddenly occupied by a tall, thin, grungy looking sort of spectre.

"It is federally insured money."

[ Max spends most of her time in the basement of the terrible apartment building she bought in an awful part of the city, working on growing her network and keeping in touch with her contacts and making new ones. She comes out to get groceries or new supplies. Mostly, though, all contact with her is through her encrypted texts, signed either Nyx or Delphi. ]

[One of the things Jon always wondered about in his darker moments was--why was it so many brilliant people turned inward, were tormented by sophisticated demons of the mind and soul that their ordinary contemporaries could barely conceive of. "Evil", to use a charged term, fascinated him. He couldn't look away from it.

And he came to realize the wickedness of men lay more often in the fears they had. That terrified animals were wont to scratch and bite even the hand that fed them, that nameless fears haunted all their shadows and they were aggressive, defensive, miserable, depressed, self-and-world hating because they feared.

It wasn't always so simple, nothing was. But he kept his office open anyway, in the daytime.

And at night he wandered out into the hostile environment and tried, really tried, to put down those demons.]

[ A man is only a man as long as he accepts, and wishes to be a man. When a man lets go, and allows himself to become something different, that is when the true potential comes out. Humans had such a limited amount of potential, they could only go so far, but they were useful.

This one couldn't be that different from a world that he'd conquered in the past, could it? There had been so many, it was hard to keep track.

He generally laid low, but even he needed experiments, something new to work on. Machines only went so far, and he needed something live. ]

[It was rare for Bond to meet with any potential customers. Meetings were too personal, too dangerous and yet... he can't help but be intrigued. Fellow imPorts are always fascinating, like an elite few all part of something bigger.

Even so, James is just there for the business, and when meeting one of these 'elite few' within the quiet confines of a mostly empty warehouse, he can't be blamed for being overly cautious. His black hood is up but the face mask is down, gaining enough cover for now from the dull lighting of the area for both visibility (or lack thereof) and places to hide should gunmen storm the place. Paranoia never hurt anyone and he can't be blamed for packing his own heat, a pistol tucked away in his waistband and several blades concealed against limbs, along with on hanging at his belt.

The waiting is the worst bit...]

[ The soft clack-clack of his footsteps gave him away. It wasn't the sound of feet, but more of a arachnid noise, if one could hear an arachnid move. The gait itself was reminiscent enough, regardless. He'd worn his own hood, but it wasn't precisely necessary.

Nobody knew his face. It was more of an acting out sort of thing. If one was going to become something, might as well go all out. He'd always had a penchant for heroes and villains, anyway.

The spidery mechanics attached to his waist, the tubes linking him to the rest of the machine shuddered when he stopped before the other one. Silence filling the room. ]

Well, you're the one I've heard so much about, aren't you?

[James had done his research, he knew what to expect, but he wasn't quite prepared for the freakshow before him. Not that he'd ever quite so eloquently voice such words to anyone giving him money. He knows his role; keep quiet, do the job, get paid. It's a very simple process that he's not about to fuck up by pointing out peculiarities.

With a single step forward, James puts himself into view, head tilted as he gives a sweeping gaze of the other.]

All good, I hope. I have a reputation to uphold.

You have two choices. Both of them involve getting the hell out of my way. One of them ends with you in a coffin. Pick one. I dare you.

[ Julian is standing in the middle of the police station. These days this place doesn't amount to much, but that doesn't mean its existence isn't inconvenient for him. Besides, it's been too long since he made his presence felt.

There's a group of six officers around him, all pointing guns at him. He has no weapon at all, unless you count the metal gauntlets held at his side. They're surrounded by the green energy that indicates they're held there by telekinesis. They aren't armor. They're what passes for his hands these days.

Their presence, and that glow around them, should have been an indicator that bullets were nowhere close to being enough to stop him. But that didn't seem to bother this crowd. Wow, he really had been quiet for too long. They must have forgotten. Either that, or they really couldn't think of anything else to do. ]

I'm only gonna warn you one more time. Get out. Or I'll kill all of you.

[ He says this with complete calm. And their commander seems to take heed, too, because his hand his shaking and he looks afraid. Then he does the absolute stupidest thing he can, and tells them to fire. Their bullets are caught instantly, slamming into a dome of green energy that suspends them in mid air. Julian holds it for a second. ]

Your call.

[ And he flings the bullets back at them, not caring about aim so much as force. He hits them all in different places, a couple in the stomach, one in the chest - missed the heart, so that guy probably has a collapsed lung, that'll be painful - and the commander himself got a bullseye right through the forehead. Julian glances around at the damage, barely even taking satisfaction from it. These guys are just cannon fodder. His target's much bigger than them. He steps over the bodies and moves further into the station.

This is gonna be fun. ]

[ Even from outside the police station, Erik can feel it when the bullets are fired, when they stop, and when they are shot back in the direction they came from. The movement of the metal is enough to make him smile faintly in a proud manner.

The door blows open as he strolls into the station, stepping over a body with a fleeting, disdainful look in the man's direction. He raises an eyebrow as one of the men, slowly bleeding out on the floor, reaches for his gun, trying to aim it with a shaking hand. ]

Homo sapiens and your guns...

[ The gun disassembles itself in mid-air, the pieces floating for a moment before clattering to the floor. A single, unfired bullet remains airborne, hovering motionless for a long moment before it is suddenly forcing itself through the man's skull.

He is in no hurry, but it is not long before he catches up with Julian. ]

Enjoying yourself?

[ He punctuates the statement with the raise of an eyebrow. ]

[ Julian turns when Erik talks, and sees him facing down a gun held by a dying man. That was almost brave. Trying to fight when you had nothing left to live for, when you’d already lost. Brave.

But stupid, and irrelevant. As irrelevant as the lives of all these flatscans. They didn’t matter. They couldn’t even make themselves into a threat. Challenging the Master of Magnetism with a gun? It was pathetic, and the man got the reward he deserved. Brave, maybe. But that wasn’t enough. It never had been. Julian watches Magneto work with a smile fleeting on his face. ]

I’m getting there. Idiots like these aren’t even a challenge anymore. You’d think they’d learn.

[ He crouches down beside the commander’s body, and one metal hand closes around his security pass. Julian doubts there are many prisoners here. Most of his main targets for release will be held in places a hell of a lot more secure than this.

But this will get their attention, and that’s what he’s going for. He wants them to know he’s coming. He wants them to expect him, to try and stop them. Because the fear when they realise they can’t will make it all the sweeter. ]

If I’d known you were in the neighborhood, I’d have called first. [ He runs the security pass through the receptacle on the wall, and the door behind him swings open. ] But I’m glad our paths crossed. It’s been too long.

[ Erik gives a slight shake of his head, seeming to agree with the sentiment that it is too easy. But he isn't here to look for a challenge. He idly watches Julian's actions, somewhat curious what the teen is up to, but not bothering to ask. He is sure that his actions will become apparent with time. ]

Charles and I had some negotiations to attend to.

[ The tone in which he says "negotiations" suggests that it was more like a case of Charles informing someone what they wanted, and that person doing it, no questions asked. ]

He noticed you nearby. Suggested I come over while he finishes attending to business matters.

[ He glances in the direction of the open door, but waits for Julian to make a move before following. ]

You know that you are always welcome at the mansion.

[ The mansion in question is in the northern portion of the state-- not in San Francisco, but closer to Napa. If they were going to live on the west coast, they might as well be in the heart of wine country.

Erik and Charles had moved out of the HIVE as soon as they were able, eager to put some space between themselves and some of the more unsavory residents. Once they had picked out a home for themselves (along with any other mutants who desired to live with them, or other powered individuals from different dimensions deemed to be kindred, even if they had not been called "mutants" in their own world), it had been an incredibly simple matter to convince the right individuals to sign over the property to the two of them. ]

[ Julian smirks at the idea of negotiations. As if Charles Xavier would ever need to negotiate with anyone. He’d almost have liked to be there, just to see them at work. Charles and Erik do good work, and there’s a reason Julian still counts them allies. But at the question of the mansion, his jaw tightens. ]

I know. [ He pushes the prison door open and steps through. His powers hold it for Erik, if he wants to come. ] I can’t. I don’t do well with stone walls. Breaking them is too tempting. And besides, I have a job to do.

[ He looks at Erik now. Negotiations weren’t Julian’s style, forced or otherwise. ]

This isn’t my target, Magneto. This is a dry run, and a low level at that. Those clowns were easy. I’m dreaming bigger, a lot bigger.

[ While he’s saying this he’s moving into the guard’s office, swiping the key card into the system and getting the inner door open as well. From here what he’s doing will be manual. ]

I’m going to Atwater, and I’m bringing it down. You and the Professor are welcome to play. Feel like a break from stone walls?

[ At this he turns to the prison, but doesn’t go inside. He holds his hand out and concentrates on the jail cells. Their doors start flying off their hinges, one by one. ]

BETTER LATE THAN NEVER

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Open; making bad guys good guys 'cause that's how I roll

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OPEN alt account why not

OPEN; fuck it i am taking a break for this :')

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Open!

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