Log:What Happens in Tranquility Base

2019/10/30 	 Hotfoot Victory Copycat Quiet Bluejay Sentinel Mortua Al Chemist Alpha Forge 1

Now that the heavy hitters have hit heavily and created a beachhead on Tranquility's upper level, it's time to storm the beach. Well, Moon. This latter wave of shuttles are some of the nicer specimens of what was repaired and refitted. Nice meaning that the ones for personnel have seats, harnessed, wings, engines, and at least one pilot. The tow boxes and barely capable craft are being utilized for cargo. This group even has a copilot nice enough to act as crew chief to help folks into a seat and ensure they're strapped on in.

Copycat climbs on board, taking a deep breath. She didn't exactly check this with Sentinel beforehand, instead firing off a text at the last minute like a coward. She presses something on her smartwatch, and a vanta black material spreads out from it, quickly encasing her in a formfitting black space-worthy suit with a glassy tinted visor. She flexes her fingers a little as she feels nervous energy building up, then sits down in one of the seats. The petite heroine rests her hands on her knees, trying to psyche herself up. . o O (You can do this. You're a hero! You're in control...)

Rei isn't Stareguard but she can, and will, help in the current crisis. Rei is late getting into action as she was in the midst of rebuilding her battlesuit when this all started. Hurried work and 16 hours days later she's finally ready to offer what assistance she can. To which end she arrives at Starguard HQ in Colonial Bay and asks to see whoever is in charge.

Victory climbs on board as well. He gets himself strapped in without any difficulty. Heck, he could be piloting, but...might as well let the regular SG pilots do their job. The rest of the time waiting is spent double checking battery levels on his gear and various other system checks. He says to the others on board, "Thanks for coming along."

Copycat may have just now remembered about having to clip in. "Of course!" she says as she tries to figure out the straps to her harness. She's a bit lost for a few moments as she sorts out what goes where.

With rush of wind, Hotfoot appears at the Landing Field. She had seen a post on HeroNet calling for assistance - on the Moon! She figures if nothing else she can carry messages and supplies, so here she is.

After getting sorted out with the other metas who've turned up, she's assigned to a shuttle and climbs aboard...then groans when she sees The authority figure, Victory.

Hotfoot tries to keep her feelings to herself. After all, she volunteered for this. She finds the empty seat furthest away, and - eventually - asks for help with the safety harness.

Rei is directed to a shuttle and hastens aboard at the last moment, rushing to a seat and buckling in. Glancing around she nods politely to the others already there. "Most sorry for lateness."

Co-pilot/crewchief checks folks and their harnesses, though those recognizable as familiar with the process only receive a visual; others get their's tugged on, just in case. There are a number of "irregulars" going up as support, afterall.

There's a rapping of armored knuckles on the bulkhead as the pilot, a young woman with short blonde hair, looks back into the cabin to check on crew and chief. The latter gives a thumbs up once everyone's good, which os echoed back by the pilot. As the pilot turns back to spin up the engines and close the hatch, it becomes apparent that one side of her face lost a duel with a flamethrower, or perhaps a lawnmower. Hopefully it was not a result of crashing the last shuttle?

Fortunately, nothing explodes on takeoff. Unfortunately, the pilot promptly cues up some ancient Frank Sinatra on the intercom. And yes, THAT song. The co-pilot immediately groans, and it becomes clear why when the song loops for the fourth or fifth time.

By the time the shuttle arrives, everyone may well be more than anxious and able to rapidly exit the craft: even those unfamiliar may have read/asked/memorized the important details on how to get the heck off the craft. On the other hand, any who thought they might be nervous, space sick, claustrophobic, or otherwise might have completely forgotten that discomfort in lieu of the audible one.

Hotfoot is familiar with THAT song from having watched Evangelion re-runs, so it doesn't bother her so much.

Victory sighs on the fifth time through the song. "Can't we at least get another Sinatra songs? Any of them?"

The co-pilot is at the hatch and opening it up the moment it's equalized. He also helps others out by... leading the may and making sure there are no obstructions. He's the first out and promptly gone. That's not procedure. They might grond him for that. Which could be the point.

Copycat is quick to unfasten herself, more to get out of the confines than escape the music. She'd been gripping her harness for dear life the whole time, even though it's not her first space flight. She's more focused on trying to keep control on the mission and building up her shaky confidence.

Rei looks up from where she has been writing and sending emails during the trip. Unbuckling the seat harness she stands. A moment later hi-tech sections of an advanced battlesuit start to appear around her, starting at her feet and rising up her legs and torso to her head. "How may I be of most assistance?" she asks.

Victory smiles and unbuckles himself. He then looks to Copycat, "You look nervous. You were on the mission to Antartica, right? Fought Overlord? This should be a piece of cake." He gives her a reassuring pat on the shoulder as he heads toward the hatch. "Bluejay, I'm not entirely sure. It's going to be based on what we find. But we need to make sure things are locked down or prisoners transferred out as need be."

Bluejay nods, "Hai." Se follows Victory for now.

Copycat nods a few times. "Yeah, that was me. I guess...I'm just not used to working with new teams," she chuckles nervously. Most of her confidence gets borrowed when she shapeshifts. "It is just a support and secure mission," she says to convince herself. That seems to get her to relax more.

Victory gets out of the shuttle and into the base itself. "I guess...time to assess the situation."

Hotfoot manages to unbuckle herself, and follows the others out. She notices that the pink-haired girl seems nervous. "Hey. We got this, right? I mean...I'm new to this scene, but Solomon says I'm ready, so here I am. I'm just not so sure about taking orders from Mr. 'V for Victory' up there."

Hotfoot continues, "I've seen guys like that...all talk and no action." She sounds bitter.

Bluejay turns to Hotfoot, "Victory-san is a experienced and capable hero and leader." She bows slightly, "I am Bluejay."

Exiting the shuttle through the airlocks leads into a semi-circular 'terminal' of sorts, where the other two airlocks converge with the one used. There are lockers for pressure suits, some of which still contain said suits. A portion of the terminal is already filling up with unloades supply containers not yet relocated: primarily medical supplies and command & control of comm equipment.

A single short corridor links the terminal to the main ring of Level 1. Just opposite that intersection is a security/reception office, with technical personnel working on repair security and monitoring systems. A UEMS Liason stands in the junction with a datapad: logging and directing arrivals.

Hotfoot says, "Then maybe he's different, but he's still the Man."

"Why's that? He seems like a nice guy," Copycat murmurs cluelessly as she clicks her watch, her destreum spacesuit getting absorbed back into it. "I mean," she glances his way. "You really think so?" she asks Hotfoot concerning all talk.

"The...who?" Copycat gives Hotfoot a clueless expression. She looks to the two other new people. "I'm Copycat, by the way." She raises a hand to give a tiny waggle of fingers as a wave.

Victory glances back to Hotfoot after the comment is made. He just furrows his brow, not bothering to respond directly. What woudl be the point? He had figured that there's enough available in the way of news reports or footage on InstaTube that his reputation would be known better. At least by someone coming on the mission with them. He stops by the UEMS Liaison. "Hey there. I'm Victory, with SGG Colonial Bay, and these folks are with us to help with logistics. What do you need to complete here?"

Hotfoot says, "Solomon calls me Hotfoot, on account of how I burn up the road. He's a cop, right? One of those space cops? That's what I've seen of cops. They say they're gonna catch the guy that killed...never mind who, but they end up blaming him for getting killed and stop looking for who did it. That's what I'm talking about."

Copycat's eyebrows knit together as she tries to follow along. "Um, not exactly cops, but he's with Starguard Gamma. Wait, you're saying someone blamed Victory for someone getting killed? I have -no- idea what you're talking about..."

Bluejay shakes her head slowly, "I can understand your rage against those who failed you. But you should not extend that rage to those who have not. The label is not the man." She turns back to where Victory is talking to UEMS. "I am skilled in technology. I can also lift and carry."

Hotfoot says, "Naw, they didn't blame Him, they blamed the guy who got killed. Said it was his own d@#% fault."

Hotfoot says, "They didn't get the job done...didn't find the killer."

The Liason answers the question without even looking up from the datapad initially. "Supply containers ending in 0134 to 0136 go to the Med Bay: follow the corridor to the left, it's on the right, marked. After that," the Liaison stop and looks up as the name finally registers. Throat is cleared. "Help is needed with prisoner transfers. Level 2. There are still some trying to riot, but they're 90% contained. It's the ones still in their cells that are the problem. Some don't want to come out. Others... we're not so sure we want them to come out. But they can't stay here. Elevator is past the Med Bay two junctions. Down to Level 2."

"Uhh, Starguard doesn't even investigate murders. They're a military organization," Copycat tries to ease Hotfoot's tension. "Anyway, we've got...well...something more immediate to deal with? I trust Victory if he's with Starguard. One of my trainers is a member. They're good people."

Victory nods to the UEMS official. "Where are they being transferred to? Just so I'm clear when we talk to them. Planetside?

Hotfoot says, "Well...I'll be watching him."

"Correct," the UEMS agent confirms. "They'll be transferred to Stronghold or temporary facilities, dependent on risk and behavior." He pauses and then leans towards Victory. Not quite a silent whisper, but not quite a stage whisper.

Copycat sighs. "You don't trust him? Fine," Copycat says as she suddenly sprouts upwards and broadens into a bracerless Victory. CopyVictory takes a moment to sort out his general emotional state. "Yup. Genuinely an honorable guy. And we're on the same side," he states solidly.

"Correct," the UEMS agent confirms. "They'll be transferred to Stronghold or temporary facilities, dependent on risk and behavior." He pauses and then leans towards Victory. Not quite a silent whisper, but not quite a stage whisper.

"A UEMS Executive Order was also issued: at UEG discretion, any prisoners willing to cooperate and assist in the crisis can receive special dispensation and consideration on current or pending sentences for good behavior." He looks to the others in the group and back. "That leaves it your decision for those you handle."

Hotfoot says, "How heavy are those supply containers? I can get them to where you want them fast, if they're not too heavy."

Victory says to Hotfoot, "Not too fast, mind you. Medical supplies will likely have breakable things in the crates. We woudln't want to make this a wasted supply trip."

Bluejay looks at the supply crates. "There are three containers to go to the medicial bay. I can carry one. Can either of you carry one on your own? Or carry one between the two of you?" She asks that of Hotfoot and CopyCat.

Victory nods to the UEMS Liaison. "Noted. Thank you. We'll head down there as soon as the crates are moved."

"Sure, I can carry one," CopyVictory says as he walks over to one of the supply crates, changing into a copy of Sentinel.

Bluejay shunts power into the suit exo-muscles and lifts another.

CopySentinel lifts his craft easily. "Ready to move out?" he asks the group, smiling easily. That lack of confidence before is gone.

Hotfoot steps up to the last crate. It's definitely too large for her to carry alone. She turns to Victory, "Can I get a hand, here?" She adds a belated, "Please?"

Victory nods and smiles "Of course." He comes over to lift one side of the crate. "Sorry...the way you were talking I got the impression you could heft it on your own."

The containers are not exceptionally heavy, though some might be easier with a team carry for those without mega muscles and/or are bulky. Afterall, most with high human or even low meta-level strength don't decide to invest that in a career as a baggage or cargo handler.

The med bay is precisely where mentioned, politely remaining still for the deliveries. A few Med Techs are present sorting and stocking while others tend to a few wounded personnel. Nothing lift-threatening, but more than a splinter or black-eye.

The techs are able to quickly verify the containers and contains to sign off on their receipt. Further up the main corridor, two junctions according to the liaison, is the elevator to Level 2.

Hotfoot says, "I only said if it ain't too heavy...but it is.""

Bluejay considers the time it took for the shuttle to reach this moon base. "If there is an injury that requires Earth side care, if there is a portable life capsule I can transport it back in about twenty-six point three seconds." She informs the medical staff.

Victory nods to the techs that received the equipment. He then starts to lead the way to the elevator to level 2. "Time for some diplomacy, it looks like." He gets a tickle on the back of his neck and looks around...expecting to see one of the very NON diplomatic metas from Colonial Bay here, cropping out of the woodwork. Thankfully, that doesnt' appear to be the case. This time.

CopySentinel sets down his crate where directed, then looks around. "Onwards?" he asks.

When they reach the elevator, Hotfoot leans into a back corner, where she can see everyone else.

Bluejay follows the others into the elevator.

Victory gets into the elevator with the others...and sends it down to level 2, so they can see what the situation really is down there.

CopySentinel steps into the elevator, cool as a cucumber.

Level2.

The corridor is near identical to that on level 1, though the wall opposite the elevator bears the appropriate level indicator digit.

The situation is somewhat more chaotic here, and in some ways, less. On the level above, it was clear that the group was far from the only personnel present. Not just those directly interacted with, but other UEMS or SG personnel, meta and not. Even other meta volunteers, known and unknown, were noted going about their tasks.

Here, it is notably less busy, though there are sounds down the corridor of others there are no immediate passersby. It is less cluttered overall, but the lights seem to enjoy flickering and dimming. Not enough to impair vision, but enough to be annoying or unsettling.

The choice from here is fairly simple. Left or right down the main corridor ring. Either way will eventually bring them back around, of course.

Victory considers the options...and picks hte direction the sounds are coming from to begin with. "Let's try this way. Just in case we can help out some local guards first."

Hotfoot says, "Maybe I should go take a quick look?"

Victory nods. "Sure, go ahead. But I suggest not engaging in a fight until we get there, unless it's dire."

Hotfoot runs off, disappearing from view almost as soon as she starts moving.

CopySentinel looks around, keeping his head on a swivel as they move up.

Victory continues walking forward, around the bend toward the sounds.

Bluejay follows along close behind, frequently glancing back. Because it's a rimg, so trouble can come from either direction.

When Hotfoot can see what causing the noise, she will return to the others.

With a gust of wind, Hotfoot reappears. "Mostly people in cells. And some soldiers trying to get a big guy into a cell."

Victory nods. "Did you recognize who the big guy is?" He keeps moving forward, trying to get a visual.

CopySentinel looks to Victory. "Sounds like they could use a hand," he grins while keeping pace.

Hotfoot says, "Weren't we supposed to get them /out/ of the cells?"

Hotfoot says, "And No, I didn't, but he didn't look happy."

CopySentinel shrugs. "Might be better to try and talk to him once he's calmed down. Not sure why the guards want him back in."

Hotfoot says, "Maybe that's what they were told."

Victory nods. "First, it depends on who it is. All prisoners need to be transferred. In an orderly manner. We can't afford to let a riot break out again. Just because he's out of his cell, that doesn't mean he should be right this second."

Hotfoot says, "He was the only one out that I saw."

Victory looks around at the others, "Please...do not jump to conclusions until we determine the full situation."

As the group moves around the bend (there aren't so many corners in a ring, except for cross-connections), they begin to pass occupied cells. As inidicated by colored lights, given that they are completely enclosed solitary spaces on either side of the corridor. They are not completely sound-proof, though, and voices can be heard inside. The sounds vary: a woman mournfully sobbing; another cackling in outright glee; and at least one man pounding on the wall/door with a muffled "Get me the $#@! out of here!"

Further ahead, the agents appear to (re?) contain the meta, or corner him, as the entire team of four pile in after.

Bluejay nods, "Hai. Which cannot do until we are there. Should we not hurry?"

Victory takes a look to see if he recognizes the meta in question as he hurries forward. "Let's talk this out, shall we?"

Hotfoot says, "Um...is anything here flammable?"

Victory, stepping ahead to the entrance of the cell will see the UEMS squad shackling Brut. Not terribly well known in the US of A, but responsible for several rampages across Europe in the past. One of the agents looks up after triple-checking the reinforced restraints to see Victory at the door. "Thanks. I think we got this. He was just a little antsy." The shackles limit the prisoner's movement, but he can still shuffle his feet. That's all they need.

Victory nods. "Understandable. We all are." He does a quick evaluation of the prisoners in the immediate area, trying to remember details about emotional states or mental issues for any of them. The woman crying gets his attention first.

CopySentinel looks to Victory for orders. As far as he's concerned, it's Victory's show here. Sentinel's just here to offer the assistance of some good old American muscle. . o O (Did I really just think that...?)

Meanwhile, most of the other cells have gone quiet. Most. The sobbing woman continues, maybe even grows louder. A few whimpers are managed between the sobs. "Please! I just want to see him again! Before..."

A female across the hall calls out, annoyed. "Would you like a hug? It would solve all your troubles. Trust me."

The cackling male voice... just keeps cackling.

With a moment still, a few things become more clear. First, there are names/ID and prisoner ID displays on the cells. The three active in the immediate (noiw that they're hauling Brut away) dvicinity are marked:

J. Doe (the sobbing woman)

Mortua (the woman offering hugs) (all but Hotfoot would recognize her voice if known)

Al Chemist (the cackling one)

Victory points at Mortua's cell. "She's getting transferred. No way she'll help us." He goes to the sobbing woman's cell. "Miss...who are you talking about? Who did you want to see again?"

CopySentinel makes a note as his glowing eyes look Mortua's way briefly.

Hotfoot has the feeling that she doesn't want a hug from Mortua.

Bluejay activates neutrino scan to look inside the sobbing woman's cell.

Bluejay then looks at the exterior of the cell, on and around the cell door for any warning or information signs.

Sniffling. Then her voice gets a little louder as someone seems to have responder and she pushes closer to the door. "My son! He's only a little boy! Please, whatever you need me to do, I'll do it!"

Victory notes the name 'J. Doe'. But there must be something weird for her to end up here in Tranquility. "Who are you? Who is your son?"

"What? I can't hear you-" The woman starts, the stops, then abruptly continues. Though this time 'her' voice sounds distinctly masculine "-you know what, $#@! it. Would somebody please just $#@!ing open the $#@!ing door so we can having a normal $#@!ing conversation?"

Victory raises a brow. "Multiple personalities? Not sure. No time to think about it, though. She gets trasnferred too."

The heroes are in the corridor with the prisoners three. Mortua, who some are familiar with and Victory already urged caution with; a cackling man identified on the cell as Al Chemist; and the one denoted as J. Doe, formerly a walking woman, now a more level-headed, if not clean-mouthed male.

All are still in their cells. All need to be escorted from those cells back to transport Earth-side. Victory is considering options when there is a commotion from the cross-corridor where the agents had left with Brut. He and Bluejay dart off to assist!

This leaves to heroes with three prisoners to escort. Fortunately, they don't need to be escorted simultaneously.

Three Kidnappings of foreign diplomats, 2 hostage situations, 6 dozen rollovers, 1 jackknifed hover-semi, a VIP convoy in need of additional protection & that was just Stateside. On his way overseas there was a plane having engine trouble over the Atlantic then no less than 3 suicide bombers & a half dozen car jackings, another half dozen ill-prepared climbers giving Everest 'one last go' & only finding icy death for their troubles & then a stampede of bulls let loose by some dastardly prankster in a Spanish village needing deflecting away from a church in the middle of a late vigil in light of the current apocalypse bearing down on them from above.

Finally he routes back home to check in on Kat. As he crosses the Eastern Seaboard he picks up her message.

He stops instantly, looks up and then flies straight for the moon- breaking the sound barrier in an instant & then once clear of the stratosphere he breaks the light barrier.

He leaves a golden streak between Earth and its largest celestial captive.

He begins calling her, hoping the Torus will deign to connect them.

<<"I'm on my way. Come in. I hope you're ok." He says, forgetting that at these speeds he'll be on the Moon before his radio signals will be.

CopySentinel watches the others deal with Brut, leaving him to deal with the others. He takes a moment to assess. Mortua seems the most sane of the group, but he knows nothing about her. But that can be fixed. "We're here to get you to safety. I hope you'll cooperate."

"Considering that I can't at the moment," comes Mortua's flat reply," and the alternative is listening to my idiot neighbor cackle until he dies? I don't have much choice."

"Considering that I can't do anything at the moment," comes Mortua's flat reply," and the alternative is listening to my idiot neighbor cackle until he dies? I don't have much choice."

Hotfoot tries to find info about Mortua using her PDA, but can't get a connection here.

Griffin touches down on the Moon, outside Tranquility base. He bolts towards the hangar, leaving a trail of moondust behind him. He's only slowed by the first high security airlock, and its only momentary since Security is pretty certain they've already seen Griffin on the security tapes. They buzz him back in.

He nods to them as he bolts through the base at high speed, sensing himself at range with his energy sense he knows where he's going.

He steps around the corner in uniform knowing he'll be looking at a version of himself. Still its a bit disorienting.

In a maximum security prison under siege with villains on the loose? Of course Copycat would take precautions by being the strongest hero she knows. When CopySentinel spies the real deal, his smartwatch beetles with Sentinel's call at last. Quickly shrinking to revert into her normal self, Copycat smiles in relief. "Hey there, Soldier."

"So who's got the VIP transport tags?" inquires a jovial Malcolm. He rolls his shoulders fluidly and shifts his weight from one foot to the other as he makes sure that he's limbered up. Malcolm Gibbs cheerily smiles and snaps a couple of quick salutes to the various people gathered around. The tall man is clad in a standard issue Starguard spacesuit. It's form-fitting and reasonably flexible, all the better for a pilot on the go!

"Are you going to relocate me before everyone dies?" comes Mortua's muffled inquiries. "If not, I may as well just stay here."

"Seriously," comes from the man in the cell across the hall from her. "It'd be a hell of alot easier to talk, or leave, if I weren't in this thing!" At least his language improved.

"HAH! HAHAHAHA-HEEHEEHEEHEE-TEEHEE..." the giggling, cackling Al Chemist in the cell next to Mortua continues to giggle and cackles.

"Special Agent Gibbs!" Copycat says, a little surprised her mentor's here, even though he's a Starguard agent. Having both Sentinel and Malcolm present has her feeling a lot safer with the task assigned to them. She looks to both of them. "I'm glad you guys are here. Victory and Bluejay are helping some agents handle Brut, and left me and Hotfoot here to try and escort these guys out."

"Hey there Hero." The Super Soldier says as he strides towards Copycat. He's clearly glad to see she's safe.

"An escort mission huh? Alright. Cool." Griffin says after giving a half salute & a curt but professional nod to VSA Gibbs as he crosses to his HandWarmer+.

"I'm sure we can handle that." He adds to Kat with a smile.

"Let's tag 'em & bag 'em and maybe someone can tell me who we're transporting so I know what we're dealing with."

"Well, we've got Mortua, J. Doe, and Al Chemist," Copycat points to the various cells. "We can move them one at a time, but they can't stay here." She steps over to Mortua's cell and checks the panel for details.

Mortua is listed as Extremely High Risk. Deadly to organic life by touch. Monitored solid forearm restraints required. Current status: employed and functional.

"Got it," intones Malcolm as Copycat points out their target patients. He rolls his shoulders again and smiles cheerily as he inquires, "Who's up first? Gotta load up the shuttle."

"I'm just here for backup." Griffin says, smiling at Copycat. "Its your mission. So we can do this your way." He says looking to everyone originally drafted for this. He may just be a superpowered & overprotective boyfriend- but he's supportive!

Al Chemist (aka Alchemist): Medium-High Risk. Transmuter. Material isolated: no exchange of any matter to or from (screened foodstuffs excepted)

J. Doe: Medium-High Risk. Metamorph.

Such a surge of faith and confidence for Kat. A little voice in the back of her head is encouraging, too. 'You're in charge! You can do it!'

"M-mine? But it was Victory's...mission," Copycat says as she looks over her shoulder. Victory's out of sight. "And he knew what the plan--oh." She gets a sudden surge of confidence and lightly smacks her head. "Hello, Kat," she laughs awkwardly before sprouting up into the star-spangled hero. He's in charge. He can do this! CopyVictory rubs the back of his neck as he tries to recall the details. "All of these are scheduled for transport." He says privately to Malcolm and Griffin, "If we're able to find villains willing to cooperate and assist, they can receive special dispensation and consideration on their sentences for good behavior. But these three are too dangerous. Let's move them out. One at a time, to be safe."

"Sounds like a plan, Vict'ryKat," replies Malcolm with a reflexive salute. He steps up alongside the duplicated Shield Slinger, pressing his palm up against one of the override units for the cell. Time to collect their first villain for transport. Once the scan is completed, Malcolm starts to spew liquid metal from his pores. It rapidly engulfs his body and spacesuit to present the face of Forge to the world. The artificial lighting of the Tranquility base gleams off of Forge's brushed metal surface.

CopyVictory takes a breath as Malcolm opens. "Remember: she's dangerous and sane. Don't let her touch you," he says. He has the bracer on his costume, but it's nonfunctional.

Griffin smiles and gives CopyVictory a salute. "Copy that." He says cheerfully enough. He steps up to the cell nearest him. He charges up, letting his generally passive field of energy become highly excited. Little sparks of energy build to be bolts of energy leaping from one side of his body to the other.

He steps into place behind Copy Victory. Metal man in the front, Energy-Enhanced Partycrasher in the back or that's his plan at least.

The resultant series of events, no matter how much slow motion analyses is performed, can certainly in no way, be attributed to a certain individual.

Whether due to a fluctuation in the artificial gravity or its just a little sweaty in that suit, Malcolm extrudes a little extra metal in his shift. Not much, perhaps a teaspoon, hits the ground and spashes into a multitude of tiny drops hardening into spheres, right at the front of the cell.

"It's about ti-IME!" Mortua notes as she steps out, right into said puddle of BBs. She promptly slides forward, and with her arms locked before her in elbow-length solid closed restraints, she hs nothing with which to catch nor balance herself. She topples foreward, though it thankfully slowed by an impromptu headbutt into CopyVictory.

This begins a domino effect, as CopyVictory tries to balance, topples back, hitting Griffin, who also steps on the rolling beads. At least he his half stopped by the wall, and the console to the cell across the hall. Which shorts out from the extra enegy dancing along him.

The door to the cell snaps open just in time for an already changing CopyVicMorCat to be caught by an athletic man in cargo pants, boots, a tank, and a short buzz cut. Very military-esque, perhaps a true soldier.

"Whoa! Walk much, fel-...lady?"

The second contact snaps a few instant images into Kat's head. Griffin! :) Being stabbed. :( By your arm-turned-wepon. :( :( Then Kat! Up close in an embrace! No, impaled! Then watching her (Kat) fall to the street below.

CopyVictory winces as Mortua headbutts him from the fall and stumbles back, already changing into Mortua as she drops into the arms of the other prison. CopyMortua looks up, brain addled from several quick changes. And then her eyes widen in horror. "N-nnnn-nonono..."

CopyVictory winces as Mortua headbutts him from the fall and stumbles back, already changing into Mortua as she drops into the arms of the other prison. CopyMortua looks up, brain addled from several quick changes. And then her eyes widen in horror as she sees who caught her. "N-nnnn-nonono..."

"... Really. In space?"

Forge may have just rolled his eyes. It's hard to tell under all of that liquid metal. He sighs and drops into a crouch to reabsorb the BBs into his Colossus' Flesh. Standing up slowly, Forge looks over at the duo of metamorphs, judging by Copycat's panicked reaction. Breathing out slowly, Forge extrudes his cables in a wreath of extra limbs around his person as he calmly intones, "Mortua. John Doe. I need you both to stay very still and not attempt to escape."

Griffin rights himself, wincing as this series of events spirals out of control. All he can do is watch it in terribly slow motion and catch himself.

Once he's stable he rises above the hazardous ball bearings all over the floor and reshunts his energy into his eyes. They begin glowing with incredible intensity. He points at the man who caught Kat and seeing the terror in her shifting form & her words his voice deepens and darkens. "Hands off. Infact I'd keep them up in the air if you plan on keeping them." He isn't playing nice with this one.

Victory comes back around the corner, after having to check on something back on the prior floor. He stops and tries to figure out what the heck is going on.

John Doe lifts his hands, kind enough to help right Copy as he does so. "I just want out of the box, Freeman. I'm a soldier, I should be on the lines. You of all people should understand that."

CopyMortua scrambles to Griffin, to get behind him. "I-I-It's Aaa...aaa...alpha...." she stammers in terror. You never forget the Next Generation agent who killed you.

Forge arches an eyebrow at Copycat's stammered warning. He shifts his weight again, tilting his head as he considers the obvious terror of his mentee and the figure of the metamorphic "Alpha" in front of him.

"Get. Back. In. The. Cell. Prisoner Doe. I will not warn you again."

Griffin doesn't like being told what he should understand, but he does recognize a certain spirit in the man. "I understand duty just fine, Doe. But it seems to me that if you wanted back on the front you'd be there instead of up here, in a box. Still- you've got your chance now. Prove you can follow orders and help us keep this contained. We're here to make sure you survive the week. Make this a problem or endanger any one here and you and I will be going for a walk outside." He replies to J.Doe. His voice is firm and flat, making sure he doesn't dote on Kat in front of the villains.

That is until the word Alpha is used.

That tears it. "ALPHA?!" He roars before flash stepping towards the shifting slugman. Seems they're going for that walk now.

Sentinel has a grudge and space seems liek the perfect place for this. Regrets are for after your girlfriend's killer is floating, frozen in the infinite void.

Alpha starts to step back into his cell from one barked command. He gets one complete before he suddenly has angry and brightly-burning Sentinel grabbing hold of him. His flesh immediately begins to ripple, both from the emit energy and the pain generated thereby. Not surprisingly, he yells.

"I've been looking for you for ages." Griffin growls as his eyes glow more intensely. "We've got business, Soldier." He says the last word as if it were venomous. Alpha is no soldier. ALpha has no honor. ALpha is a rabid dog in need of being put to sleep for everyone's sake- not just Kat's.

As he thinks about all that energy ripples and roil off of him as he speaks he seems to glow faintly from within too. Energy lines resembling solar prominences twist and snap causing electrical energy to discharge into the surrounding structure.

"SENTINEL! STAND DOWN," shouts Forge as he steps forward. He hesitates to intervene, his gaze shading toward Mortua with obvious suspicion on his sculpted metal face. Forge clenches his fists and narrows his eyes as he sweeps his gaze back toward Alpha and Griffin.

CopyMortua's trying to control the terror gripping her. Seeing Griffin getting close to Alpha, and the pained yelling, is making that difficult. "G-Griffin, I'm...I'm okay," she tries to convince him when she can't really convince herself. She's trying to control her powers to turn back.

Mortua, for her part, while uncomfortable and annoyed, is face-down on the floor. She can't exactly pick herself up.

"DO YOU KNWO WHAT THIS IS?!" Griffin asks in a demanding voice as he prepares to hoist Alpha bodily to an airlock. "No. Take the others and go. Get your team Earthside safely Gibbs. I'm. Not. Leaving. With. Him. Still. Breathing."

He looks like he wants to burrow holes in Alpha's head with just his glare. He just might.

"I'm not going to let this ... this beast kill anyone else." He reiterates. "Not ever again."

"HEEHEEHEETEEHEEHEE" Yep, Alchemist is still giggling away.

Hotfoot says, "Hey! That's not the job!" she grumbles, "Lousy...can't get the job done...""

"I have no idea who Alpha is," comes Forge's flat reply, "But I can see the reactions he's provoking in both you and Copycat."

Forge's arms turn black and granular as he reaches out to grip Sentinel's shoulder with magnetic force. It's not a grab so much as magnetic field lines twisting into a dense enough knot that Sentinel can feel them on his shoulder. A silent, quasi-invisible warning.

"Do you really want her to see you like this?" hisses Forge, squeezing at Griffin's shoulder.

CopyMortua tries to reach for Griffin to stop him. "I-I know, but...we can't do this.." she tries to calm Griffin down.

Hotfoot keeps grumbling, "Can't count on 'em..." She yells at Griffin again, "Hey, big guy! The job is to get these guys to Earth. Then you can do what you want."

Alpha continues to sizzle in Griffin's grasp, though his flesh works to repair itself almost as fast as it is damaged. Almost. This could take awhile, as is. Whether that is a concern to anyone is another matter entirely.

Hotfoot says, "Right now I'd trust Havoc more than you, Mr. Colonial-Bay-Sentinel!"

Griffin doesn't enjoy hurting anyone- or at least he hasn't before. But this is a LONG time coming. The Colonial Bay Sentinel has spent weeks of his life cumulatively just searching for this killer bag of puss.

"Its my job to keep you that way." Griffin says aloud, clearly speaking to CopyMortua.

He feels MAlcolm's magnetic field lines intersect his own. He retrains himself enough to prevent Malcolm or Kat from being injured.

"No. I don't want her to see me like this. That's why I told you to get your team and go." Griffin says, keeping his eyes locked on Alpha.

"He want to talk about being a soldier. So he should understand this just fine. Sometimes being a soldier is about more than following orders- its about doing whats necessary. Regardless of the repercussions. Its about finding evil and stamping it out so good, kindhearted people can live without the yoke of oppression or the cane of hyper-violent psychopaths threatening their happy lives." Sentinel says.

He lifts Alpha into the air in front of him. He'd ownder why Alpha isn't fighting back- it seems ... suspiciously not like him- but all he sees is red. Flashes of Kat's mangled body thrown unceremoniously from above, and her blood all over him- just moments after he thought they had their first kiss.

He roars angrily. "Trust who you want, Kid. This thing would watch COlonial Bay burn to the ground and everyone in it no sooner than he'd spit on you. He'd cut you to ribbons for fun and you want me- you want US to save him?!" He asks incredulously. "Trust is a fickle thing- but its not required." He says darkly.

Hotfoot says, "I don't care nothing about him. I'm just saying the job comes first. Then do what you want."