From the Void

The night times of the New York docks were not the quietest of places, but usually they were fairly unoccupied areas unless a new ship had arrived.

On top of the many shipping bins within the dockyard, a lone figured was kneeling on top of a container. He was looking at something in the distance, a warehouse to specific, and it was guarded.

The man had on a grey overcoat, but it was clear he was armored. He wore a gas mask, a frightening red beam emitted from his left eye.  He was marking out the armed guards, his eye acted as a tagged them, scanning them for all signs of equipment and weapons.

The man needed something from that warehouse, something that might determine the fate of just only a few small percentage of lives compared to the city's population.  

Sure, he was no celebrity hero, who can probably intimidate their in way in just by mere presence.  But they had larger problems than this, it might be a goose chase for all anyone knows.  But, this is thing he need was only a piece of a bigger, deadlier puzzle...

A dock. A friggin' dock. Fantastic.

Thomas Rivers was still nursing bruises and welts from his happy little sojourn in Chicago when he'd decided to trek out to New York City. The makeshift armor - various chunks of metal pulled from a scrapyard heap over an ultra-light, ultra-strong interior frame powered by a homemade nuclear reactor - had been repaired as best it could be, the more serious injuries had been tended to, and by the end of the day he got back to his little town in Iowa the suit was ready to go again, as was its maker. The armor had performed well enough in Chi-town, to be sure. But that had been one set of gangbangers. Numerous gangbangers with various weapons, but only one real way of doing things. New York's image had cleaned up considerably, but its underbelly was every bit as dangerous and as seedy as it had been back in the day, and there were as many variations in criminal as there were variations of cells in the human body. Various trains of thought meant various scenarios, which inevitably meant various types of situations, tactics, and enemies.

Who, of course, had decided to congregate tonight in the middle of a series of half-rotten wooden planks, soon to be set upon by a man in homemade cast-iron armor.

Tee-goddamn-riffic.

These guys weren't like the Chicago boys that Thomas, the suicidal girly-girl and her magician friend had taken down. Thomas counted at least a dozen, all packing military hardware, taking strategic positions around one crate in particular. Sniper on the large crane above, using the bright spotlight as cover; Thomas wouldn't have seen him had he not cased the area earlier. Two guys on the only main way in or out of that particular dock; security for the obvious approach, and presumably the vehicle that would carry their carefully-guarded prize away. At least two others on either corner of one particular warehouse (which of course meant two more on the far side in case some water-bending meta showed up to ruin their day), along with one more sniper patrolling the roof of the warehouse in question.

Thomas had tested the suit against various rounds. It had stopped everything up to the standard armor-piercing 5.56 NATO rounds when fired on the range. But the range and combat were two different things altogether. Back in Iowa, Thomas had been plinking away with straight shots to each piece of armor in turn. And while it had proven the armor's durability in a controlled environment, it could not account for the chaos of a gunfight. Despite its protection, some of the Chicago gangsters with their little peashooters and shotguns had managed to reveal several weak spots in the scrapheap statue that absolutely needed to be addressed in the next iteration of the armor, and as he scoured the area one more time Thomas became acutely aware of just how many more potential weak points the armor had. Making matters worse was that, in its current configuration, the armor hadn't a prayer of a stealthy approach. There were too many factors in play - the suit's servos, the noise of the footsteps, the potential rot of the dock and the near-total lack of cover from a lateral approach - to even try it. The only way for Thomas to get in relatively safely was the head-on approach, right into the sights of at least five military-grade rifles (which, Thomas noted with a mental sigh of relief, was as close to the range-testing scenario as he could have hoped for).

To say nothing of being stuck in a heavy metal suit over a goddamn dock.

The man made one final check of the armor. All locks were locked. The helmet was secure. The carapace was tight. With the flip of a switch, the gauntlet-mounted concussive blaster was charged. And with a deep breath - Slow is smooth, smooth is fast, Thomas reminded himself - Thomas got into gear.

It was game time.

Thomas rounded a corner and marched down the poorly-lit lane, letting the armor's heavy footfalls and wheezing servos announce the presence of the walking scrap heap.

It didn't take long for the gunfire to start.

Well, what do we have here? A hero? A villain? Or a little of both?

Seemed like the metal man was engaging the guards. Funny, considering for all he knew he was trespassing onto private property of shipments of rubber ducks...theoretically, anyways.

Agent Void knew otherwise; it wasn't rubber ducks these armed guards were guarding. In fact it was something rather dangerous that could tear the city down. What it was, he was here to find out, though he had a few theories...

Now, what to do with this man?

He seemed to be serving a good distraction for the the Agent to sneaking in through the back, perhaps an open back door or a opened window. Let the big man do the muscle do all the work while the Agent got what he wanted, let the big man take the fall too...

Or, or, he could jump in and lend a hand. Afterall, two sets of hands make for faster backups, and the element of surprise hasn't been lost to him.

Agent Void stood up to contemplate his decision.

...

Before leaping off of the container, onto the top of the next container, before jumping and climbing his way next to the containers next to the warehouse.

Remaining hidden from view, he peaked out, his mask scanning from trouble. Guards were running from their positions at the side of the building to where the big man and the fight was located, leaving the side of the building wide open; at the very least almost, as a security camera panned about in it's arc.

That wasn't a problem though, the Enforcer could make short work of that. The Agent took out his pistol from his overcoat, took aim, and *PEW*, down goes the camera.

A minute later, Agent Void made his way to the side, making sure to scan his sides as he moved for the side of the building.  After he was sure their was no guards about, he aimed his left hand, balled in the fist, and a small grappling hook shot up onto the roof. The grappling hook caught onto something before Agent Void pressed a button that reeled him upwards.

Quietly, he climbed up on top of the building. His mask scanned the room, spotting the sniper from before.  

Holstering his pistol back into his holster, he pulled out the Pinkerton,  the baton extended as the Agent pulled it out to the side.

The sniper had it's sites on the big man, aiming for it's head. It never got a chance to fire, receiving a baton to the back of his head, falling to the side, disoriented. Another whack to the face by the pinkerton and the man was out cold, but not dead.

While keeping a low profile, Agent Void peered over the edge and upon the fighting; observing for a minute what was going on and whowho was fighting.

Thomas trudged forward, fighting for every inch of ground as the rounds peppered his armor. No breaches as of yet, thank God; even with their high velocity and armor-piercing capabilities, the plates surrounding his body's most vital areas were almost entirely made of cast iron; too thick and too dense to penetrate. But just because the bullets were stopped didn't mean that their force was; while he wasn't being turned into a red paste, Thomas felt like he was buck-ass naked against a horde of teenagers with paintball guns. Every breath he tried to take was knocked out of him by two more rounds. Every clear line of sight he got was knocked off by a round crashing against his helmet.

But the shooters didn't know that, now did they?

As several of the goons reloaded, Thomas finally had his opening. Thomas raised his left hand as he continued his march, aiming towards a series of crates on his left flank, directly besides the largest cluster of gunmen. A low whirring from the gauntlet barely became audible before an invisible rush of energy raged across the path directly in front of the walking scrap pile. At full blast, the crates would do nothing short of shatter, sending wood shards every which way.

And if something nasty was inside, God help them.

THe Agent watched as the guards scattered by the shock, he breathed for a scound, before stowing the Pinkerton and pulled out his Enforcer again.

The guards were slowly trying to get back up, but a hail of nonlethal bolts hit them from above.

The Agent was aiming for most of their heads, most were knocked out by the first bolt but a few of them took two, tenacious sons of...

But the Agent was only able to get off a few shots before the other guards had noticed they were now being assaulted from. A few looked up, guns aimed into the air, but two unfortunate guards were hit kicked in the face by an incoming force, knocking them unconcious. It was a person alright, it was the Agent.

THe guards then opened up on the mysterious man, trying to catch him in a crossfire. Suddenly, the man vanished into a black cloud, bullets passing harmlessly by and almost hitting the other.

The gas began to move, as the guards attention was split between the gas and the big man.

And now there's that guy.

Thomas was relieved that he'd been granted a reprieve by the gaseous meta.  The sparse few seconds of pandemonium had given his newly-aching body a respite, a short window to reassess the situation at hand.  Quick glances forward and back revealed that the numerous rifle-toting baddies had either already been dispatched or were close to it.  The sniper from above was nowhere to be found.  Mostly thanks to the sudden interloper; a figure in a trenchcoat and mask that had suddenly dispersed into a gas form, like shadow itself given matter.  All Thomas could hope for was that this one was a little more tactically sound than the pair he'd met in Chicago.

With a grunt, Thomas threw himself forward towards the last two standing men.  It wasn't the fastest approach; even with the actuators and servomotors propelling him, Thomas could barely run faster than his own unassisted sprint.  But the loud footfalls and the suit's mechanical groaning got the attention of the pair, who barely had time to register that a massive, man-shaped mass of malicious metal was heading straight for them.  One managed to get a few rounds off.  The other managed to score a hit on the left knee plate.  But both were between the sprinting slag heap when it launched both of its arms to the sides, sending the two men flying.   The man on the left went straight into the meta-man's gas cloud.  The other screamed all the way into the dark and disgusting East River.

THe cloud parted as the man landed, before reforming into the trench coated man in the mask.

The guard who landed was disorientated, looking up, he froze when he saw the intimadting red glowing light from one of the eyes of the gas mask. A second later the gas mask man brought the but of his pistol down upon the guard.

Looking up, he seemingly stared at the armored man, before pointing his pistol at the man and fired...right passed his head, hitting the armed guard behind him.

As the guard fell, the Agent kept staring the armored man in the eyes, or at least he seemed to. The mask was scanning the armored man, seemed a lot of his material was scrap and... was that?

He didn't have time to finish that thought, as a bullet flew past his head. Rolling out of the way and into the nearest cover, the Agent decided to ponder on that idea later, right now he had some unfinished business.

Poking his upper half body out of cover, he began to return fire with his pistol.

Thomas's attention was caught by the coated man - once again visible - took a bandit on his flank out. He wasn't sure whether he should be relieved - after all, Thomas himself had completely missed the guy - or enraged that he'd taken a shot while a potential ally was down range.

His focus back on what the coated man was hiding from, Thomas could make out one more suspect. White male, vaguely Mediterranean features, dark clothing, M4 carbine. Judging by the pattern of exploding wood and cracking concrete, not a half-bad shot. About twenty-nine meters out, on a fire escape that went about halfway up the warehouse they were guarding so heavily. Thomas didn't raise his gauntlet this time. He could have made the shot with a rifle, no question. But with no aiming mechanism beyond his eyeballs, the concussive blaster was useless at this range. The armor had been proven to take hits without too much fuss, but after the minutes-long barrage he'd sustained Thomas wasn't keen on taking more hits than were necessary. Moving to a nearby crate, the metal man looked for an idea.

He found it moments later.

Parked not too far from him was a dark Bentley town car, in all probability belonging to whatever mafioso had organized this little gathering of goons. Dry weight looked to be about two tons, pushing - but by no means beyond - the armor's limits. At maximum power, the armor could probably propel the vehicle into the air at approximately sixteen meters per second; about thirty-five miles per hour. Positions of both himself and the target would mean approximately two seconds' flight time. A little over 36,000 Newtons of force, applied across six feet of luxury car. A whole lotta hurt.

Thomas moved quickly to the side of the vehicle, ignoring the rounds that had started to stray his way. Kneeling down as best as the armor's limited mobility would allow, the metal behemoth curled his arms inward and hoisted the Bentley over his head. Moving one hand back to grab the rear of the chassis, Thomas took two steps forward, building up a small running start before cocking back and - taking one more second to line up his shot - launching what he really, really hoped was the boss's car at the last visible shooter.

The man in the as mask watched as the truck sore threw the air, catching the last of the shooters as it bounced, before slamming into a wall.

Stepping out of cover, gun lowered but finger near the trigger, the man in the overcoat looked at the big armored man with his creepy red glowing eye.

"A bit over kill, don't you think?" The man said as he looked over the wreckage. A quick scanned showed that the guards were hurt knocked ou by the car but were not crushed, luckily.

"Could of killed them." The gas mask man said as he looked back over. "Jobs not done though; there's more of them inside no doubt. Can you punch through that door? Or do I need to blow it open?"

"You're welcome."

The voice that resonated from the man-shaped pile of metal was deep, reverberating, and only slightly caustic with its response. Both he and the coated man had been in the middle of a firefight against organized criminals packing military hardware, where all it truly would've taken was one lucky shot in just the right place at the right time to end either of them; Thomas hadn't really felt like playing fair.

Turning slightly to face the wall the man was talking about, Thomas started with the most obvious response.

"Tell me who you are and what you're doing here, and I'll see about getting you your entrance."

Even if they weren't friends, this mystery man had some kind of bone to pick with the mob. That would do for now.

"You may refer to me as Agent Void." said the man in the trenchcoat, breathing through his filters. "As for why I am here, if you get the door open, you may be able to see for yourself....else I'll have to blow it open myself."

THe man said looking at the large warehouse door, it stood a good 20 to 25 meters high. "But be ready; no doubt they will be more of them inside."

"I know there are."

While the modulator that deepened his voice and gave it an electronic reverb had a tendency to remove emotional inflection, Thomas honestly hadn't meant to be sarcastic or condescending.  In plain view, the man-shaped metal mass faced what had to be the single largest warehouse door in recorded history, nonchalantly tapping a small exposed patch of leather on his left side.  In reality, Thomas had used his armor's built-in scanner - in itself little more than a glorified phone app patched into the suit the same way a phone could be plugged into a car - to try and start a location trace on anybody that might be placing an outbound call.  It gave him intel.  It gave him insight.  And most importantly, it gave them time to plan beyond "go in and shoot the bad guys".

Thomas wasn't ignorant to the fact that he was wearing a suit of powered armor that was far more capable than it had any right to be.  But he had not forgotten the circumstances of his survival, either; a barrage of already-tested rounds down a straightaway concrete corridor, hitting the armor more or less head-on as it approached.  It had been as close to a range test scenario as Thomas could have hoped for.  There was no guarantee that would hold true in a closed environment.

"Now," Thomas began, still intently listening to his earpiece for anything beyond static, "it's pretty clear you're a meta, 'Agent Void'.  What're you bringing to the table once this hits the fan?"

"You'll get your chance to see." said the man, aiming his pistol at the door. "Why don't you tell me something about yourself? A name is a good starter."

Lovely, a true international man of mystery.

Thomas rolled his eyes, changing his position so that his back - and the all-important nuclear reactor strapped to it - was less exposed to the person hell-bent on keeping his recently-displayed abilities a secret.  A form of intangibility was all good and fine.  Apparent expert marksmanship with less-lethal munitions was fine by Thomas as well.  What else was up this guy's sleeve?  More to the point, it was obvious that these would-be made men were protecting something - or someone, if the Bentley was any indicator - incredibly important.  What was to say that Thomas wasn't taking these people down only for "Agent Void" to take it?  He was a demonstrably more dangerous foe (though his newly-browning bruises might've argued the point) and Thomas wasn't altogether certain that he could stop him.

Then again, most of the thugs he'd dealt with were still breathing.  And from what Thomas knew of bad guys, they didn't go so far out of their way to actively protect the people whose asses they were kicking.

"My name's T-...hang on, I'm getting something..."

"I'm tellin' ya, we're fug-...surrounded by th...s's car is fuggin' TOTALED an...rimeter guard's go...nd everyone!  EVERYONE!  Get the damn boat here NOW!"

The scanner had finally managed to pierce the electronic veil of their opponents, albeit with a massive amount of interference.  Jammers?  Simple thick concrete?  Could it be Agent Void's mystery box?  There was only one way to find out, and the answer - factoring in that the terrified mook's transmission became a lot clearer towards the end of the inadvertent broadcast - would be right at the back of the warehouse.

"We'll be having company.  Better make this quick."

Without further ado, Thomas's suit's servos screeched as he thrust both of his hands into the metal door and pulled his arms apart, almost effortlessly making a hole in the massive warehouse door.

Agent Void kept his trained upon the door, he receiving interference with his own equipment, but being a grade up then the man next to him, it was able to pick up a little more...stronger

"Flashbang." The agent said simply, before his hands went into the inside of his coat and a projectile flew into the warehouse, before he covered his face with his arms.

A minute later a flash and a defying noise went off inside the building, followed by screams of surprise. The moment the flashbang ended, the Agent was nowhere to be seen, all was left was a black cloud disappearing into the warehouse, followed by shouting and shooting.