Field Test

It had been a six hour drive from his small-town scrapyard to the motel. After paying the clerk, it took another hour to make sure the trailer attached to the beat-up truck was tucked away from prying eyes. Three hours to rack out. When Thomas Rivers awoke at around 2100 hours, night had fallen in Chicago. Chiraq, as some of his old service friends had called it, and for good reason. Thomas had barely rubbed the sleep from his eyes when he heard the telltale pops and yells of gunfights and the squealing of tires as shooters made their getaway.

Ordinarily, this would have made the careful and cautious Thomas Rivers to hunker down and wait for the shooting to stop. But not tonight.

Thomas zipped up his bomber jacket as high as it'd go and made his way to the trailer under cover of darkness. He opened the doors and quickly made his way into the darkness. The first time he'd tried this, it had taken Thomas eight minutes to get ready. Practice had shaved eight minutes to one. Start by flipping the on switch to warm up the power core, throw the arms forward, open the locks in an orderly manner, step inside, and lurch forward to close everything. Clap everything closed manually, and wait for the telltale chime to let him know that the walking scrap heap was ready while his phone synced up to the armor's radio. During all this, Thomas looked almost painfully slow. But it was like his old drill instructors had said; slow is smooth, smooth is fast. It was a philosophy that had served him well, and it prevented any careless mistakes that could prove fatal in the field.

As he finally stepped into the makeshift armor, Thomas took a step and threw himself forward, the motion itself clasping most of the armor shut around him. A few steps and a cold breeze told Thomas that the left leg hadn't shut; with a roll of his eyes, the junk monster pushed the offending leg against the motel wall, and a quiet click told Thomas that he was good to go. It was a good thing, too; the area around his motel was a hotbed of gang activity, and right around now was when things were bound to get heated.

Easy, Thomas, he thought to himself as he waded into enemy territory, slow is smooth, smooth is fast. Take it easy...

so Jeannie found herself in Chicago as they were in need of a hero she didn't really look like one at the moment cause well she likes being fashionable and the wearing the same costume all the time just doesn't work for her like other heroes do.

plus the looking like a regular girl helps her surprise the bad guys too. so at the moment, Jeannie was enjoying one of her favorite parts of visiting there Chicago-style pizza! when all the sudden she hears gunshots and lots of noise. well looks like sight seeing well have to wait, duty calls at least they were nice enough to wait till she finished lunch, she pays for her pizza and heads out of the restaurant toward the sounds to check it out

It didn't take long to find the first source of gunfire.

Rounding one alley into an even darker one, Thomas spotted a gathering. Two men - older and skinner than the five or so kids they were talking to, all of whom were wearing the same color - stood on opposing sides of a car's open trunk. Thomas couldn't see what was in it. What he could see, however, what what one of the men pulled out; a chrome-finish shotgun with a pistol grip. One of the kids tried to grab it only for the other man to draw down on the younger man, who immediately fell back into line when he found himself staring down a nickel-plated .45 handgun. One of the kids began to make a show of fishing around his pockets while another slowly reached behind his back, into his waistband. And as smart as Thomas was, it didn't take a genius to figure out what was about to happen.

"Put the guns down. Now."

Their movement stopped. Under the thick iron helmet, Thomas smiled; the microphone he'd wired into the armor led to a speaker tucked just under the lower portion of his breastplate, and the combination of the muffle and reverberation lowered the tone of his voice significantly, making it sound for all the world like a demon had possessed a junkyard. The walking scrap heap bore down on the group with loud, cumbersome steps. As he waded towards the group, Thomas inclined his head downward, lessening the chance of taking a round into the large eye lenses. He snapped his left arm to the side, manually charging up the concussive blaster mounted into his palm on that side. Thomas's eyes moved from left to right, now noticing that everyone around the car was packing some kind of heat. Some had their guns sideways. Others were shaking, clearly terrified of the mangled mass of metal coming their way. The taller of the two older men moved towards the car while the other leveled the chrome shotgun at the new threat, clearly no stranger to this sort of thing. But any way he sliced it, Thomas knew he was now downrange of at least six barrels. And even though he'd built his homebrew armor suit to withstand such attacks, the former nuclear engineer was no more fond of the idea.

"I said put the gu-"

The metal behemoth's second command was drowned out by a barrage of gangster gunfire.

so Jeannie gets to where the sounds were coming from. well, there is something you don't see every day. some kinda robot was being shot at by a bunch of guys.

huh, the guys with guns most be some of the gangsters she was after. ok, then she'll help Mr. robot and catch the bad guys.
Cheers, love! The cavalry's here! Jeannie reaches into her jacket pocket and pulls out some smoke bombs she tosses between the gangsters and the robot.

with the gunmen blinded, she gets to the robot to see if he is ok
you ok Mr.robot? standing in front of guns really isn't a good idea.well, I guess if your all metal it is ok. still, you really should shoot back, don't you have like lasers or something?or can you fly? that be really good then we could fly up above the smoke and air raid them while they still can't see

she draws her Berettas from her jacket ready to fire back at the bad guys

Jeannie Rose wrote:you ok Mr.robot? standi-

"GEDDOWN."

Even with his voice modulated and deepened through the microphone, Thomas's command carried the telltale mixture of fury and fear that came with a firefight.  The dark lenses of his helmet had offered a measure of protection against the sudden flash of light, and the helmet itself stopped much of the smoke from entering his lungs, but neither stopped the metal man from being completely bewildered by the British newcomer.

And neither stopped the panicked gangbangers from continuing to shoot.

Half-blind and barely breathing, Thomas stepped to where he thought he'd be between the newcomer and the shooters, his metal carapace being only slightly less bombarded by lead.  Raising his left hand, Thomas let a charged concussive blast rip through the air, aimed toward the ground.  The sudden rush of invisible energy took a good deal of the smoke with it, giving both Thomas and his alleged cavalry a slightly better view of the wildly-shooting gunmen.  The walking junkyard lurched forward and started to swing wildly, taking hits all the while as he thought he heard the British woman muttering in the background; it was difficult to tell between the cracking of fired shots, the pinging of deflected shots, and the depth of his own breathing.

One swing of his arm sent a goon flying into a brick wall.  Another sent a bad guy into the trunk of the car.  And over the din of battle, Thomas could still make out the revving of an engine and the squealing of tires.

If she wanted to be useful, the newcomer could see what she could do about stopping the fleeing vehicle.

Chicago was just one of those places Cebra read about and thought was over hyped as gangland central. He had always wanted to try this "vacation" thing so many people talked about away from his work. The Cream and sugar, a local gentleman's club was apparently a good place to unwind or so Cebra heard and it had been some time since well... you know. The drinks were strong but good, the entertainment was very pleasurable.


Alas the life of one who is called "hero" is never at peace, a stray bullet flies through one of the windows sending the entire place into a panic as Cebra sighs with frustration. Outside the obvious sounds of gunfire by gangs gets Cebra's attention as it always has.

"Well... back to work I guess"

Cebra gulps down the rest of his Mojito and gets up heading out the door. Another bullet comes flying at his head but stops a centimeter away by the saxon energy field stuck in mid air. Cebra takes the bullet and glares in the direction of the shoot out... it couldn't be...

"Jeannie?... but who's the upgraded Tin man? Hmm"

Cebra takes some cover behind a dumpster watching the events play out not eager to step on anyone's toes. This was not his city to guard but he would help if it looked like it was needed.

neat toy Jeannie was amused by the tin man's blaster thingy that cleared the smoke so they could see.
she fires back a the gangster.

then when a car takes off hey get back here you under arrest. then robot seemed to have the bad guys out of the car under control, so she turns her attention to the ones getting away as he seemed kinda slow so she'd be better suited for chasing.

she runs after them shooting at the car. darn need something bigger to stop them, or a car chases them with.. why looking for something that could help.
she hears some call her name.

and turns to see a familiar face.mr. cyborg hello! huh not sure who he is we didn't get a chance to make introductions before the gun fight broke out.

hey, can you make me a tank or something? we got to stop that car, there trying to get away.

Thomas stood among the broken and unconscious bodies of several gang members.  He saw the young blonde Brit take off after the car to no avail before breaking off and chatting up some other guy that had taken cover behind a dumpster, showing himself to be the smartest of the three present.  Thoughts raced around his mind like cars on a NASCAR track, cycling between the lost vehicle to the blonde psychopath to his full-body soreness and everything in between.  But one thought rose above the roaring of his other thoughts to dominate his mind as he stood in the still-clearing smoke.

...holy shit, I'm alive.

The man-shaped scrap heap seemed stuck in place as the man inside took mental inventory.  He was alive.  The after-market armor had worked.  No immediately obvious serious injuries.  He was alive.  People were actually willing to do something about crime and help out a would-be hero, even if they were borderline suicidal.  He was alive.

As the euphoria of a moderately-successful first outing slowly faded away, Thomas was ripped out of his reverie by the aches - dulled, evidently, by the adrenaline - which were growing into pains.  His chest felt like it was on fire, having received the brunt of enemy's attack.  Thomas could barely see straight, as if he was trying to see through smoke that wasn't there, to say nothing of the raging headache that was setting in.  Concussion, at a minimum.  Possible greenstick fractures on the ribcage and forearms.  Welts and bruises all over the place.

Reminds me of Norfolk, the former US sailor thought to himself.

The rusting rumbler moved to walk towards the pair when he noticed that his left leg barely moved.  Thomas looked down, fighting through hazy vision to see a still-smoking ball of buckshot caught in the exposed movement assembly.  He reached in with an iron gauntlet and ripped it loose, casually flicking it into a nearby dumpster.  Thomas raised and lowered the leg - making sure nothing else was damaged - before walking towards the Brit and her companion.

"I believe," the metal man said, his already-low voice taking an almost dangerous edge as his eyes locked on the blonde, "that introductions are in order."

Knightfall made a sharp right turn around the corner Nocturne's back wheel skidding over the sidewalk causing some passerby to jump back in surprise. Knightfall hunched down to his handlebars and continued his pursuit after the fleeing gangsters. Nocturne had alerted him to reports of a shooting so he decided it wouldn't be bad to put a dent into Chicago's crime wave. "Sir, once we round the next corner we'll have a limited line of sight with the men." Knightfall flies around the next corner and spots their target. "Nocturne I'm going to need you to get closer if you please." "On it Sir." Knightfall switched Nocturne to manual drive and waited for Nocturne to close in behind the fleeing vehicle. One of the gang members looked out of the back window and instantly recognized the man tailing them as Knightfall. The man's eyes widened and he signaled for the driver to step on it. The man turned around in his seat and fired at Knightfall through the back window. Knightfall felt a bullet graze past the left side of his helmet. "Swear to god if they scratched my helmet... Nocturne keep steady." Nocturne slowed down slightly, keeping pace with the gangsters vehicle. Knightfall slowly but surely stood up on his motorcycle seat and jumped up off Nocturne into the air. One of the gangsters took a sigh of relief as they'd lost sight of their pursuer. Knightfall quickly manipulated the adrenaline in his body to focus on the shot and fired both his grappling hooks hooking onto the lip of the car's front windshield. He then quickly flew forward using his grappling hooks and slammed his feet down on the car's roof crumpling like it was aluminum foil and caving it in. The car swerved to the left and Nocturne's weapons system activated revealing the two mounted machine guns on either side and opening fire on the getaway vehicle's tires tearing them to shreds. The car careened left and the side of it slammed into one of the trees on the sidewalk all of the civilians on said sidewalk ran away for fear of their lives. Knightfall flew off the car's destroyed roof and through one of the windows of the building next to them. Laying on his back among all the shattered glass Knightfall groaned. "Well that was fun. Lets never do that again." The office workers watched with wide eyes as Knightfall struggled onto his feet and Knightfall did a passing gesture towards them. "What are you looking at?"

Jeannie makes a pouty face and stomps her foot annoyed those guys were lucky she didn't have any bigger guns with her at the time. maybe if she got a car she could catch them.

at the moment the tin man seemed interested in introductions. well, that's nice. chasing the other guys could wait. they did catch some of the bad guys though, so they can get them to tell where the hideout to get the others was.

ok then I'm Jeannie nice to meet you Mr.
robot, sorry they got away, I needed a bigger gun for car stoping. we'ill gets them next time.their buddies can tell us where to look

Cebra looks at Jeannie then at the man in the armor suit, he smirks at Jeannie's suggestion not willing or able to create a three tonne war machine to chase down some thugs.

"Good to see you too blondy... I think I'd like to know what's going on first before I do anything."

Cebra walks over to the person in the armor stepping over the corpses non nonchalantly.

"Hey there friend, so do you mind me asking what's going on here? Looks like a scene from the wild west."

"That tends to happen when people," the junk machine growled, "try to get people killed."

Thomas did his best to choke down the bile; he knew that the bubbly blonde Jean was simply trying to help, and in a town as dangerous as Chicago had become Thomas was willing to take whatever help he could get.  But between the unwelcome smoke and flashbang grenades, attempting to actually run after a speeding car, and then casually strolling up to this other fellow to exchange pleasantries, Thomas wasn't entirely sure just whose side Jean thought she was on.  Worse still, there was nothing he'd seen thus far that would indicate superhuman ability.  Pretty blonde girl with no evident sense of tactics, communication, teamwork, or - apparently - logic.  All she'd have to do is go a few alleys over and try that "you're under arrest" thing again.  That'd do it.  Thomas bit his tongue so hard he could almost taste the blood.

The man that approached him strode over the bodies to do it with little concern.  Another vigilante?  Entirely likely; not many would be so nonchalant in the presence of several people lying broken, unconscious, or dead.  Meta?  Almost certainly, the way he thought he heard Jean talk about making a tank.  Thomas had heard that magicians, warlocks, and witches existed.  But Thomas never gave it much thought beyond the occasional wish that they'd drop a mountain of gold on his doorstep or crack a metaphysical whip to get those damned lazy subordinates off their asses and back to maintaining the reactor.  If he was a magic-user, Thomas noted, his help would have been absolutely magnificent a few seconds ago.  But then again, both he and Jean seemed familiar with one another.  If he was as untrained as she was, then perhaps hiding behind a dumpster was the smart move after all.  And unless he could think and act faster than a bullet could fly, Thomas didn't blame him at all for the act, or lack thereof.

Thomas had been about to open his mouth when he realized that he hadn't come up with a code name for himself yet.

Granted, Thomas had never envisioned himself being a superhero.  All he had really wanted to do was help people, but circumstances beyond his control had forced him back to his one-horse hick town for God only knows how long.  The armor on his body, while crude, was a prototype; a proof-of-concept to show that powered armor didn't have to have a price tag reaching into the billions.  Once the bugs were ironed out and the flaws addressed, Thomas had planned to pitch the suit to whoever had military personnel and first responders that needed top-tier protection for a bottom-tier budget.  And as Thomas knew from his eight years in the Navy, there was no better teacher than experience.  Painful, grueling, seat-suckingly terrifying experience.  And - as it had just now - sometimes experience meant throwing your plan to the wind and winging it.

So he winged it.

"Regardless," Thomas said, turning now to face the man, "my name is Ir-"

A loud crash from down the street interrupted him.

Cebra looks over the war zone that was not long ago a city street, reminding him of the fragility and violence people were capable of. He'd become jaded to the gore of bloodshed especially among gangsters and the like. Cebra picked up a wallet on the ground that fell from one of the pockets of the gang members involved in the shooting. The ID inside didn't seem to match any of the bullet ridden corpses on the ground, Cebra surmised it must be from one of the ones who escaped the fight in the car. He took out the ID and as he did caught a glimpse of what seemed to be a picture of an infant. Cebra paused for a second pensively then put the wallet in his pocket.

"Yes... humans can be... quite dangerous. But thi..."

The loud crash instantly grabs his attention turning to face the direction of the noise. Cebra's eyes flash red in a computerized manner, then he touches the dumpster sending a surge of saxon energy running through it and reducing a large portion to pure liquid metal. He molds the metal using the energy into a pair of cybernetic strafing laser gauntlets synthesizing other parts with his nanobots and puts them on.

"...More trouble?"

Jeannie watches amused as Cebra used his wizard powers to make some fancy gloves.neat she claps her hands she found that trick of his most entertaining.

she looks in the sound of the explosion
sounds like a car hit a building something with glass any why and smells like more gun shoots, we should probably check it out, we might want some form of transportation thought walking all that way would be annoying and time-consuming. sounds like it's pretty far down the street

she waits to see if the the tin man or Cebra had any suggestions on their next move.

"Well... no sense in sitting on our asses when we can help I suppose. Let's go see what's going on but I guess be careful. It might be the remains of the assholes from earlier. I'd rather keep any gunfire to a minimal if we can, stray bullets and all"

Cebra walks towards the sound of the crash cautiously, ready to fire at anything moving too threateningly.