The cold Chicago night.

It was a cold Chicago night, just like the title of this topic stated. The wind blew violently over the rooftops and through the streets, making it even colder. But the coldest place outdoors was probably either the skating ring or the huge suit of armor that was sitting on a bench in a park. The suit had taken a pose, similar to "The Thinker" by whoever that artist was, that statue that was cut up by some basterds to steal and sell all the copper it was made of. It did not really move. The suit of armor just sat there, on a bench, which was having a hard time carrying the weight of the thing. Despite its angry and agressive appearance, broad shouldered and spikey, the suit looked rather sad.

Wrong, wrong, wrong. Why, oh why must everything always go so terribly wrong for the cyborg? First it was that botched prison break-in, ruined by Nightkill and his inhumanly superpowered cape friends butting in. Then, after spending several weeks in a maximum security facility in Alaska, he finally puts together an elegant, beautiful plan for escape, only to be dragged off by the allegedly deceased Nightkill, violently given a painful and jarring electrical shock, and then ordered to rebuild his ugly, disgusting android body like some peasant with an engineering degree.

The half-million dollars was nice of Night, though. It managed to get him all the way to Chicago, prevent authorities from noticing any strange cyborgs passing by, rent a cushy little loft in the city, and there was still just enough money to buy him a few days of vacation before moving on to the next big scheme. Yes, things finally seemed to be going right for Magtok, our villain was back on his feet and ready to take on the world.

Or so he thought, anyways. Whilst sweating nervously as he passed by a patrolling cop in downtown, his synthetic facial mask just slipped right off. That wouldn't have been quite as big of a problem if he'd simply acted casually about the matter and walked away as if nothing happened, but instead he panicked, leading to the cop turning around, recognizing him and...

Well the rest is awfully blurry to him. There was some gunfire exchanged, and a dash down several alleys and busy streets before Magtok got away, but the exact details are rather muddled. Somehow, he'd winded up in some quiet park by nightfall, without even a single officer tailing him. Sirens could still be heard in the distance, but weren't that much of an issue anymore.

The freaky-looking statue, on the other hand, was a huge issue right now. Because Magtok just absentmindedly tripped right over it like a clumsy idiot, and most giant animate statues don't respond well to that sort of thing. "Aaaack!"

The statue came into motion. It lifted its arm off his knee and moved its head towards Magtok. During this act of motion, a cracking sound came from the statue, similar to the sound of breaking ice. Inside Magtok's head an iery, but friendly voice sounded. "Oh, I am terribly sorry! Are you okay, sir?" It said, in a very slow and dreamy fashion. The volume of the voice went up and down and shifted in a very irregular way. Some words, such as 'am' and 'you' sounded longer than usual, making the whole a very strange experience.

Magtok scurries back to his feet, intent on simply going on and heading elsewhere, when-OMFGWTF A TALKING STATUE!

"I...err...what?"

He staggers backwards, backpedals a step or two, and nervously drops a hand to his waist, intent on reaching for his laser gun and blowing a few holes in the thing if it makes any threatening moves towards him.

The statue got up from the bench and stuck his hand out, like one would to help someone up. "Do you need some help to get up, sir?" The iery voice said, again very dreamy and polite. The air around the collosal thing felt icy cold, as if the suit was filled with ice. "I hope you didn't hurt yourself." It was strange that such a huge and terrifying thing could be that polite.

Magtok's eye stares blankly at the absurd talking statue thing. Even in spite of all the crazy things he's seen recently, he'd never figured a talking, animate statue would be joining that list of things anytime soon. "I'm...I'm fine. No thanks, I can handle it." He nervously replies, whilst trying to calculate where to shoot the statue should things turn to violence. The knees would probably be a good idea. So long as the statue can't walk, Mag could always briskly jog away. "You're...a talking statue." Gee really, Magtok? Don't you think he already knows that?

A strange psychic pulse swept across the park, vaguely resembling laughter. It was a normal laugh, one you would expect from an average man. "No, not at all, my friend! I am a talking suit of armor!" The voice said, after which It laughed again. "Do not pay attention at the suit I am wearing. My physical form is of no interest. Call me Hydra." It moved a little closer to Magtok, allowing him to feel the cold that was 'radiating' from the steel carpace. "And who might you be?"

"I'm-

Quick, think of a psuedonym. That Tom Godlark acronym thing you do sometimes, Kotgam, tell him you're Slamfist in disguise, tell him anything except-

-Magtok. Just lying low around here until the sirens fade."

...You idiot.

"You are a fugitive? Well, it's nice to meet you anyway, mister Magtok." The voice of Hydra said. "You seem a bit worried, would you mind telling me what bothers you?" The statue slowly started walking over the gravel path, causing the sound of breaking ice commence once again.