Welcome Home (Invite Only)

Bart was confused for a second as Karma reached across his torso and grabbed the seat belt. He hadn't seen it there, and wouldn't know what it was meant for even if he had. He deduced it's purpose as a safety device once she snapped it into place. As they pulled into the parking lot of the building in which Karma's mother was held captive, Bart felt sympathy for her. He knew he had to help, whatever it took. "Well, I already broke myself out of a place like this today, shouldn't be too hard to get someone else out. What's the plan?"

Bart was a bit worried to find that Karma had no real plan, but as things panned out in their favor, he was relieved. He liked that she called him her brother, even if it wasn't true. She was suddenly the closest thing to a family he had, and that was an idea he could get used to. He went with her to her mother's room, only to find her dying in the bed. He couldn't bear to watch as she hopelessly and relentlessly attempted to bring her mother back. He decided to make himself useful by blocking the door. He jabbed his arm into the wall next to the door, then enforced the door by flattening his arm into a makeshift wall which held the door in place. When Karma finally stepped away from her mother, she came for the door, so he removed his arm and reshaped it. He was ready to take on the orderlies outside, but Karma's rage took care of them instead. He followed her quickly to the car, jumping through his own window as she had. He put his own seat belt on this time. He wanted to ask if she was okay, but remained silent, knowing that she would need time to think about what she had just been through.

Taking the wheel, Bart was not worried. There weren't many cars ahead of them, so it was easy to avoid them. After Karma took out the first two cars, her gun made a distinctive click, indicating a lack of ammo. He laughed when she told him to take the wheel again, "What are you gonna do, throw your gun at them? Leave the last one to me." As he said this, Bart removed his seat belt. He then climbed onto the roof of the car, holding onto it with claws formed from his feet which penetrated the shoes Karma had given him. He moved to the rear end of the car and leaped onto the hood of the police car. He dove through the windshield, between the cops, and into the back seat. He had a bit of trouble turning himself around, which allowed the passenger to get a few shots off. They didn't do much more than leave a few bruises, but they were painful nonetheless. Once he had recovered, Bart grabbed the heads of the cops and bashed them together, leaving the two men unconscious. The car began to speed up as the cop's foot weighed down the gas pedal, and they rear-ended Karma's Corvette. Bart jumped back through the windshield and onto the hood, then reached back and turned the wheel so that the cops would end up in the ditch. He moved onto the back of the Corvette, and watched the police cruiser turn off the road. It fell into the ditch rather hard, but the two passengers were unharmed. As the still-spinning tires kicked dirt onto the road, Bart climbed back into the car through the front passenger window. "And that's that!" He said, putting his seat belt back in place. "What's next, sis?"

Bart moved his hand over his back, feeling the holes in his shirt, along with the matching bruises. The bruises would be healed soon enough, but the shirt needed a replacement. He removed his right shoe and stuck his fingers through the holes. "Might need new shoes, too." In the meantime he put it back on its respective foot, then began to fiddle with the holes he had put in the roof. The music was new to him, he had never heard metal in the institution. He decided that he liked it. He used to like the classical music that the scientists played, but it grew old very fast. Not wanting to interrupt the music, Bart continued to poke around the holes in the roof of the car until they reached their destination.

"No, this is fine. I'm not used to it, so it's great." He chuckled. He watched as Karma used the ATM, memorizing the pin number in case he needed it for any reason. He was rather astonished at the amount of money withdrawn, it would be more than enough for new clothes and shoes, as well as to repair the car. Shortly after, they arrived at a clothing store with a sign that read "Aeropostle." He followed Karma inside and was thoroughly amused at the sheer amount of different types of clothing. Bart was used to wearing the same plain white jumpsuit every day, and seeing so many colors and sizes was a bit overwhelming. "Let's just get one thing straight. I'm not wearing anything white." He let out a laugh, then left it to his "sister" to lead the way and pick out something suitable, for he had no idea where to even start.

Warlord, after being spontaneously abandoned in the middle of nowhere, had had the good sense to loot one of the corses until he found the key to their bike. He then tried them systematically until he found the right one. He drove it with great speed, staying mostly to the back ways. He headed straight to a place where he knew he could expect assistance: an auto-repair shop owned by a former Army Ranger buddy of his and staffed by several ex-Army Rangers, ex-Navy SEALs, and a few former (and current but awaiting deployment) Marines. Warlord had worked personally with all of these men - in fact, though some of them already knew each other and were friendly due to having served together, it was he who brought them all together over this common interest and a shared dream.

It was quite a successful venture, too. The fact that all the staff are former or current military personnel is a big part of their advertising. For many people, the case was that they wanted to show their support for the veterans and active-duty men, and they needed the repairs anyway, so they came here. Others perhaps felt guilty for one reason or another, often the way they had mistreated military personnel and/or veterans in the past, and came to them as a way to assuage their guilt. Of course, the fact that their work is easily the best in the region doesn't hurt either. Word of mouth spread fast, and business was good. Very lucrative financially, and they get to do what they love. And they'd never forget the man who brought them together and payed out of his own pocket all of the start-up costs (and still donates gifts of money or new top-of-the-line equipment). The man who stood beside many of them in the line of fire and watched their backs, who saved many of their lives when he served with them. Without him, not only would the business probably not exist or be even remotely as successful...the clear majority of them wouldn't even be here, they'd be pushing up daisies.

So when he showed up there, Warlord was greeted like a brother and had a chance to get cleaned up and replace his shirt that now had holes and a bit of blood on it with a clean black shirt. After he'd told them about the whole biker incident, the two metahumans (they were all well aware of Warlord's superhuman abilities), up to the last fight and then being abandoned by those two kids. Worse, he went on, one of them is or once was military, because she has dogtags that seems to be hers; her fighting also bespeaks a bit of military training. Once he'd related those pertinent events, they immediately hooked him up with a free motorcycle, one of those fst Japanese ones with special and legally-questionable custom enhancements to speed. They also gave him a standard stack of five grand in twenties, a small matter given the success of their business and his enormous contributions over the years, which he tucked into an inner pocket of his overcoat.

Just then, he heard a car pull up with more customers. Then he heard a voice as they approached the open garage door, and he realized who it was.
"Well, well, well...If it isn't the two adolescent punks who left me in the middle of nowhere. You here to apologize?"
The other mechanics he had been chatting with, including one of the two Co-Owners, eyed the new arrivals and Warlord carefully. They obviously knew the story, and put two and two together from his body language and their descriptions even before his words confirmed it. They held back, letting Warlord handle his own business. But it was clear that they weren't inclined to be in the friendliest of moods towards the two new arrivals. Unless things changed, it would be very tense. At best, they'd service them as quickly as possible, demand the payment, and shoo them out the door. Worst case scenario, they might refuse them service altogether. It all depended on what went down between Warlord and these two young people.

Warlord was dressed in all black now as his shirt had been ruined and he replaced it with a black one. This shirt was sleaveless, and thus showed his shoulders and the tattoos there. His left bore the Marine Corps symbol and his right bore the Army Rangers symbol. His black overcoat lay on a stool behind him. He still wore his black jeans and black combat boots, and he hadn't yet removed his black SAP gloves. The most attention-grabbing accessory he wore, however, was his necklace. It was a simple chain...absolutely filled with dog tags. There were easily over one hundred there, presumably an even number. The dates on them varied greatly, with some of them seemingly impossible, because Warlord doesn't look that old (no older than when his Immortality kicked in, of course). Some bore the name Michael Bishop, some bore his other alias Michael McBride. Still others said simply WARLORD in big bold letters. Some of those ones bore dates, some did not. They were from his days deep in covert operations with the Rangers, especially right before he last left their service.

Bart took some time admiring his new look before they left the store. Next, the pair walked into a store with the word "Verizon" in red on a large sign. Karma bought two small portable phones and gave one to Bart, who looked over it briefly before shoving it into his front-right pocket. They then left the mall and headed to a small auto repair shop. Not knowing what kinds of new people might be inside, Bart walked timidly behind Karma. Suddenly, he heard a familiar voice. It belonged to Warlord, the man they had met earlier and then left after the fight with the gang members. Bart grew a bit less timid upon seeing a familiar face, but was aware that he may be a bit ticked off at them for leaving him. The man's many service tags shone brightly, and Karma began to fiddle with her own small collection. She was apparently upset at Warlord for unnecessarily killing most of the men in that gang. It also turned out that she knew one of the other men in the shop, and she blushed when he called her "Sweet-cheeks." This made Bart raise an eyebrow in curiosity, perhaps Karma had some sort of romantic history with this Philip. Other than the blushing, however, she seemed a bit rejecting as she flatly requested that the car be repaired and reenforced. She managed to sneak in a smile, though. Bart, not wanting to interrupt, simply stood quietly and waited to be acknowledged.

Warlord stood still for a moment, eyeing Skylar with distaste.
Then he laughed in her face.
Despite the apparent mirth in the laugh, it was apparent to see that no joy reached his eyes.
"You arrogant little infant..." he spoke slowly, placing emphasis on each word. It was clear from his whole manner of bearing that he felt very certain that Skylar had no idea what she was talking about. However, instead of continuing to address her, he addressed several of the Ex-Special Forces men around him.
"Hey fellas, quick hypothetical scenario: You piss off some Outlaws and Hammerskins by ruining a major illegal transaction. Then you escape them - twice, I should add - and you leave some of them alive. Wh-"
"Wait, why would you leave them alive?" One of the guys piped up.
"Just for the sake of argument, let's say you do. Now, what happens next?"
"Well, assuming you made it out of Atlanta - and really I don't see how you would without killing any of them - they'd spread your name and description to the other chapters around the country," one answered.
"Nowhere'd be safe, for you or for anyone around you," another added.
A third continued where the first left off by saying "And then every chapter in the country would be trying to kill you, and they wouldn't stop until either you or they were dead. You'd have to kill hundr-who am I kidding, thousands of them. The way I see it," he finished, "You'd have to kill the first group if you didn't want to be hunted everywhere you went, and especially if you wanted to limit the bloodshed as much as possible. And I'd expect a former Special Forces operative to be capable of thinking logically enough to understand that." The man, in his early forties perhaps (perhaps even older, hard to tell since he was so fantastically fit) gave Skylar a pointed a look, turned to look at Philip with a raised eyebrow and a look as if to say This is the company you keep? A judgmental girl who doesn't think outside the box?, and then turned back to Skylar.

Bishop turned back to Skylar.
"And there you have it. Although frankly, I have to admire the nerve of anyone who would lecture someone on killing only a few hours after she herself killed a man in cold blood and then stuffed his dismembered corpse in the garbage. I couldn't pull it off Myself; I'd feel too much like a shameless hypocrite."
Warlord let the barbed comment hang in the air and turned away without waiting to hear any response on her part. Several of the men raked her with sneers of disgust.
"Go ahead and fix her car," he said to the Owner, "But I'd get the money up front if I were you..."
The owner didn't look too pleased, but he'd fix it for her despite his distaste for her because Bishop asked. Warlord went back over to the TV and couches set up in a corner with some of the other guys, opening up a fresh beer. The owner strode over to Skylar and spoke to her.
"We'll fix it, but we can't just 'bulletproof' it. We'd have to order special parts that we don't have. Looks like the repairs will probably run you a few grand, but I'll know more once we examine it better." He planned to charge her as much as he legally could. "It'll be a few hours, so...make yourselves at home."
It sounded as though that was something he habitually said to all customers, and was slightly displeased to have said to her. He gestured at the couch and tv area, clearly meant as a comfortable place for customers to wait (there were even magazines on the coffee table), before he walked off with the rest of the guys to take a look at her car.