So... We have a metahuman in a normal prison?

Classified Gulag somewhere in the Himalayas...

The cold Himalayan winds blew into the Chinese Prison where they'd dumped violent and political prisoners alike. Peace was only enforced by the oppressively numerously heavily armed soldiers keeping a vigilant watch over the prisoners as they lined up for the rice porridge. An older intellectual prisoner shivered in his thin cotton prison clothes as he lined up for his porridge and piece of dried fried bread from the mess hall attendant. He nods in thanks at his ration and goes to his seat with fellow political prisoners of similar physique.

The prisoners ate in orderly silence until one of the newcomer prisoners walked over to the table, took a piece of bread that wasn't his, and swiped the book.

"What is this? a book? how did you get it, egghead?" He asked, boorish and rude.

"I have special permission. I borrowed it from the monk-" The Chinese intellectual prisoner said.

"Oh I see. The pretty sister."


"Is he new?" The intellectual's seatmate asked.

"Yeah he's new."

"Hello there." The newcomer walked over with his bowl over to the female side of the prison cafeteria. He sat at a table where a lone female monk quietly ate her own supper, her prayer beads on her table.

"Didn't you hear me, sister?" The stupid man slammed the table, causing the monk woman to stop eating, for just a moment.

"I heard wind pass through your mouth, but I did not hear you speak." She replied coldly. The man did not take this sitting down, and walked over to grab the monk by her short hair. He takes

"Listen sister. You listen to me. I am the devil here. I will be in charge soon and I demand respect. I..." He begins to cough, and covers his mouth with the hand he used to grasp her.

"..I... I want you to pray for my health. Tonight I will..." He doesn't stop coughing, realizing his breathing privileges were suspended. "I... Help... help I can't breath!" He calls out to the guards, who respond swiftly to the incident.

"I can't hear you, and I can't pray for you. I'm a fallen monk. I've broken my vows to the Buddha." She explained to the suffocating man.

"That's enough!" The guards surround the monk, armed with Ak-74's and aimed it straight at her. They all hold back though, refraining from physically striking the monk.

"Okay, so.  You know the drill," came a voice over the warrior's custom headset.  "In, boom and out."

"Why can't it ever be 'boom, boom and boom,'" came he gruff response from the heavily armed man studying the compound through his rifle's scope.  Dressed in gray-green camo to blend with the hills, he counted off the perimeter guards in his head.

"Very funny, Stormare," came the radio quip.  "I'm serious big guy.  We've been out of things for a while now and I really don't want to eat any more ramen.  Get it done."

The large sniper had been running the calculations in his head and began squeezing off shots from his vantage. One by one, sharpshooters began to go down, hearing the distant echo of the explosive firepower of Guerrero's Barrett. Standing, he slung the long gun across his back. "Snipers are clear," Guerrero confirmed.
---
From an an abandoned shack tricked out with a satellite communication array further down the mountain, Dirk opperated a specially tooled drone to keep an eye on his meal ticket. "Okay so, any idea how you're gonna get in?"

"I just figured I'd know and ask nicely."

Dirk was quiet for a moment. "Oh."
---
Moments later, Guerrero was inside. "Ya know, you are one scary ass mother."

Guerrero chose not to reply, instead winding his way toward the cafeteria, where intel had assured him was where his target was...

The alarm at the Gulag sounded, a bell ringing in three successive times that alerted the whole prison to the emergency. The non-violent prisoners quickly follow protocol and hide under their desks, hands held up over their head. The more bold inmates were up and rioting now, trying to escape. Of course, one of the guards would have none of that.

A burst of gunfire into the chest of a particularly enthusiastic inmate put an end to the escape attempt.

All through the chaos, the monk lady finished her lunch and simply sat at her desk, holding her prayer beads. She waited and wondered what was going on.

The guards, the under equipped, underpaid and underfed variety, were not that fond of their job but nonetheless rush towards Guerrero's position to stop him, shouting Chinese commands to tell him to cease whatever shenanigans what he was doing.

" Tíngzhǐ nǐ zhèngzài zuò shénme! (Stop what you're doing!) "

This warning was followed by bullets going his way, seeing as Guerrero was a heavily armed intruder presumably trying to free Chinese political enemies. The gunfire lights up the cafeteria and causes people to stay under the tables.

As bullets begins to fly, Guerrero ducks behind the hallway corner, using it as cover.  The sound of poorly stiffled laughter comes over his comm unit.  "Dude, aren't you bulletproof?"

"Still stings," the warrior muttered.  Plucking a black tube from a pouch on his jacket, he arms his stun grenade and lobs it into the mess of gunmen.  As soon as it detonates, the mercenary is around the corner, firing off shots from his Vector.  What guards were foolish enough to stay huddled are blinded and deafened, making them easy targets.

As Guerrero enters the cafeteria, he sweeps his SMG across the room, clearing out whoever seems to be a threat...objectively speaking.

He also takes note of all the prisoners hiding under tables, desperate to avoid the hail of gunfire.  The young woman off to one side stands out as she has continued to eat her meal.  "Eyes on target," Guerrero said before heading in her direction.

"Do the Arnold.  It'll be badass."

Ignoring his partner, the large mercenary moved in.  "Zafira Yn'Bashr?" he asked, pronouncing her second name with a long E and three syllables.  He was not sure if it was right; it did not sound Tibetan to him.  Then again, he did not know any Tibetan.  "You need to come with me."

Zafira was cool and calm, this break out not fazing her one bit. "Who sent you?" she asked plainly, continuing to eat her porridge and bread.

The first group of guards were neutralized, but another group of guards came from the armory with more fire power. "They are trying to free Zafira! Call the warden!"

The guards arrive, having the advantage of elevation on Guerrero. They carried heavy firepower in the form of three RPG's, aimed in their general direction. At that point, the hiding prisoners quickly huddle as far away from Zafira as they could, knowing the blast will likely cause a ton of collateral damage.

"Xiànzài tóuxiáng! (Surrender now!)" One of the guards called out.

"Your brother sent me," the large man said simply. Turning to the movement on the catwalks, he quickly spotted the rocket launchers trained on him. RPGs were a problem. While antipersonnel warheads might tear into him with shrapnel, HEAT shells would still prove fatal.

Of course, either could produce explosions that could prove dangerous for his target, whom he needed alive...

Ejecting the magazine from his Vector, he set the empty weapon on the table. The woman did not seem particularly foolhardy, so it was unlikey she would try to use the weapon with so many hostiles just out of reach.

Raising his hands, Guerrero moved into the open. Hopefully, he would be able to draw in the guards, turning the explosives into a liability rather than an asset.

The mention of her brother caused the female monk to pause, and put down her food. Zafira seemed deep in thought, and considered her next move. Given how brazen the attack on the prison was, perhaps it was time to reunite with her brother.

The guards however, had other plans. "Kill them! Don't let them leave!"

The second the guards decided to liquidate their prisoners, Zafira sprung into action, leaping onto the table in a single bound. The RPG's fly towards them, but Zafira made large, sweeping gestures - which bent the air in the prison cafeteria to come under her will. The very air currents redirect the rpg's trajectory through the open door and windows, detonating outside and sparing the prisoners from being reduced to paste.

She looked at them sternly. "Killing me is one thing. Killing people who peacefully speak against your government is another!" She said with a rare anger, causing the guards to quiver in their place.

Zafira makes some strong martial arts moves on the table she stood on, and again, the veryair in the prison seemed to change. A strong backdraft suddenly pulls the rocket troopers from the upper levels, sending them falling onto the steel tables or concrete. They survive, but the fall is simply agonizing.

Zafira lokoed at Guerrero. "It's time to make ourselves scarce, then." She collects her prayer beads and books, and heads to the exit from whence he came in through. She saw that the outer court was already a mess, and simply... lifted off, and flew away, superman style.

"Fanfarróna," Guerrero muttered.  "Show-off."  Grabbing his weapon, he began sprinting out of the compound.

As he ran, the merc spoke into his headset."Dirk," he shouted. "Get your bird in the air. I need pickup, ASAP." A guard saw him coming and was flattened as the warrior ran through him.

"Inbound," Dirk said simply.

Breaking into the open air, Guerrero so the antique Huey sweep in close. Without slowing, the mercenary leapt, easily entering the helicopter. He slid the panel shut behind him. As soon as he traded his field headset for the more robust helicopter set, Dirk asked, "Where's the girl?" He seemed worried.

"Flew off through a hole in the ceiling," Guerrero supplied, barely believing it himself. "Head for the rendezvous," he ordered. "We were paid to free her, not bring her back..."

As the Iroquois turned toward the old monastery the client had mentioned, Guerrero began to think of options if her absence was played as a deal breaker.

The girl would show up a few minutes later, outside the Huey while it was midair. Flying on her own power was fine but transportation was more welcome. Zafira let herself onto the helicopter, presumably constantly using her power was a draining exercise. Zafira sat down beside the mercenaries and said little.

They make their way to a high mountain top temple within the Tibetan border. The temple itself was partially in ruins, not from neglect but from deliberate shelling. The courtyard was half ruined, having barely enough space for the Huey with all the graves out in front.

Zafira exited the Huey, and gave a quick thanks for the ride. Seeing the temple once more, The monk lady went to the graves and knelt, observing a moment of silence.

A figure emerged from within the ruined temple, accompanied by red ninjas. The man dressed similarly to Zafira, but his ensemble was complemented by some armor and a metallic mask, having the visage of a scowling demon. "Welcome. Thank you mister Dirk and mister Guerrero for bringing Zafira here." He said, standing at the top of the temple steps.

Over the course of the trip, Dirk had attempted and failed to stir up a conversation with the monk and had only succeeded in fraying his partner's nerves. So they flew in silence.
---
Arriving at the ruins, Dirk powered the craft down, allowing the mercenaries to take off their headsets. Guerrero watched the girl head towards the graves placed off to the side of the dead compound. A striking image...

Then came the muffled voice of their masked employer, thanking the pair for his sister's safe return.

"We aim to please," Dirk said, still seated inbthe cockpit of the old helicopter, leaning out through the opened hatch.

Guerrero was much more blunt as he spoke. "Deal's a deal," he said. "Where's the payment?"

"Of course." In striking villain fashion, Zaheed ordered one of his shinobi warriors to bring out the small, old fashioned leather suitcase of payment. The suitcase contained a dozen 1kg gold bars... stamped with the communist star of the People Republic of China. No surprise; Zaheed was one of China's most publicly vilified terrorists. Those gold bars would be a lot of trouble for whoever was caught by the Chinese with them.

Zafira finished paying her respects to the graves, and stood up. She walked over to Zaheed... and planted a nice right haymaker to his face, sending him sprawling.

"master...!" The Shinobi draw their swords to defend their leader, but he simply laughed and stopped them from approaching. Zafira blasted one shinobi into a pillar. "Do not bother. None of you could lay a hand on her."

Zaheed looked up at his sister, a low, insidious laughter escaping from his mask. "I missed you too, sister."

"Now. There must be another reason for this reunion. We agreed I would surrender so the Chinese would not slay the protesters."

"Dear sister, those soft, weak book readers will never bring about the change we seek.... We found a group whose goals align with ours. They seek talented individuals like us, Zafira." Zaheed was feeling generous and extended "Even men like yourself, Mister Guerrero. Would you not wish to fight for a higher cause than mere gold?"

Guerrero wordlessly heaved the case of liberated gold into the helicopter, finding a place to lash it within the fuselage.  He grunted dismissively at the mention of a "higher cause."

"What my boss means to say is," Dirk began, as though trying to remedy an uncouth action.  "We used to fight for a 'higher purpose.'  And experience has taught to take high ideal B.S. with a grain of salt."  He raised his hands in false contrition, adding, "No offense."

"Can't fix the world if it don't wanna be fixed," Guerrero muttered to himself as he hopped back out of the Huey.  However, he did manage to exchanged a look with the pilot.

Turning back to Zaheed, Dirk amended the pair's opinion, saying, "It can't hurt to just talk, though.  Job's still a job after all.  Who knows, maybe they'll have use for us." And if this stranger was anything like other 'freedom fighters' and warlords, they would have no trouble hiring out for help...at least not until payments were do.