Ohio: Eagleopolis

"No, not really. I'm honestly more of a vagrant with superpowers than a bonafide superhero." Signal scratches her head, lifting her goggles back to the top of her head. She notices, for just a second, Zealot's fists clenching but nothing negative coming from him... or something; it was hard to tell now, his mind was too foggy to read anything. Like he was... confused. Her eyes meet right back to his and... wow, those are different, too. How much did he change from the Alpha incident?

Signal finally notices the angry thoughts heading towards the back of the museum. She begins to turn around so as to head towards it, but stops mid-turn to face Zealot again and ask him, "Would you like to follow me and see who else is in this museum?"

A stifled laugh, before his head shifts down to look at the ground. Eyes close before coming back open in a blink; nodding, he looks back up at her and smiles. "Sure. Do you think you could keep up?" For his own mind-well, he was definitely confused. Everything about the powers coursing through him was...odd, to him, but he was able to use them, at least.

Shifting himself back before moving forward, running up to her in a flash, his thoughts change suddenly to the incident itself-brief flashes of Alpha, time, pai-not important. Shaking his head, he looks forward and begins walking towards the back of the museum with her.

Mr. Nerve didn't have much control over the Berserkers, he expected around half of them to actually go into the Museum.
They leapt around but the heroes were doing a good enough job of avoiding them. Drat.
The treatise was easy enough to find but the Book was a entirely different matter.
He had to quicken the search if he wanted to find the Book of Grom.
The escape route through the back was being prepared by some hired goons.
Time was ticking.

Valencruz needed help. He didn't want to set on fire, because fire can kill him, but seemed better than his first idea of jumping of a skyscraper to kick it.

"Man, why did I think of that? Even if it would work my clothes would get all sticky, plus I'd have to make calculations for my landing, the direction and force of the wind, AND the movement of the golem.....I should just blow up a car at it."

Valencruz, suddenly glad he had the foresight to think about his course of action, landed in front of (or behind, or in the general area of) the cyborg who seemed to have the same goal as him.

"Yo. Need help?" He asked the robot. Valencruz is also mistakenly assuming cyborg, android, and robot are all the same thing.

The back of the museum had exhibits that didn't seem to be as popular as the others. The Mysteries of Egypt section was looking musty, appropriately enough, and the Aliens or Magic exhibit showed no signs of recent visitors.

The negative energy was going towards the Wonders of China exhibit. It had some pretty funky stuff and Signal avoided it in her childhood due to all the "scary torture implements." Now? ...They're still kinda scary, honestly. Some books here, some scrolls there, a huge model of the Great Wall of China... it was more somber than the other exhibits. This was all from what Signal could remember; she had no idea how much it may or may not have changed.

She began to float above the ground in case the person in the museum had sensitive hearing. The element of surprise was always a good one to have, and it meant more cards in favor of the house. But for all she knew the other guy may be hiding aces himself.

"If you don't mind me asking, Zealot," Signal whispers to him, "what exactly happened after you sent Alpha to... wherever you sent him?"

BLOOP!
Sugar Shock ejected herself from her Marshmallow golem, allowing it to continue rampaging towards the museum. There was too much to loot and steal to waste time playing with other powered people, no matter how much she wanted to. It wasn't very hard to slip away with the giant drawing everyone's attention and Sugar Shock was soon making off with a TV and a large slurpee in the opposite direction of the museum.

The machine, detecting super-humans within the building, opted to pursue the massive marshmallow unaided. Surely, he would not be enough to convince them tom to join the fight if they had not already intervened.

With that, he hurried out of the museum and broke into the first car closest to him. His computer mind afforded him knowledge of many skills, hot-wiring being one of them. Of course, for his plan to work, the car would need a few other adjustments:
Fuel lines? Cut.
Hood? Torn off.
Ignition? On.

With that, he drove the death-trap waiting to happen toward the sugary menace. Not long after it reached speed, the engine ignited as flames engulfed much of the vehicle as it charged towards it's intended victim. When the machine was confident the flames were of an adequate size, it evacuated the vehicle by rolling out of the driver's side, stopping itself before it got too banged up.

Continuing to walk upon the Earth as though he were naught but a man, Zealot seemed utterly...unworried, that someone may detect him there. This would be relatively par for the course in...everything she'd know about him. Shifting his head around, right eye twitches as he comes to one particular implement in the hall leading up to the torture exhibit...the iron maiden. Pausing, eyes set on it for a moment before...before they shake the view, his head shaking with it.

Looking up at the ceiling as he walks, he shrugs in response to the question. Head shifts down, blonde hair flowing gently along with it, and he stares directly at her. Man, he...really needs to do something about those eyes. "I died. Didn't you hear?" Obviously untrue, though if she bothered to scan his mind, that'd confirm it; he hadn't...died, for any period of time, at least. "Really, the beast had been defeated. We won. That's all. You don't-you don't need to worry about anything else."

For someone who could detect energy, it'd be obvious that there was...something weird, going on with Zealot's body. Hard to pin the exact type of energy, but...something was in there, and not something temporal either. The power being emitted would be...stentorian, pronounced, distinctly hard to ignore.

Valencruz, mostly satisfied with the way things kinda turned out, deciding to leave the area before anything near him caught on fire.

"I might have overestimated myself a tad bit..." He mumbles, as his motorcycle drove him through the violent and destructive streets.
A question plagued his mind as he drove through the battered and ruined city streets: "Now what?"
Find others and attempt to create some sort of police force?
Gather people under him to serve again?
Kill someone? NO. Valencruz hates the idea of wasting food like that.

Still, something must be done soon, this place is a hellhole. But first, he needed a refill.

And so, Valencruz pulled up to a somewhat faraway bloodbank and proceeded to raid it. The blood bags were, unsurprisingly, relatively untouched, because honestly, who the fuck raids a bloodbank?

After that, he stole a supply of bendy straws which the bloodbank apparently had because it's convenient to type that way.

Riding off in his bike, sipping a bag of blood like it was Capri Sun, Valencruz decides it'd be in his best interest to try to gather a cult of followers by preaching about the virtues....of partying.

"It doesn't feel like you've died, or I would have known. Still..." She would have to probe his mind again some other time until his own confusion is parted. There was definitely no trace of anything related to time, though... kind of? Something else replaced it during his disappearance, yeah, but what? This she would figure out later.

Signal arrived at the China exhibit. It was dimly lit, perhaps to set the mood. Not much changed aside from additions to the exhibits and a man wearing a full-body suit and helmet looking for something. She kept silent, eyeing him and feeling sick to her stomach from all the negative thoughts, so much so that she had to land to stay steady and not hit the floor (and therefore make any sound).

First things first: Valencruz needed somewhere to live.

Somewhere dark and which sunlight couldn't get in, yet big enough to allow him his sacred "partying". A place with an amazing sound system from which to blast dubstep and trancecore. Somewhere gloomy would be nice like....

"Of course..." Valencruz's jaw dropped at the amazingness of his own idea. He gazed up at what would become the party beacon of Eagleopolis: An abandoned, christian, gothic-style Church.

"It's perfect" He said, clearly ignoring the fact that CHURCHS HAVE GIANT FUCKING WINDOWS.

"Eh, I'll get some curtains." He remarked, taking another sip of his blood bag.

"It's funny.." Valencruz was starting to discover he seemed to enjoy monologuing a lot, anyways, he continued: "Before I got here I wanted to try to help so no one gets hurt...upon getting here...humans aren't worth helping. They're too destructive, too wild, too unpredictable..." He parked his bike inside the Church and walked up the aisle, looking up at the figure of Jesus Christ. One of the wires holding it up snapped and it was now crooked, leaning on it's left side. Valencruz seemed pleased by this obviously symbolic posture of the large, fallen statue.

"Too delicious. It's quite a paradox.." He said, having reached the statue. Of course, crooked or not, it would burn his skin to touch. In fact, nearly everything here would burn him to touch. So why make his home base a church? Valencruz had developed a flare for the melodramatic.

"So...I'm gonna do what you should've when you had the world eating out of your hands. I'm gonna save mankind from themselves. How? Mwahaha..." He smirked, then proclaimed before the crooked statue of Jesus Christ..

"TOTAL WORLD DOMINATION! BWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHA!!!!!" Valencruz was always "Neutral with a bit of villain". Now it's hard to tell. Either way, his laugh echoed and boomed through the empty church. Valencruz had announced before God to take over his place, and he wouldn't stop until he made good.

"My first step? MY OWN NARRATOR WILL NOW ADDRESS ME AS LORD!" Wait, what? Seriously. Fuck you.

Oh fine then. And so LORD Valencruz did a dramatic turn as his trench coat flowed fabulously behind him. He still wanted to party, after all.

"My second step? Get some worshipers....bwahaha....MWAHAHAHAHAHA!!!" A bunch of desperate, violent people? A vampire with hypnosis offering stability? He'd have an army in no time.

Lord Valencruz rode off on his bike to find the easiest people to convert: The people who DON'T want to fight. And so, laughing all the way, he heads to a refuge shelter...

Zealot stands where he is, looking first to Signal and then to the man in the suit. A light shrug overcomes his shoulders, and he begins looking around at other exhibits, as if expecting something more.

Teeth clench as he stares at the man, negative emotions flowing through him; his newly formed muscles surge with energy, and he closes his eyes, inhaling a gentle breathe through his nose. "I seem to be getting...a bit angry. Not very good, is it?"

"...No. That's bad, actually. If you need calming, just give me the word." Signal began to feel that, while Zealot was indeed getting angry... this wasn't his own anger. It was... induced?

...oh no. Ohhh no. We're seriously facing that kind of villain? Oh for fuck's sakes...

Signal closes her right hand so that it looks like a gun with it resting on the palm of her left. Tiny sparks began to crackle from the tip of the right index. "I can't believe it's come to this..."

Mr. Nerve was trying to keep calm. He knew that there were heroes coming after him, as his hired help noted their entrance into the museum. Emotions and confusion are for your prey, he repeated to himself. A man keps his calm, a beast falls to emotion. Keep calm and carry on.

The henchmen were ready, the wall beside him ready to be blasted. He knew that he had to wait for just the right moment to escape, he couldn't have fresh heroes chasing him through the city. So he waited for them. The Book of Grom would wait, the treatise wold help.

Then he noticed some sparks reflecting off the QIng armour. Now or never. He gave the order.
The blast shook the room and opened a hole in the wall whilst Mr. Nerve set his sights on the heroes.

The bear stood gracefully atop the building, like a gargoyle. It was naptime for the bear, and he was making the best of his sleepy-downtime. Truly, it was a sight to behold.

Agent 58664 had awoken in a world gone mad.

National boundaries seemed to have shifted, lawlessness was the norm instead of the hidden exception, and he could remember none of how it had come to pass.

The news and some talking with his co-squatters in the run-down motel had lead him to learn that Supers had been the cause of all this. "Villains have succeeded in one of their plots," he concluded.

As the sickly yellow light of sunset seen through dusty skies lit up his dilapidated hole-in-the-wall, Agent looked over his only belongings in the world: documents he would soon destroy, useless utility equipment, 2 small arms, and a suit of armour.

The documents explained as much as he was allowed to know: He worked for an unnamed Agency which had given him powers over a cross-dimensional substance known as 'DarkForce'. 'DarkForce' was not fully understood by the researchers of the Agency, but it was theorized to be something akin to the... 'Negative Energy Plane', which his mind accepted as a reference to some game he could not remember, infused with the essence of Entropy and Nothing. It was a simply a Force of destruction.
Further reading revealed that his total lack of memories was due to the experiment which gave him his powers. DarkForce had apparently eaten away his memories as his body became a conduit for the stuff. Nevertheless, his mission remained; Agent was to gain an intimate understanding of DarkForce and learn its applications in battle against Supers. Supers had caused the world to turn out this way, Agent told himself that the Agency sought a way to curtail villainous plots without relying on a handful of individuals.
Though there was no tutor to teach him DarkForce manipulation, the Agency had left some suggested applications of powers that seemed to be standard amongst Energy-Wielding Supers and therefore might provide some goals to pursue: Energy Blasts were by far the most common; Force-Fields comprised of said energy were also known to toughen up otherwise squishy Energy-Wielders; Flight was a common power amongst Supers in general; A few could shape their energy into something akin to golems or landmines; and a rare few could even BECOME their energy.
Agent could do none of this.
Agent's armour was a sleek, grey affair. It was written that it would stop a bullet, offer some insulation against cold nights, but wasn't fit to tackle Supers; it would protect him from looters and little else. His useless utilities included night-vision goggles that wouldn't work, a comm device with no-one to talk to, and various pouches, all empty. His weapons, two silenced pistols, were small caliber weapons, but Agent felt much more comfortable with these in hand than anything he could imagine. He only had 6 bullets though, 3 for each gun.
Taking stock as he burnt the documents which had set him on his path, for that seemed like the right way to deal with Agency documents, Agent told himself that on his side he had years (?) experience as a secret agent, might even have fought against a few Supers in his time, and did it all without powers. He wasn't a peak human specimen, his greying hairs told him he was pass his own peak, but he was good enough to have been part of a secret Agency. On the other hand, Supers had Superpowers they KNEW how to use.
Well, the Agency had thrown him to the wolves to see if he would survive, and hiding in his motel room was not getting him anymore acquainted with DarkForce.
As he left the room, Agent 58664 took a last look at the only home he'd ever known, a look at the roiling mob outside, and sighed deeply.
What had the Supers done?

Zealot himself was also trying to keep calm, focusing on the energy that Signal was emitting. Without the ability to stop time, he'd have to take hits a lot more often; as far as he knew, most of these hits wouldn't do much to him, but...how could he be sure? Agh-this was bad. Anger sweeping through his mind, his fists clench with far more strength than a man should really have available.

As the wall explodes, a quick motion moves Zealot in front of Signal in order to block any debris from hitting her-the concrete and drywall shrapnel simply ping off of him, as though they were made of foam. Wait, taking hits-...he wasn't supposed to be able to do that. Everyone in the room still in control of their faculties would know he wasn't supposed to be able to do that. Still, he twitches gently-years of being used to having to dodge everything would do that.

Were Nerve to look at Zealot himself, keeping calm would now become a far more...interesting proposal. With the world-wide reputation he has, coupled with the revelation that he seems to have new, or...at least different, powers...anger may be the worst thing to induce in him.

Rumblings from the building below shook the bear awake. This was not something that pleased him. So, the bear took a series of jumps down to where a group of strangely dressed hippie people were having some kind fight club. The bear let out a menacing roar, given that he was a bear.

Mr. Nerve knew he was dealing with something else as he saw the man take the force of the blast on himself. 'They are super-heroes after all, stupid.' his mind pointed out to him. Alright, he's a physical one and after all, everybody must have some kind of weakness. Maybe he's not good with his emotions?
The henchmen motioned for him to come before the Berserkers would start attacking them.
They would have to wait. Confusion was his specialty and no amount of muscle would change that. So he gazed upon the super hero and concentrated his mind. Waves of negative thought aimed for the man, the aim to make him rage around like a beast, possibly even hitting his partner. At least Mr. Nerve hoped that would happen. Hope. A dangerous word.

Lord Vladimir Victor Vasily Varick Von Valencruz at last found a refuge shelter that hadn't been raided and demolished. Though it took a while, he learned of the old library now being used as a shelter. The 3 floored building had barred windows and overturned cars blocking the doors.

"How do they leave?" Lord Valencruz wondered, he never wouldn've believed their fear for others would cause them to literally trap themselves. It seemed worth it, however, bullet holes and scorch marks on the front of the building suggests people have tried to invade before. For Lord Valencruz, this situation couldn't be better . People were helpless, starving, mistrustful, and scared. The loss of a national symbol had left a hole in their hearts, a hole waiting to be replace. He would try his natural charisma first to rally them, then seal their eternal allegiances a with quick gaze.

If they rejected him? Well, he'd just mind-control them anyways, and so, one tossed car later:

"Follow you? Out there?! That's insane! We're safer in here in this small, dark, closed environment running out of a food and with no lacking water!" Lord Valencruz chuckled to himself, this was gonna be easy.

"Say you DO succeed in whatever shady plans you want to do, you think YOU can be Justice? Who are you anyways?!"

And to this, Lord Valencruz replied, "Me? I'm...your new lord." And a pair of familiar red eyes flared up again.

"I....yes Lord Valencruz." "YES LORD VALENCRUZ." The minds of desperate humans were ridiculously easy to control. Valencruz could have kept them completely subjugated even if he never saw them again for another 20 years. Things were going well.

"Well, first off. You'll head to King's Street. There, you will quash and recruit the group the holding City Hall. It'll be a good place to start with." He had a huge grin on his face imagining taking over City Hall.

"But...how? They have all sorts of weapons and-" Lord Valencruz cut them off. He had thought that through.

"Do you...know what a ghoul is?" Lord Valencruz asked, as he raised one of the refugee's bladed weapon up to wrist and cut, letting his own blood flow freely. Lord Valencruz absolutely hated this, as it made human blood undrinkable to him; still, the ends would justify the means. Human-ghouls would be more than a match for gangs with guns, and city hall would be his.

Lord Valencruz's maniac laugh boom through the empty streets, as did the cry of those who were no longer human...

Zealot shifts himself, his teeth clenching-he looks from side to side as his fists clench and his arms surge with anger. "Don't...feel, very calm." Is the only thing he can vocalize through his clenched teeth. Face contorting, he moves himself to the side and slams his fist into the wall, beginning to tear...uh-oh. Hand now holding the remains of a large metal rod that hopefully didn't help much in holding the building up, he moves forward.

The giant hunk of steel swings forth as it flies from his hand, tearing into a nearby museum wall and crushing several exhibits. Kneeling himself down to grab a large suit of medieval armor, he hefts what must be several hundred pounds of metal up easily and pushes it forward in Nerve's general direction.

'Easy does it. Don't make him too angry. Atta boy.'
Things were going as planned. Zealot was going berserk and Mr. Nerve would make his escape. He was backing off slowly, watching the destruction with bemusement. The treatise was safely folded away - it would provide new interesting ways to craft new Berserkers. Who knew you could do so much with bamboo sticks? Oh, and the 'slow slicing' method. Genius.

Then there was a sting of intuition, raw adrenaline suddenly pumping through his body as Zealot actually threw a whole suit of armour. Drat.
Luckily it scattered in mid-air but still a helmet hit him hard. He stumbled out into the streets, falling over. The other parts of the suit hit the getaway van. Plan B it was then - the sewers.

It was getting hectic as some Berserkers came out onto the streets, jumping on nearby looters.
Mr. Nerve motioned to the henchmen for a smoke grenade to be thrown into the museum and a flashbang for good measure. After the dull thuds he realized that he had to sacrifice the henchmen if he was to get away - after all they were just hired cannon fodder. Many more men could step into their shoes.
"Shoot them both." he ordered and automatic fire burst into the museum.
Utterly harmless but it should buy some precious time. Time to arm the explosives on the sewer hatch.

Anger within him subsiding, Zealot calms himself down-closing his eyes, he inhales a deep breath, and...continues to inhale. He's...still going-how much lung capacity does he have? It doesn't seem to be a conscious action, and he lets out an absolutely massive sigh; the air cuts its way across the room and knocks a mask from its place onto the floor. Zealot opens his eyes and stares at the mask, confused. This confusion is only compounded when he hears yelling, followed by an explosion and automatic gunfire. It would probably compound it less if the gunfire weren't headed for him.

Recoiling instinctively even as the bullets ping harmlessly off of his skin, he takes a moment to collect himself; moving forward through the smoke until he comes out the other side. Staring at the collected henchmen, most may recognize him, and those that do would probably be less than confident about their ability to survive against him. Then again, that'd probably just happen anyway, considering he just came through a hail of gunfire. Moving up to the nearest henchmen, hands going down to either shoulder, he'd attempt to take hold of the man and-oh. Tear him in half. Ouch.

Mr. Nerve took a few seconds to collect his thoughts. He was facing Zealot. Zealot was supposed to be dead. Even if he is alive, he is supposed to be shifting time, not deflecting bullets and ripping men in half.
Maybe he started working out? Whatever the case, he had to get out. The explosives were ready, the hatch blown up. He jumped in, before sending one last wave in the conflicts general direction.

The sewers awaited him. Not the most comfortable route but it had to do.

The marshmallow golem exploded into a flaming sticky mess upon the car's impact, splattering on nearby buildings, including the museum, causing them to catch fire.
With her arms full of TV, Sugar Shock looked back with trepidation. She had only wanted to play with her powers and flip over a few big things, burning down a museum full of cool stuff was not on the agenda. Swearing loudly, she handed her TV to a suprised man and headed back into the fray to clean up her mess.
Maybe she could swipe a neat sword or suit of armour!
Sugar Shock tried her best to turn the flaming globs inside out to stifle the fires, but it was too late for some buildings. She amused herself by threatening civilians with the loss of their teeth if they didn't take a bite of the burnt marshmallow she offered them. In a short time, she had done quite a bit of damage control but the museum fire was out of control. Sugar Shock looked at the ruined looking building and turned to the teenagers she had tied with bubble tape to forcefeed marshmallow goo. "Not my fucking fault." she told them, giving them each another helping. "Hurry up and eat his before some hero sees and gets mad!"