Baxter Building

[Bobby Drake]

Bob’s ears pop as the private express elevator zooms to the top of the Baxter Building, and he tries not to think about the collection of scanners and defensive systems that are probably trained on him right now. At least, that’s how he’d have designed the system, and the Richards’ have got to be awfully twitchy after the last time their lab was invaded by a bunch of mutants. Fortunately, the five of them are, to all appearances, exactly what they claim to be.

Granted, the difference between appearance and reality is all the difference in the world, sometimes.

Next stop: penthouse! Rock-monsters, rubber scientists, incendiary teenybopper hearthrobs and invisible ladies’ lingerie! Or something like that. He giggles a little, then subsides under Hank’s disapproving stare. Man, he can say a mouthful even when he isn’t saying a word… how does he do that?

It takes a while for the elevator doors to open once they reach the top – more scanners, Bob supposes. John seems particularly twitchy, though he’s doing an OK job of covering it; Bob wonders, not for the first time, why John even came along on this little junket. Science lab field trips aren’t exactly his thing, and it’s a bit much to expect that he’d just come along to hold Bob’s hand while they were probing him or something… right?

Right, he tells himself forcefully. They were becoming friends again, even good friends – saving each others’ lives a couple of times during the Invasion helped with that – and he wasn’t going to ruin that by trying to get in between him and Rogue. Tempting as that might No. Science. Boring, boring science, he chants silently, squeezing his eyes shut in the hopes of chasing those images out of his mind, and hoping Josh isn’t having a receptive kind of day.

Finally the elevator door opens, and a professorial-looking man Bob recognizes from the Time Magazine cover greets them with a friendly smile, gesturing them into the foyer. “Good afternoon, gentlemen! And lady, of course. Welcome to the Baxter Building. I’m Reed Richards. ”

Bob tries not to stare as Dr. Richards’ arms distort, stretching as he shakes everyone’s hands and Hank makes almost-interpretable introductions. It’s not like he’s unused to physical mutations, after all, but… well, that’s just freaky, frankly. Still, he returns the handshake firmly, tries not to worry about Dr. Richards’ hand squooshing like Play-Doh in his grip.

“So, Henry, this is the... patient... you wanted me to examine?” Bob grins in response to the man’s discretion, though of course he must already know all about his case. "It’s OK, Dr. Richards… no secrets in this elevator. Yes, I’m Bob Drake, the once-and-hopefully-future Iceman… hopefully sooner, rather than later, and ready to owe you a huge favor if you can help out with that."

Bob’s never been a good actor, and it’s a good thing for him he doesn’t really have to act for this role. Yes, they’re on a fishing expedition, but he really does appreciate having another genius mutant-geneticist examine his case, and he doesn’t try to hide his nervousness. He’s primarily here as distraction, and he knows it, so he might as well play that role to the hilt, right?

[Toni Craft]

The Baxter Building.

"Holy momma of my snake's uncle! This place is fuckin' huge!" Needless to say, Toni Craft has made her entrance. "How come we don't get somethin' like this? I want a sky scraper!"

And then there's that look that Hank gives when he wants one to shut up.

"You're still angry that we never went any further with that kiss, Hank." Toni grins and boards the elevator with John, Hank, Bob, and Josh.

It takes far less to reach the top of the building than expected, but Toni's not complaining...at least not verbally. Ahhhh!! My ears! Funny thing though, she never would have though that she'd succumb to pressure changes. Iron is a tremendously tough thing. Too tough, one would think, to fluctuate under differences in air pressure.

“Good afternoon, gentlemen! And lady, of course. Welcome to the Baxter Building. I’m Reed Richards. ”

Toni almost doesn't want to touch the funny rubbery hand that comes in her direction, but curiousty gets the better of her.

"Dick--Can I call you Dick?--Nice place you got here." She says, happily shaking the acclaimed doctor's hand. "By the way, you feel like jello. You know that?" The look she gets is priceless; a mix between 'Wha--?' and 'How the fuck did you get in here?'

Toni scans the lab as Richard introduces himself to others. To a chemistry nut like herself, it's positively drool worthy.

"Please tell me I get to play with some of this stuff..." Johnny Storm walks out from another room, catching Toni's attention immediately. "Scratch that. I'll just take hunk-boy over there to go."

[Josh Dalton Worthington]

Josh stands in the corner of the elevator as it makes its way up towards the Baxter Building’s penthouse, eying the rest of the occupants. Or rather, watching Hank throw the evil eye at everyone else.

Hank had been on edge the entire car ride. Josh supposed that spying on fellow scientists wasn’t exactly where his skills tended to lie, and could sympathize. When Hank had asked him to come along, he’d coached it as a chance to visit the lab of Drs. Richards and Storm, and he’d jumped at the chance. Despite their rather posh setup in the sub-basement, Reed and Susan were full-time researchers and were bound to have some fun toys.

Except that’s not our real purpose here, Josh reminds himself silently. The MGH that had been used on some of the commandos in Westchester, as well as the ones in Paris, had been formulated in this lab. It was hard to believe that the nice woman he’d met at the Hellfire Club party was working with the enemy. I’m still hoping they don’t know what’s going on. However, Susan had seemed pretty quick on the uptake, for better or worse.

Thinking about Paris reminds him of Puppy, who is safely back at the Institute under Warren’s care. Reluctant care? Josh hasn’t decided on that one yet. It’s clear Warren has a fondness for the animal. How much of that fondness is based on his love for me is up in the air, though. The two of them hadn’t been able to decide on a name yet, so ‘Puppy’ was its unofficial designation. He’d been trying to house-train the dog since they’re returned with it. Things were going more quickly than normal - or so he was told - but the dog’s cheerful disregard for telepathic commands wasn’t as adorable as it sounded.

“Good afternoon, gentlemen! And lady, of course. Welcome to the Baxter Building. I’m Reed Richards. ”

Josh follows suit and shakes Reed’s hand. To be honest, Reed’s mutation was a little creepy. There are worse physical mutations. At least he looks the same as before they were dosed with MGH. What’s-his-name, Mr. Grimm, didn’t fare so well.

> "By the way, you feel like jello. You know that?"

“Nice to meet you. I appreciate you letting us tag along.” Josh glances over at Toni. “… I’m Josh Dalton, and this is my… er…. teacher, Toni Craft.” At this, Reed, who is staring in Toni’s direction as if she was some sort of curious insect, drags his gaze away, focusing on Josh.

“That’s right, Hank mentioned something about you two. My wife, Susan, says she remembers talking to you about our research at that Halloween party, before all those strange things started happening. She’s actually back in the lab right now.” Reed motions at the archway behind him.

Josh looks in Bobby and John's direction. <If Toni keeps this up, the Fantastic Four will be watching her so closely the rest of us should be able to practically dig through their file folders in front of them.> He bites his lip to avoid snickering.

[N.P.C]

> " Scratch that. I'll just take hunk-boy over there to go. "

Johnny blinks in response, slightly taken aback by Toni’s intimidating presence. "Um… right. I, um… HEY!" The indignant shout comes as he’s shoved unceremoniously out of the way by a massive, craggy hand. "Ah, never mind the squirt… no manners, he’s got."

The hand turns out to be attached to an equally massive, craggy body, which crosses the room to greet Toni. " Good t’meetcha, Toni… I’m Ben. "

[Pyro]

The tension in the elevator, like that in the car on the way in and despite the irrepressible Toni, is the clichéd sort you could cut with a knife… if you don’t mind stabbing yourself, at least, because its tangibility is of the cloak-like variety, enveloping and choking. Everyone’s got their reasons to be anxious, of course, but the other four seem to be doing a better job of suppressing it, and that doesn’t exactly make John feel any better, especially when his reasons seem so bloody trivial (and amazingly deluded and self-centred) next to their respective missions; it’s the first time he’s been *allowed* out since coming back, and it takes a while to get used to the idea the neither Magneto nor the authorities are hiding around every corner, especially when the environment is so harsh and sterile, so much like Erik’s metallic private quarters or the facilities at post-siege Alcatraz. At least, it’s easy to claim it’s that, rather than admit that it’s having to leave the Zippo in case it sets off a metal detector (or he reduces some multi-million dollar thingamajig Toni’s been fangasming about for days to ash) which is making him jittery. Same as it’s somehow better to let the risk of going stir-crazy be the reason he’s agreed to come along, though if Toni wants to see it as regained enthusiasm for her subject from her ex-pupil then that too is a fairly decent excuse, if more obviously and completely a lie. He’s nowhere near ready to admit this is about wanting to be there for Bob, because part of that means facing the ‘Big Issue’ as to exactly Bob needs support just now, and part of it means risking whatever compromise the Invasion forged.

(And fuck knows, that compromise is on shaky enough ground as it is, because just when he thought he’d got Bob figured out… John’s getting fairly used to the taste of false hope, but this is a whole new flavour, the multitude of stale excuses rearing their heads whenever he runs back over the crazier side of the invasion; that he was reading it wrong, that imminent death makes people do crazy things… Whatever. It’s not like he can come straight out and ask Bob what the hell that was all about, is it? And so they carry on with the way things are. They’re back as friends now, and that should be enough except that it really, really isn’t)

He’s unaware, until he catches Hank’s disapproving glare (shit, is there anything Big Blue approves of?), that without a lighter to occupy him he’s tapping out a substitute for the notably absent lift music with one of the sneakers he’s *borrowed* from Bob (one of the problems of only having the clothes he left behind, sigh…) while glancing at the ceiling as if that can make their ascent even quicker, hands buried in the pocket of his hoodie (he’s glad they insisted on *normal student* attire for this one, rather than uniforms, because the leathers would make it so much harder to concentrate on pulling off the *school trip* routine for more reasons that Ororo probably anticipated).

Once the door finally slides back (more scanners, no doubt, more reasons to be jittery, and all the *I’m just an average Joe, not an arsonist* training in the world can’t quite cover it up… because remembering that side of things doesn’t help) they’re met by an obviously schooled mega-watt smile set in features John feels he should probably be more familiar with (his news addiction one habit Magneto refused to accommodate, because they made it, didn’t need to read what the flatliners had to say) and dimly recognises from ‘that night everything went apeshit’ (or thinks he remembers from that anyway… it’s hard to pick things out, mainly because all those memories are caught up in prose which would probably make Hank proud were it not quite so, erm, lurid…). Of course all of that – and the introductions he should probably be paying more attention to, if only to see what mask he’s supposed to be playing under today, but won’t matter that much because who the hell can understand Hank anyway? – sort of pale in significance next to the whole *Stretchy* thing, and though he should know better than to be squicked by a physical mutation he can’t help wanting to back away because it’s just… freakish. He doesn’t, to his credit, even manages a quick, curt shake and a half-grin (and realises that yeah, it really does feel like Jello… shit, that’s just plain weird, which brightens the grin slightly).

”So, this is the Baxtery Boys’ HQ?” he shrugs to no-one in particular, just making the crack the situation demands - and falling back on snark as his usual tension-breaker, refusing to be impressed because impressed leads to intimidated. It’s the equivalent of a *pfft, whatever*, just better phrased (though from the look on Hank’s face, not that much better) and balanced with that diplomatic sort of forced social humour. ”When they said penthouse I was thinking less laboratory, more lava lamps and hot tubs.”

And the longer they stay there, with Reed’s hospitality, the appearances of the rest of the team (apart from – hah, ironic! - the invisible woman), Toni’s, well, Toni-ism… well, it’s weird. It feels less and less like a mission – less, even, like a lab trip, which is their cover – and more like some weird cocktail party without the stupid little sculptures that are supposed to pass for food and the miniature glasses of unpalatable concoctions with humorously risqué names. What really makes the difference, though, is catching Bob’s smile at the prospect of a solution… though of course he’s pretending not to notice, nor to be especially interested in anything much, hanging back within the group, somewhere between cynical observer by choice and deadweight by the realities of the situation.

[Bobby Drake]

> If Toni keeps this up, the Fantastic Four will be watching her so closely the rest of us should be able to practically dig through their file folders in front of them.

Bob grins at that, and Toni’s antics (it’s hard to think of her as “Miss Craft” when she’s carrying on like that), and the byplay between the Torch (because really, calling him either John or Storm was just too confusing) and Mr. Grimm.

> "When they said penthouse I was thinking less laboratory, more lava lamps and hot tubs."

That actually gets a chuckle out of him, though it’s really more of a nervous laugh, prompted by thoughts of hot tubs. Why don’t we get one of those installed in the Institute? Maybe then he’d – no. Boring, boring, science. He repeats it to himself like a mantra. Have to stay focused on the mission. Or at least be distracting to Dr. Richards’ little household here, while everyone else investigates. Or… well, do something other than woolgathering about how hot John looks in my old clothes…

---

Since the fiasco that was Project: Strikeback, Emma has had quite a lot on her formidable mind. The traitor Fury was still keeping himself unconscious and out of her control, but she’d managed to trigger her psychic cutouts on most of the other Strikeback operatives highly placed enough to have required direct mental tampering, or otherwise point back to her. Soon all leads back to her would be replaced with false trails and forgotten memories.

Reed Richards’ and his faux-mutant crew were not high on her list – really, they didn’t know much of interest – but they were on it. She had tampered with their minds, early in the process, to obtain the secret of the so-called “Mutant Grown Hormone”…and it was just barely possible that another telepath, like the young Dalton or his annoying mentor, could detect those traces. She hadn’t worked her way that far down yet, though… the process was slow and tedious. Her original plan had involved using Cerebro to do it all at once, but thanks to Fury she’d have to wait days to repair it.

Fortunately for her, Emma doesn’t rely entirely on her psychic talents to keep tabs on her projects. Even her formidable mind can’t be everywhere at once, but her mundane agents – like the Baxter Building receptionist – can be.

So it takes no more than a few minutes for the news to reach her Blackberry that Richards’ lab has some unusual, and high-priority, visitors. The Annoying X-Men. Again. In retrospect it isn’t surprising… some of her faux-mutant agents had left behind traces, and someone like McCoy would be more than capable of identifying the MGH in their system, and following that lead to this lab was a short jump. She just hadn’t considered it.

Well… no matter. I can correct the oversight now… and eliminate at least some of these perpetual annoyances. It takes very little effort to trigger her “back doors” into the foursome’s minds, and she already knows what technique to use… she’d installed it in case she ever wanted to use them as assassins. (In retrospect, she should have involved them in the fighting… but, well, she can’t very well think of everything, now can she?)

---

Susan Storm walks out of her lab to greet their visitors, then stops short when she sees them. They have the nerve to come here again??!!? She’s not sure why the rest of her team has been greeting them socially instead of kicking their asses, but as she looks around at them she realizes they are snapping out of whatever had held them in thrall.

"I don’t know what you all think you’re doing here, but whatever it is you aren’t going to get away with it." Her voice is firm, cold, matter-of-fact, and muffled mid-sentence by an invisible forcefield surrounding their visitors. Her three teammates, far more hostile than they were a moment before, stand alongside her, clearly ready to deal more aggressively with anyone who escapes her field

---

(( OOC: OK, for those of you following along: The FF are now under the impression that we’re the same group of mutants who attacked them in the first place, and are also being mind-fuddled to be more mindlessly violent than they would otherwise be. Pure fight scene for a while!

Guidelines:
* Fixed-order posting… Toni, Josh, John, Bobby.
* Anyone can pose any of the NPCs anytime they want, and resolve attacks on any of the NPCs.
* The FF are TOUGH, though… don’t play them as pushovers.
* It's not immediately obvious that they're being mindcontrolled (well, except perhaps to Josh), but figuring it out isn't too hard)

))

[Toni Craft]

"Um… right. I, um… HEY!" Just as Toni's about to make another smart remark, this one about Johnny Storms well-shaped bottom, he's replaced by a much larger, stranger looking...er...man?

"Ah, never mind the squirt… no manners, he’s got. Good t’meetcha, Toni… I’m Ben." Toni grins at him and holds out her hand, which seems dwarfed in comparison, but Ben shakes it all the same.

"Well hey there tall, orange and rocky." She shoots him a sly wink before turning back to the other members of the famous Fantastic Four.

”When they said penthouse I was thinking less laboratory, more lava lamps and hot tubs.”

"You wish, Johnny. It's not like accomplished scientists have Playboy bunnies running around, mind you, I did bring a bikini. Never tried usin' a particle accelerator in a bikini before. Sounds kinky." When Susan Storm steps out into the room, Toni pauses and adds sheepishly, "I take the Playboy remark back. All we need now is a couple bottles of vodka and Hugh Hefner..but I suppose Mr. Reed over there will work in a pinch."

"I don’t know what you all think you’re doing here, but whatever it is you aren’t going to get away with it."

"Wow...what happened to the friendly welcome wagon? PMS much, darlin'? You know, I've got these great little pills that'll work wonders on that. Highly recommended by my doctor. Just take two and you'll be happy as a fuckin' pedophile on a school bus." But the cold hard stares she gets in return make her cheery smile fade into confusion. "Uh...was it the Hugh Hefner remark? I didn't mean it, honest! I'll take it back and everything if it makes you feel better." There's something fuzzy in Toni's voice, like it's being snuffed out by a blanket. "Uh...echo?"

"Guys... what's goin' on?" She asks both her teammates and the famous quartet. Taking a step forward, Toni knocks her head against--

Air?

"Wha--?" Her question is short lived when a rocky fist collides with her stomach and she's thrown back towards the entrance. Toni hits the wall hard enough to make a body-sized indent in the steel plating. "Ow..." She groans, rolling onto her side with a few sickly coughs. "You guys are really sensitive, you know that? I didn't mean any har--ack!"

Ben uses his oversized hand and picks her up roughly by the throat, something she had learned during the invasion as a bad position to be in. Fortunately the grip was slightly lower, so breathing wasn't much of an issue.

"You know, I've always liked strong men. Are you free for dinner Saturday ni-ooohhhh shiznaz!" In mid-question Toni realizes that she's free of Bens hold, but seems to be flying. Last she checked, her iron mutation didn't involve wings. "Meeep..." And into the super-powered electron microscope she goes. "Mommy..." She squeaks, feeling the outer shell of the expensive machine crumple beneath her impact.

With a muted whumph! and a crackle of electricity, Toni's body crashes through essential electronic components, ripping the microscope apart.

Ben approaches the remnants of the machine, waiting to see if Toni had survived the impact, or was in any shape to retaliate.

With a sickening metal crunch and a few quick slashes, Toni busts through the interior of the wrecked microscope, armoured and long iron blades in hand.

"Knock me around all you wanna, buster, but break the toys? Come on. That's a low blow. And here I was trying to be nice and askin' you out on a date and everything! What do you have to say for yourself?" She's never been more grateful for practicing the altercation of her armour. During previous events, taunting her enemy had only been a unfulfilled dream--but she'd trained for long hours just to learn how to retain her ability to speak when the iron plate would cover her face. It was actually quite simple once she had figured it out, all she had to do was--

"Yeeeowzaaa!" Toni exclaims, dodging an attack by Ben, or rather, the Thing. Missing her by merely inches, his momentum causes him to go crashing into the microscope rubble. "Oh ye of little words!" She says in a feigned Scottish accent, steading herself on her feet and thickening the blades extending from her arms. "Now, how d'you beat a rock with legs? And arms...and a head...and is it true about what they say about big feet? You know, the bigger the foot the bigger the sock? Oompph!!" She skids on her back for about thirty feet, her armour plates scraping across the marble floor. "Hey! That was a clean joke! I didn't even say penis or anything! You have no idea what type of accomplishment that is!"

[Josh Dalton Worthington]

> "When they said penthouse I was thinking less laboratory, more lava lamps and hot tubs."

Bobby’s laugh seems… uncharacteristic. Oh, they’re still having issues... Sometimes, the two of them seemed closer than they’d ever been before, but all it took was the wrong comment or a snippy reply to drop things into an awkward silence. It was all very unpredictable and frustrating. Probably more so, for them. What was most frustrating for Josh was how obvious their attraction for each other seemed to be. Granted… my telepathy enhances my perceptions somewhat.

Toni’s interactions with the Fantastic Four quickly remind him of Hank’s trepidation about their relative maturity levels. Before long, Susan Storm walks out of the lab.

“Hi, Dr. Storm! Thanks for letting us get a look at your wor - - ” He’s cut off abruptly by her angry voice.

> "I don’t know what you all think you’re doing here, but whatever it is you aren’t going to get away with it."

Uh oh. Hank mentioned something about Dr. Storm being more grounded in reality than Dr. Richards. Does she know why we’re really here? That would probably be a bad thing… If Dr. Storm knew their true intentions, it would explain why she seemed so upset. Except she seems…off. Unreasonably angry. Something’s not lining up here. Especially since she’s just force-fielded us.

As Josh opens his mouth to speak, Toni gets smashed into the wall by the Thing. Susan throws her hands forward, aiming a concussion wave at all of them. The blast hits him dead on, being in the center of the group, and the force hurls him backwards towards the plate-glass window. He tries to wrap himself in telekinetic energy to minimize cuts.

CRASH!

The floor-to-ceiling window shatters into a million pieces, and Josh disappears, falling towards the earth.

[Pyro]

John jumps just a little at Bob’s giggle – for all that they’re back as friends now, it’s still a sound he’s getting used to the idea of hearing again, florid and melodramatic as that sounds – before one of his own slips out (though no one would presume to suggest John giggles; it’s a single, short laugh, almost a snort but totally lacking his usual derisive edge) because… well, he could stand to get re-accustomed to it. To this, the idea that the two of them don’t have to be so fucking awkward all the time.

… a hot tub might be a good place to do that, thinking about it. Maybe they can convince ‘roro to put one in next to the Sauna, now he’s not the only one with heat issues… Because it would be great for, erm, after training sessions and… stuff… Yes.

< It's not like accomplished scientists have Playboy bunnies running around
Perfect timing as ever on Toni’s part (yes, he tells himself, perfect. Because he should totally be casing something other than Bob right now… and not having anywhere near this much trouble remembering what that’s meant to be). ”Really?” – his disappointment is stagey enough, fingers crossed, to cover up the stretched quality; it shouldn’t be this hard to pretend not being allowed to let bunny girls intrude on the hot tub fantasies is a bad thing - ”Strike scientist off the career plans list, then. Supervillainy and a harem of fangirls in some secret lair it is”

The hasty ”Just kidding” is for Bob’s Sue’s benefit, of course, because she’s looking daggers. He recognises her from the Halloween thing (and no, it doesn’t feel at all wrong that she’s harder to forget than Reed, shut up) – the slightly less intimidating blonde (though, to be fair, it wasn’t exactly hard to less intimidating than Frost…) who he’d ended up half-heartedly flirting with while Bob talked politics and kids TV with pumpkin girl, and who’d left him torn as to whether being told that she was taken or that he reminded her of her brother should be a bigger blow. Now doesn’t seem the right time for a hey, remember me?, though; instead John wants to apologise for pretty much everything he’s done since entering the lab, a few things he hasn’t for good measure… when it comes down to it, merely for existing.

And then… all hell breaks loose.

”Oh my st..” Hank starts, before he’s smashed out of the way by miles of rubbery back-hand (and no amount of thinking it feels like jello can make that less freaky right now…), though John’s own ”Holy fucking hell…” completes the thought neatly enough. Everything comes thick and fast; Toni’s tossed through some machinery, Josh goes crashing through the window… He’s got no idea where Bob is, and is beyond bothering to check the fact that that makes everything a million times worse…

Whatever Sue’s attack did, he’s also suddenly far more intimate with the wall than he’d like (and counting what few blessing he reckons he has left that it wasn’t the window he hit, given that he has no chance of flying… Josh can do that, right?), and when he picks himself up… he’s not proud of it, not by any stretch of the imagination, but cowering taking cover is the only sensible option.

”Who was it said I didn’t need a fucking lighter?” (and however close he and Bob have got, he can’t quite silence the vindictive little voice which sparks up that maybe no-longer-Iceman thought it would be neat if someone else got to be the flatliner this time…). It’s a fairly alien sort of vulnerable, this; relying on the lighter he’s almost resigned, and more than accustomed, to, but genuinely being unable to do anything is horrible… and he hates that he’s shaking, and hates that he can’t launch into commando-style action the way Bob did during the Invasion (the way, he hopes, he is now, if he hasn’t found a safe point). ”Because now would be a great time for them to remind me exactly why I wasn’t bringing my own source of… Oh, that’s why”

Most of all, though, he hates that, for oh so many reasons. There’s a demented calm to the last few words, the stretched oh, we’re fucked humour as heat senses frantically trained on finding a spark pick up on the fwoooosh from across the room and shit, he really is on... no, he genuinely is fire. Holy fuck

… yeah. They’re fucked.

[Bobby Drake]

> " Supervillainy and a harem of fangirls in some secret lair it is "

Bob’s known John long enough to know he gives away more with his throwaway lines than he ever admits intentionally, but that one takes some processing. Would he riff like that on fangirls supervillainy as a lifestyle choice if he were still seriously considering it? Maybe.

And maybe not. Bob isn’t entirely sure he wants to think about it too carefully, and he’s not sure why. He’s about to reply with some riff about how poorly secret lairs seem to work out when suddenly everything erupts in chaos.

No matter how often it happens, Bob suspects he will never get used to how, when things go wrong, everything seems to go wrong at once. He was there for all of it but it still makes no sense: one moment everyone’s friendly, the next moment Toni and Ben are going at it, Susan’s tossed Josh out a window and John against a wall; Reed’s whiplashed Hank across the room; Johnny – the other Johnny – has burst into flame.

At first he’s confused, wondering why it’s become a fight… though he’s reacting instinctively anyway, diving behind cover and looking for something, anything, he can use as a weapon. Then his brain kicks into gear and only one answer makes any sense: the Fantastic Four really were a willing part of the Invasion, and this was a trap from the beginning.

Crap.

And judging from the first few seconds, it was a good trap… but they had surprise on their side. Now it’s our turn. Or their turn, anyway, since Bob still hasn’t found anything more weapon-like than a chair, and going hand-to-hand against the FF seems likely to give him a choice between bouncing, burning, and breaking whatever he hits them with. And no clever tactics come to mind beyond John attempting to control the Torch’s flame… which it seems, judging from the look in his eye, he’s already figured out.

So, I need a weapon. And there isn’t one here, so I need to look somewhere else.

He’s startled by a rubbery arm wrapping itself around his waist, and his reflex attempt to snap or dislodge it bounces off ineffectually as he’s yanked off the floor. Bob has just enough time to trace it back to Reed’s body on the other side of the room before Hank collides feet-first with Reed’s back… which stretches like a trampoline, absorbing the impact, and sends Hank flying back against a wall.

The impact seems to stun Reed slightly, though, and a tremor travels along his outstretched arm like a cracked whip, sending Bob flying down a hallway and through a (fortunately unlocked) door, which closes behind him.

He lies there for a moment, dazed but apparently not broken, as motion detectors register his presence and automatic lights go on. Some kind of storage room, or something… he’s surrounded by shelves and refrigerated containers containing tanks and vials and jars of God-knows-what.

Well, OK… maybe something in here will work as a weapon… he thinks, hauling himself to his feet and inspecting his surroundings more carefully. I may not be able to freeze Reed myself anymore, but I bet some liquid nitrogen or something would slow him down…

[Toni Craft]

What an odd, odd day…

First there’s a problem with a racoon getting in her bedroom, then Hector attempting to strangle and eat it, and now she’s fighting off a living rock. Toni can only wait to see what’ll happen around supper.

“Would…you…stop…hitting…me?! Ple…ease?” Toni squawks out, each word coming out after an orange fist pummels her further and further into the wall. Fortunately her armour prevents any bodily harm, but each punch makes her breath come out in short gasps, and her head spins as it repeatedly hits the steel plating. “Ow…ow…ow….Wooo! Lookie at all…the little flaming…guys! Spark…ly!” A warm yellow glow fills the lab as Johnny Storm lights into a man-shaped blob of fire. Toni though, with her head still pounding into the wall, blinks and concentrates, but can’t get rid of her multiple vision. “You know…this isn’t…working. All…you’re doing…is wrecking…your nice…interior…decorating.”

Surprisingly, the punches actually stop. Toni coughs a few times and takes some nice, deep breaths.

“Kinky, darlin’. But the only type of head banging I like is—Hey!” The Thing grabs her around the neck and one thigh and hoists her high over his head. “Wow, you’re a really hands on kind of guy. I likes! Now I just need to know: how are you at fending off seven-foot tall walking nuclear bombs?” Toni should have just kept her mouth shut, because next thing she knows she’s flying again. “Woah! Not toward the flaming dude…with the amazingly nice ass…” Fortunately, the Torch advances towards John, and Toni simply soars by. “Come back Oh perfectly shaped fire-man!”

She quickly realizes that iron doesn’t bounce very well, especially when colliding with marble floors, but her body comes pretty close. Problem is, iron doesn’t bounce, but it’s pretty slippery when on a smooth surface. There’s a crash of glass as Toni slides through one of the large panel windows.

“Woah no!” And she starts falling.

And then she stops.

Opening one eye to investigate the situation, all Toni sees is several hundred feet of open air bellow her. But above her head, she realizes that she’s clinging onto the window ledge for dear life, her fingers digging into the metal.

“Uh…the moment someone wants to lend a hand, I’ll be eternally grateful!” She yells, hoping that one of the other Institute members can spare a moment and save her from a rather stomach-lurching kind of death. Even with her armour deployed, death was surely imminent at this height.

When the Thing appears above her, Toni can feel the dread rising in her throat.

“Aw fuck.”

And there’s that gut wrenching feeling of freefall again.

[Josh Dalton Worthington]

As Josh plummets towards the ground, far below him, he becomes somewhat reflective on his week. This is the second time I’ve left a skyscraper through the window! Warren and I need to take a vacation. He shakes his head, and uses his powers to stop his descent about two floors below the penthouse level.

He begins gaining altitude, and notices the Thing towering over Toni, who’s - crap! - dangling from the bottom of another smashed-out pane. Josh flips back in through the shattered window, landing neatly and brushing off glass shards. “It takes more than tossing me out the window to finish me off, skank.” In response, the Invisible Woman begins shooting force bubbles the size of baseballs at him.

Oops. One glances off his shoulder, but he’s already diving towards the Thing and Toni. Josh throws his hands outward, blasting the Thing backwards into a wall. He takes cover behind an overturned sofa while using his powers to lift her back onto the floor.

It takes more effort that he was expecting. She’s made of iron, idiot! As she lifts upwards and floats over safe ground, he shouts out, “Jeez, Toni! I think you’ve gotta lose a couple pounds… ” A scattering of force bubbles smash into the couch, and he’s able to relax his concentration as soon as she’s touched down. When he’s able to take a breath, he rubs at his shoulder absently.

“Ow! Those things hurt!” His shoulder stings like hell. The Invisible Woman uses her powers to pull the couch away from them, and he dives out of the way of another energy wave. <We need to distract her somehow. Her powers should be just like mine… she can only split her concentration so many ways. Maybe start chucking stuff at Reed? What on that lab table would blow up, Chem Lady?> As he runs across the room, Josh telekinetically blocks a blast of fire from the Human Torch, and is subsequently tripped by one of Mr. Fantastic’s appendages. He sees Hank twirl through the air and smash into the Thing, who had been getting up slowly from the ground.

As he pulls himself to his feet, Josh quickly scans the room. Um... where's Bobby? For a second he assumes the worst, but shakes his head. He's probably hiding, or something.

[Pyro]

Hi, John. Brain here. Haven’t talked much lately, I know… let me remind you why we went back to the ‘stute. Because it was the *safe* option? Remember?

John mentally kicks the part of him complaining about the various flavours of imminent death he’s had the *pleasure* of sampling over the last week or so, promising himself a serious vacation from getting his ass kicked as soon as this is all over if he can only pull this off.

What exactly *this* might be is more than a little fuzzy right now, John’s strategy not going much further than Get flame. Bob would no doubt have come up with something slightly cleverer, and definitely a lot more specific, but it’s the best he can do, and okay, so he has no idea what he’s going to do once he gets that flame… but he’ll cross that bridge when he comes to it. No need to over-think things…

(Fuck… Johnny’s headed his way, seemingly homing in on him as if guided by some 6th sense – which shouldn’t surprise him, really, given that he’s pretty much doing the same thing – and shit… Stop gawping. Do something)

… though some thought might be a good idea, really. Instinct – which of course just latches on to the nearest source of flame and tries to steal it, because he’s never yet found one he can’t control – doesn’t serve him too well on its own, because though Torch stumbles briefly, as if with pins-and-needles or a momentary headspinning, John’s advantage only lasts a split second, and stumps him for far longer because shit, this is a whole new ballpark, flame actively resisting rather than complying with his will. The simultaneous crushing and exploding sensation inside his skull which accompanies an attempt to up the effort confirms that no, this isn’t the best idea he’s ever had.

Okay, Plan B… only we don’t even have a Plan A, do we?

Fuck’s sake John, stop panicking. So the guy has better toys than you. Big deal. You’ve been at this longer, right? That’s got to count for something… – insanely, John catches himself wondering when he started thinking this much, and when his inner voice switched from screaming ‘Burn the bastard!’ to sounding more like Bob… Maybe those D.R. room sessions are paying off as something more than a headfuck – Controlling Torchy himself’s a no go… so… – across the room, flame slams into Josh’s telekinetic shielding, the burst curling away and dissipating before he can snatch at it – Okay, brilliant. We get him to do that again…

The Allerdyce method of *persuading* people to do things, of course, comes down to one of two methods. The fact that Johnny’s made of flame negates the first, of course, so it’s all down to the second; pissing him off. Which, this being John, shouldn’t be too difficult, right?

… means he can’t keep hiding behind this… big shiny… whatever it is, though…

’Kay. 3.. 2… 1… ”Hey, Matchstick!” He’s on his feet, and it’s all pure Pyro… though it looks like whatever was meant to follow on from that (and he can’t remember, even a couple of seconds later, what it was meant to be… possibly because he, as per usual, hadn’t worked out anywhere near that far through) isn’t going to be needed because Torch’s easier than he expected and a split second after the words are out he’s funnelling a jet of flame trained in on him down into a baseball sized orb which sits neatly in his right palm. Simple. John closes his fingers around it as if he’s holding a bird, or something equally both crushable and likely to dart, a smirk spreading over his features. ”And the best part? I don’t need a lame catchphrase to kick your…”

The smirk resets into something closer to the flash he thought had ghosted across Johnny’s face – the stunned, slightly disconcerted flicker which might easily have been nothing more than the combination of wishful thinking, adrenaline and exhilaration on John’s part – as a second wave follows close on the heels of the first. There’s no way he can claim to be imagining that he no longer looks in control, and it’s beyond lame that his left hand is up as if physically as well as psionically holding the flames back (much more Josh’s turf, the telekineticist’s signature move…) because it would be so much cooler more imposing and heroic and, erm, stuff not to react beyond trusting that the flames’ll stay back because he wills them to, but… well, he’s a kid, and the rush of flame catches him off guard, and he flinches and…

… and it takes a few moments to stop squeezing his eyes shut and reassure himself that he’s not dead, and Torch is still tossing everything he’s got at him. It’s Alcatraz-Mark-One all over again only with him on the receiving end and doubly futile because they’re just cancelling each other out until one or other gives in… and he has a sickening feeling it’s not going to be The Human Torch who slips up.

Fuck… Okay, think loud. This had better fucking work Fingers crossed Josh’ll pick up it, because he’s out of practice at the whole *loud thought* thing. Mexican standoff here, Josh. Any bright ideas how the hell I’m meant to bring down Flametard?

[Bobby Drake]

As Bob looks around the storage room for something useful, he finds that one large wall is taken up by a refrigerated locker of some kind, clearly the most recently accessed item here.

On closer inspection it turns out to be about one-quarter full of small vials of a faintly phosphorescent yellow gel, all labeled “MGH-b17.” Mutant Growth Hormone? Maybe. Richards is pretty definitively involved with the soldiers that attacked them, so it stands to reason he’d be manufacturing a lot of the stuff.

Well, maybe Hank can make some sense out of this stuff, he thinks, grabbing a few vials and placing them carefully in a jacket pocket… then picks up the nearest heavy object to hand and smashes the rest of them. There’s another twenty or so mutant soldiers we won’t have to fight next time!

As he does so, he tries to make sense of the sounds coming from the other side of the door… the awful metal-tearing sounds are probably Toni and Ben going at it, and those weird twangy noises are probably Reed, and John’s voice is unmistakable, and those FWOOSHy sounds mean he and the Torch have engaged. Which, really, doesn’t tell him anything worth knowing… but it helps to have some idea what’s going on out there.

Yeah. It helps you pretend you’re actually part of the team, rather than just a dead-weight flatliner hiding in a closet while the real XMen take care of things.

He tries to shrug off the cynical inner voice, but it’s true: however much he may pretend that learning martial arts and practicing with rifles makes him part of the team, the reality becomes obvious when they get into real fights: he’d been pretty much useless when the soldiers invaded the Institute, and he’s even more useless now.

Everyone’s been nice about it – Storm’s even let him keep his official membership in the XMen and authorization to use the Danger Room and everything – but he knows they’re just humoring him, and much as he appreciates it, it just isn’t fair to them for him to come along on missions when he’s more a liability than an asset. He’d hoped that Dr. Richards would put an end to that, that he’d have a cure for the Cure… he’s only realizing now how much he’d hoped for that… but it’s pretty clear from the fight going on outside that that isn’t going to happen.

Or… is it? His hand wraps around one of the shatterproof plastic vials in his pocket as if of its own volition, pulling it out for him to look at. It stands to reason, doesn’t it? This stuff activates latent mutant powers in baseline humans… it ought to reactivate suppressed powers in a mutant, right? Bob supposes it’s not the sort of thing anyone’s done much testing on… nor would Richards, or the military, have published the results if they had. He might have the answer right in the palm of his hand!

Except there’s no way anyone would go for it. The Cure’s usually temporary, after all, whereas who knows what the long-term effects of MGH are? For that matter, who knows what the effects of giving MGH to an actual mutant are… he might end up like Dr. Grey, or even worse!

> "Oh, my stars and – ooof!"

The voice is unmistakably Hank’s, and the impact that cuts it off shakes the shelves. Bob isn’t sure what hit him, but whatever it was had to be tough… Hank is no pushover. Neither are John or Josh or Toni, but then again Richards’ team is pretty evenly matched and has the home court advantage as well. They need him… not Bob Drake, the amazing ordinary-man, but Iceman.

OK. Let’s do this, then. It doesn’t take long for Bob to find a hypodermic clearly designed to use these ampules, it takes even less time for him to strip off his jacket, roll up his shirtsleeve, and inject the thing into his upper arm.

He can feel it coursing through his system, though he suspects that’s just his imagination. A few moments later he feels strange, woozy, disoriented. Are his powers returning? It’s hard to tell. As a test, he concentrates on the heat-distribution in the room… if nothing else, he should be able to detect the refrigerator exhaust, right?

There! He bites back a cheer as something like his old thermal perceptions kick in. The room is slightly cooler than it should be, and the heaters are activating to compensate… and the main room is far hotter than it should be, and the heating for that whole zone is shutting down.

It’s not the way he remembers it, granted – he feels more like he’s plugged into a thermostat than perceiving the heat-energy directly – but it’s a step in the right direction, right? OK, let’s get ready to rock, then! He concentrates on lowering his own body temperature while stripping off his pants and boots – he’s not wearing his uniform shorts anymore, so destroying his clothes would be awfully embarrassing once the fight is over.

He shivers for a moment before he feels the room start to warm up… which is strange, also. It’s not like it was before; he’s not ignoring the cold… again, it’s more like being plugged into a thermostat, overriding it, forcing hot air through the vents.

In fact, it’s exactly like that, and Bob begins to suspect that, whatever the effect of that MGH dose was, it wasn’t precisely what he’d expected. Which ought to be frightening, or at least disquieting… and isn’t. So, what is it, then?

Bob is vaguely aware that, in trying to figure out what’s happening to him, he’s accessing information and analysis techniques that seem to come from nowhere… certainly nothing he’s ever been taught or remembers learning about. In fact, he’s performing calculations that ought to require a supercomputer and sophisticated analysis software – that do require it. He even knows what software he’s accessing, and what hardware it’s running on… and a moment later he knows what else is running on the same systems.

This is… intriguing. He’s aware of his error, now: the MGH didn’t neutralize the Cure, it didn’t activate the same mutant abilities he had before. Instead it activated a different latent mutant ability, allowing him to interface directly with the Baxter Building’s computer systems.

Well. This could prove most beneficial, indeed. Let’s see what we can see…ah. There are digital cameras throughout the building, and it takes no more than a moment’s concentration to infiltrate himself into the monitoring subsystems. As he’d expected, the XMen are barely holding their own: Henry McCoy (Beast) keeping Ben Grimm (Thing) on the ground for the moment, but failing to subdue him… Antonia Craft (Fortress) and Joshua Dalton (Impulse) evading Susan Storm (Invisible Woman) for the moment… St. John Allerdyce (Pyro) neutralizing Jonathan Storm (Human Torch)… which leaves Reed Richards (Mr. Fantastic) unaccounted for.

(Meanwhile, Bob sees John losing ground and fears for the boy’s life, and is aware of the rapid frightening changes going on in his own mind and struggles against them. Which is distracting and inefficient, and Robert Drake contemplates those subsystems for a moment… fear, romance, passion… emotions in general… before eliminating them and freeing up processing power for more cost-effective operations.)

Part of his mind is intrigued by the flood of information he’s receiving on each of the combatants, and traces the source to a known mutants database installed on Richards’ network. Meanwhile, the bulk of his mind is running simulations of the subsequent battle.
No, this won’t do at all. They require assistance. He searches through the database for the Fantastic Four’s weaknesses, simultaneously establishing control over the building’s security systems, ready to intervene.

[Toni Craft]

Toni was falling…falling…and not falling?

“Hey…that kind of tickles!” She giggles to herself as she’s levitated back up toward the broken window. “Joshikins! I knew there was a reason why I loved you!”

“Jeez, Toni! I think you’ve gotta lose a couple pounds… ”

“Har dee fuckin’ har. Is that all I’m ever going to get from you? Weight jokes?” With her hands on her hips, Toni waits patiently as she’s settled back on the ground. “Let’s not tell Matty, okay? He hates it when I almost die.”

“Ow! Those things hurt!” Ping! And there goes a concussion ball off Toni’s armoured head.

“Really? I didn’t feel a thing?” She grins, but slides back on her feet when the Invisible Woman sends out a force wave. Any normal person probably would have gone flying after the blast, but Toni's weight, for once, comes in handy. "Hey Susan! Hold still while I put on a gas mask, chop of your hand, and then tell you that I'm your father." She looks back at Josh and smiles wide. "Who knows, maybe she'll play along and start screaming and then retreat in falling-to-her-death form."

<We need to distract her somehow. Her powers should be just like mine… she can only split her concentration so many ways. Maybe start chucking stuff at Reed? What on that lab table would blow up, Chem Lady?>

“Wow…never thought I’d hear that in my lifetime. Usually people scream at me not to blow stuff up…and I don't think I've ever been so turned on in my life. Maybe later you and I can work on some extra credit later.” Toni shoots Josh a seductive wink as she approaches the table, avoiding the Invisible Woman's attacks with a severe lack of daintiness. Examining the table full of beakers, she starts pulling a few out. “This one…this one…smash these two together...this one’s a slow burner and will stink like dog crap stuffed with tar…not this one…” She starts flinging all the applicable chemicals toward Josh. “Toss this one into the florescent light up there and you’ll get a homemade flash grenade. And…oh my…” She holds up three beakers in her hands, her eyes wide with childish joy. “I really shouldn’t. It would be really bad. I mean—Oop…too late; I already did.” Shaking her concoction furiously, Toni tosses it away. “Josh! Catch!” She’s jostled off the to the side as the Thing goes barrelling into her. “Get John to ignite it! Oomph—” She’s flipped and tossed recklessly into the wall. “Just get the hell away from it! It’s Napalm!”

The jellied fuel, when ignited, would burn slowly, at an unimaginable temperature and stick to anything it came in contact. Toni really shouldn’t have made it, but she had a sneaking suspicion that John would whole-heartedly agree with the idea.

"Imagine the stories I can tell when I get back to the 'stute! I can picture it now! All the kiddies gathered around me while I start sayin': "So I was like down at the Baxter Buildin', and this guys comes up to me and he's all like 'it's clobberin' time!' and I'm all like 'bring it bitch!'" The Thing grabs her and hurls her against the wall again. Seems to be his signature move...bet you he's a real animal in bed... "Which is odd really, because I don't like my steak done medium-rare."