You all remember how you got there. You were all cantacted by the same person, recruited by an unknown organization. They told you they would give you a purpose, but during the week you've spent there you felt more like prisoners. They gave you everything you needed, but they didn't want you to leave.

The person that recruited you now stood in front of you, inside the living-room. The person stood there in a nice suit, with blonde hair down to her back and had a black-rimmed glasses on her pretty face. She held a file in her hands and waitied for you to have a seat. You knew her by the name of Angela Ross.

I'm sorry if we have made you uncomfortable, she said, but we had to make sure you would be here for what I am about to show you. She handed you the file for you to view and read. It was a file about a man named Gibson Hall. It had many informations about him, such as height, weight, age and so on.
You all remember a hero named Mercury? she said. You might remember his death five years ago, and his so called resurrection three years ago. In truth he was not braught back from the dead; a version of him from another world came into ours. Dark Mercury is what they call this alternate version, less known as Gibson Hall. The photo of the guy in the file she gave you looked pretty normal. Short, dark hair, brown eyes, pale skin. The list of his known powers and deeds were not so easy on the eye. The ability to manipulate and to transform his skin into metal, robberies, injuries to others, murder.
This guy is your first assignment. We want you to neutralize him and bring him in for containment. Any questions?

Copycat was curled up on the sofa in what she called her 'real' form, seemingly fast asleep, when Angela came in. Her form is that of a humanoid with distinct feline features, specifically facial structure, eyes, ears, a tail, and even fur akin to a tabby cat's and paws, probably complete with claws. She stayed seemingly asleep while Angela outlined the mission, however, twitches of her cat ears indicated that she had heard, or were they twitching in response to the paper being rustled about? Either way, her eyes snap open, staring and watching the paper.

Eventually, of course, it circled its way around to her, thankfully the last one to receive it. Now, a person would take it, read it, and pass it on or return it to Angela, but there is more than one reason why she is called 'Copycat'. Instead, she snatches the paper with one of her feet-paws, tosses it up toward her hands-paws, and, rather than catch it, shreds it from some strange instinct. She nearly upturns the sofa as she chases after the larger bits, shredding them into smaller bits. In no time at all, there are small bits of paper confetti throughout the lounge, with Copycat sitting back on the sofa, looking about for bits she might have missed.

"Hehe, that was fun!" She says, her tail swishing back and forth.

Suddenly, her tail stops swishing, and she turns to look at the others, her face altogether serious, "So..."

"What are you feeling up to for supper tonight?"

Jack Doyle sat back, leaning against the arm of the couch in the lounge. His hands were shoved into the pockets of his tight denim jeans, whose cuffs were hanging about his military boots. His leather jacket hung on his shoulders, not so tight-fitting, it wrapped around his torso with its zippers hanging off of it. The t-shirt hiding behind the folds of his jacket was that of Johnny Cash giving the finger.

Jack had a hard face with strong features. His skin was ghostly pale baring the stark blue veins, one could see creeping up from his neck, beneath the leather collar. Very few paid attention to him because of his reclusive nature, but once he was noticed, his face was one that stuck, unforgettably, in minds. He had a big nose and a thin haggard face, which belied his youth, with frightening, pale blue eyes that were sunken beneath his overbearing forehead and protruding cheekbones. He had hair that was almost white in its lightness, though it had hints of red and blonde tinges. The short but messy cut hung scruffily about this hauntingly memorable face, poking out above his ears, which flared out a little too much to be attractive, and tufts pressing down over his forehead.

Jack may have maintained an air of aloofness but he was very interested, not only in the operation he was, apparently, to be completing, but with those that were to be his companions. There was an odd assortment between them, most notably with the cat-like character curled up on the couch. Jack wasn't sure how he fitted in with this group but he was eager to try his hand at working with them. Once he had become confident enough with his martial skills he had tried his hand at amateur super-ing, trying to clean up petty crooks and stop what little crime he ran into, jumpings and hold-ups mostly. Nothing had been serious, nothing had been organized and nothing had been with others.

What was his part here with this group, how had they heard about him? Was he to be considered powerful enough to be adequate as a member of a team of supers organized by... well who? Who was this ambiguous mind which had brought them together so they might fulfill their purpose. What was their purpose after all? He was sure that he did not desire the purpose of being a pawn for an evil, power-hungry corporation or a military faction for a dictatorial government.

The past week had been hell and Jack wasn't about to subject himself to a life of that crap. He was a claustrophobic guy and simply didn't do well when his own fears and anxieties were ignited. He had a couple questions to ask this "Angela Ross" but he wasn't about to do it here or know, besides he wasn't sue he would get the truth anyway.

"This guy is your first assignment. We want you to neutralize him and bring him in for containment. Any questions?"

Jack had a lot of answers that he wanted but he bit his tongue and looked at the file. Who the hells was this Gibson Hall character and why was he a priority in being neutralized? Jack spent a couple minutes looking over the file, he looked like a bad enough guy on paper... but then if he was written up right, Jack would too. Jack read it over again, a lot of people, good and bad, were injuring others for whatever reasons they had and murder had even become more common. Robbery, now that could be seen as a more evil thing... but everything had a context. Perhaps that would be a starting point in tracking this guy down, that and his previous living arrangements. He didn't seem to have any cohorts and from the little information that was given his crimes appeared to be fairly random but there was always a pattern, always a reason... Wasn't there?

Jack passed off the file. Well what was more pertinent to him was talking to the fellow members of this group that had been assembled, Delta Six.

Sapa Holy Rain plucked a torn piece of paper from her cup of tea, she had foolishly been sitting near Copycat when she got her paws on the file. Closing her eyes for a moment she reached out with her mind, as she opened her eyes tendrils of thought twisted invisibly through the air brushing the torn papers into a dancing cyclone. Slowly the flitting papers floated into the air above Copycat. A quick smile drew across Sapa's face as she released the papers, letting them all fall right onto the feline female's head.

She sat back into the chair and lifted the cup of tea to her nose, breathing deeply its pungent sweetness. By most standards she was a beautiful woman, though nonchalant in her persona. She had long, straight black hair, which she almost always wore loose. Sleek black hair framed a youthful face with full lips, a sculpted nose, and almond shaped silver eyes. Her smooth reddish copper skin was unblemished, which she exposed liberally, anglo modesty was not thing she understood. She wore a tight thin white cotton tank and faded ripped jeans. Her bare feet tapped the floor glittering with the odd toe ring as she crossed and uncrossed her legs.

Returning her attention to the meeting at hand the Lakota woman regarded the suited blonde woman that stood at the rooms center. Angela Ross. So it seemed their services were finally being called on. She did not quite trust the situation, too little information was shared. Delta-Six they had been called; a team, a group and what bound them was not some ideological pact, but rather a secretive organization and a spoken promise of purpose. Yet Spirit had laid the path before her. She was here for a reason, one that would be revealed to her in good time.

Regarding the Cat-like destruction of the file with a faintly amused smile, Kerri Tyler noted that:

"At least we won't have to worry about how to destroy sensitive documents?"

The young Australian woman, obviously of Asian descent with deeply tanned skin and short black hair, had been the latest arrival, appearing a full two days after the rest of her new companions. Although she had taken the time to introduce herself, she spent her days of 'captivity' mostly keeping to herself, almost constantly playing small juggling games with her telekinetic abilities or exercising in the gym.

Now dressed in a simple black tank top and a pair of olive green cargo pants she stands comfortably with her arms folded in front of her slender body, having read through the file in rather quick time.

With the paper shredding action concluded for now, Kerri turned to Angela Ross with a question.

"You have to have more information than that. Would you care to elaborate on the failed attempts to capture the subject by the Righteous Guard? What about some more details on how he was actually captured? And more importantly how he managed to escape? This guy is dangerous. We need to go out there as prepared as possible!"

Copycat takes a deep breath, ready to change for the situation... until something catches her eye.

"Oooh." She says, watching the paper bits above her, her tail swishing and her stance shifting just slightly.

When they drop, it looks as though she will pounce upon them, but then suddenly she stands up. As she does so, her form changes, converting to that of a young woman, Asian, with long, straight black hair, glasses, and violet eyes. She is wearing attire consisting of a dark blue ankle-length skirt, a semi-formal shirt and sweater.

"Oh, I'm thirsty. Be back in a moment." She says simply, her voice far more subdued than in her feline form.

As far as everyone knows, she's only been in this form once before, and that is when she first came to the HQ. There is something slightly unnerving about this form too, although it is difficult to place what it is. Feeling the change in atmosphere, Copycat smiles reassuringly, but it quickly vanishes. Yet, in that smile, everyone could swear they saw something, something perhaps also seen off of cliché horror movies: a set of vampire fangs.

Copycat quickly excuses herself, going into the kitchen. There is a sound of a lock being opened, which must be the cabinet that Copycat had essentially demanded she have in the beginning. This is followed by the sound of the tap running, into a glass. Perhaps the sensitive of hearing can hear something like the cap from a prescribed medicine bottle being popped off. Then everything is put away, and Copycat reappears in the room, still in her 'human form'.

"I don't mind my paws, but sometimes having hands is a bit easier..." She says simply.

It isn't the first time this has happened, where she has opened her cupboard before. It occurs every five hours, if one were to pay attention. Still, everyone has their quirks... perhaps this is just Copycat's, if one can put aside her upbeat, yet flexible and changeable personality.

"Oh, do you have any recordings of Gibson's voice?" Copycat asks of Angela.

Hans Überlauf had spent the entire week since he'd arrived waiting to get to the point. Normally he would never have answered the summons, but this time something had compelled him to follow through. Regardless, he had hardly enjoyed his time spent so far. The week had been one of tedious boredom, broken up by the occasional interruption of activity as the he'd spy the apparent "catgirl" scampering about or making a mess. He wasn't an especially sociable person, even with those who had grow up with him in Germany, even more so to those who by and large were 60 years his junior. Christus, he was old enough to be these people's grandfather, a position in the group he was not entirely enjoying.

Not that they'd know anyway, unless there were any psychisch in the group. Although he was nearing his centennial, his appearance was of a man eternally in his prime. His head of light blonde hair was cut short in a military style but remained full and continued to grow, his face was unlined by wrinkles, and there were few supers alive who could match his physique. Over the course of his life he'd seen men die from bullets, knives and old age, some of them friends and some of them strangers, but all people who should have outlived him, but he remained youthful and alive, one of the last of his generation, and no one even knows his name.

Or at least he through no one. Obviously this "Angela Ross" and whoever she represented had found him, had known his name and had called him in. He had thought any knowledge of his existance had died with the Third Reich, these people obviously had far-reaching contacts and exceptional resources. This would have to be important.

He sat rigidly in a kitchen chair he had moved to the living room to hear "Angela" speak. His right foot tapped idly in his steel-toed miltary boot against the floor, producing a low but constant tapping noise. His large hands wrested on the knees of his greyish german military casual slacks, and with only a light white undershirt covering his wide chest and abdomen, an expansive black tattoo of the Iron Cross could be easily seen through his shirt and covering the majority of his back.

He listened intently as the woman described their reason for contacting him. Some rogue alternate universe anti-hero or some scheiße, bag 'em, tag 'em and bring 'em in. Although with the level of preparation here he assumed it wouldn't be as easy as it looked, it never was. He passed the file along after browsing through it, hardly surprised when "Copycat" tore the thing to shreds not long afterwards. He paused a moment to blow one of the shreds away from his face as it floated by as the others began asking questions like a group of over eager schoolchildren.

"Would you care to elaborate on the failed attempts to capture the subject by the Righteous Guard? What about some more details on how he was actually captured? And more importantly how he managed to escape? What are you feeling up to for supper tonight?" And interesting collection of personalities, and for the time being he'd let the "face" types do the talking. Let them get their verbal spew out and get their answers, if there was anything important unsaid he'd find it out after. For now Hans was content with waiting for this discussion to be over so this group could stop talking and start getting things done.

You have to have more information than that. Would you care to elaborate on the failed attempts to capture the subject by the Righteous Guard? What about some more details on how he was actually captured? And more importantly how he managed to escape? This guy is dangerous. We need to go out there as prepared as possible!
Angela listened intently to the question. The Righteous Guard was ill prepaired to deal with Mercury. Crusader is one of the team's strongest player, but his mechanical armor was easily cast aside by their opponent. Rapier is a skilled swordsman but Dark Mercury can easily disarm him. Velocity is fast but a car was put in her way. Madam Mystic isn't much of a firepower, White Diamond has telekinetic powers but not as powerful as Dark Mercury's manipulation of metals. Gibson Hall is weak against superior numbers, but if there are only two or three his power is too great to handle.
She looked over the group before continuing. There several reasons why you can defeat Dark Mercury where the Righteous Guard could not. Your powers do not require metal and you have by far superior numbers.
Just then, Copycat made her way to the bathroom. When she returned, another question came with her. Do you have any recordings of Gibson's voice?
Unfortunately, no, was the answer she recieved. Dark Mercury was arrested by a hero calling himself Magni, son of Thor. When Mercury woke up, he burst out of jail thanks to the idiots who put him in a metal cage. We have the right equipment to prison him properly.
Just as the last words left her lips, the elevator to the penthouse opened up. Two bulky men, carrying a modern chest of alluminum, walked into the living room. They might have looked tough to some of you, but the others had probably taken down bigger opponents. Just put this down anywhere, Angela said and the two men did exactly that before leaving the very same way as they came in.

Members of the team Delta Six, she said, in this chest are your new uniforms. Now get dressed and get downstairs. A vehicle will be waiting for you to get you to your destination. Gibson Hall was seen in the Metro City Bank where he has taken several hostiges. You are going there now to take care of the problem. Angela then left the penthouse. The uniforms were black leather with a red triangle pointing down at the center. The boots and gloves were black, and on the left chest stood the letters D-VI in black over red. There were male and female uniforms, and a short manual of use. Pressing on a button on the belt made the uniform fit perfectly no matter who wore it.

Copycat walks over, shifting back to feline shape, and takes a uniform hesitantly. She holds it up, and sniffs the material. No scent, not even a chemically-clean type of scent. She puts it to her ear, half expecting to hear some sort of minute buzz of technologically advanced fibres or materials. Nothing.

Copycat frowns. There must be something interesting about this material! She sits down on the couch, examining it, poking at it, and repeating her various observations trying to find its secrets. After all, it came in a shiny box! There must be something interesting about it....

Jack listened to the discussion silently. He knew that if they had any more important information (that they intended to give Delta-Six) it would have come in the folder. It seemed they were not only to be muscle power but investigators as well. He looked around the motley crew of heroes and hoped that a certain cohesiveness would materialize between them because they certainly didn't look like a team. Jack shunned the negative thoughts, he had spent too many days devouring them and doubting this new place in his life and now it was time for action, assumptions aside he had made this commitment and he was going to risk his lives with these supers so he might as well like them.

Jack smiled slightly when he heard the anecdote about Dark Mercury's escape from the metal prison. He turned as the door opened to let in two men bulky but nothing impressive. Jack wasn't even sure if they had powers of their own, but he had judged too early too often to make any assumptions. They placed an aluminum chest down before the group.

"Members of the team Delta Six," she said, "in this chest are your new uniforms. Now get dressed and get downstairs. A vehicle will be waiting for you to get you to your destination. Gibson Hall was seen in the Metro City Bank where he has taken several hostiges. You are going there now to take care of the problem." Well apparently there wasn't an investigation aspect to it. Not yet anyways.

Uniforms eh? Jack was so used to just using his leather jacket as an outfit the idea of actually putting on a costume seemed foreign to him. It couldn't hurt to try something new, Jack sighed. The uniforms appeared to be futuristic spy gear. I'm not abandoning my mask, Jack thought to himself, I don't want Jack Doyle getting any attention, good or bad. Jack's mask didn't appear vision, movement or breathing in anyway it was a full face mask with an absurdly large screaming mouth and dark holes for eyes that gave the impression of pure horror. Doyle quite liked it and thought it added effect to his power. He looked around at the group, so this was the test run eh?

Apparently at least vaguely satisfied with the explanation of Dark Mercury's capture and subsequent escape, Kerri subsided and watched without comment as the new uniforms were carried in. The opening of the box, revealing black and red leather did provoke a shake of her head, but showing rather more restraint than normal she didn't complain.

Having collected her outfit and disappeared to change however, she returned with a much more impressed look on her face, clad in perfectly fitting black and wishing she had time to study the impressive technology so she could find out everything about it.

Pre-mission nerves were starting to set in as well, making the little girl fidget and pace just a little. Commanding herself to be calm, she looked around her new companions, studying them, wishing she knew a little more about them, their personalities, their abilities.. wishing she new a little more about her OWN capabilities.

With a deep breath, calm returned and Kerri began to think productively again. Already the weapons she normally carried were locked away securely in her room, and now her sharp eyes scanned her teammates as they prepared themselves, checking silently to ensure none were carrying metal that could be used against them in the coming trial.

Sapa silently sipped her tea as she watched the others direct their questions to Angela. The woman managed to answer each question with as little information as possible, she had expected as such. During the week in this building precious little information had been volunteered. There were always other means of finding information.

Her eyes shot to the elevator as the two men carried a metallic chest into the living room and set it down before leaving just as quickly. Angela shortly followed them after explaining they were to neutralize Gibson Hall this very afternoon. She set her cup down on an adjacent table, then stood up and made her way to the chest of uniforms. Reaching in she lifted one of the black leather uniforms from the metal box and shook her head. Spirit did have a sense of humor.

Copycat tosses the costume in her hands back into the bin, unsatisfied. There didn't seem to be anything special about it at all, which means that she did not need to actually wear the thing.

Still, it is probably needed aesthetically, which Copycat would comply. Her fur ruffles as it changes into the texture of clothing, forming the same design as the uniform.

"This will do for me." Copycat says, looking herself over, "Although why I have to do this is something I don't understand."

There several reasons why you can defeat Dark Mercury where the Righteous Guard could not. Your powers do not require metal and you have by far superior numbers.
Hans gave a little laugh as "Angela" finished her sentence.

"I very much doubt numbers vill be ze problem..." he said, rising to his feet as the two men entered the room. He'd heard enough, it was time to get moving. He looked toward the chest, and as if on cue their host explained why it had been brought in.

Members of the team Delta Six in this chest are your new uniforms. Now get dressed and get downstairs, a vehicle will be waiting for you to get you to your destination.
As Angela left the room, the group made their way to the chest, opening it up and looking at its contents. While a few of the others rushed closer to look at it, Hans stayed back a moment, catching a glimpse of the solid black uniforms contained within.

"Vasin't ze bad vans zat vhere black?", he muttered to himself as he reached down for his. It was much simpler back when he was much younger, but he had to move with the times.

He picked up a suit and turned to head back to his room, briefly pausing to read the manual that had come with it before leaving. He noticed it didn't include any face or head protection, not so much a worry on an defensive end so much as he'd spent so much time distancing himself from the public he was loath to be recognised for what he was. He'd been "retired" for years and had grown accustomed to visiting his grocer and having simple small talk. This was not a luxury he was willing to forfeit for people he didn't know and frankly hardly gave a damn about.

He returned to his room and pulled the footlocker he'd brought with him out from under his bed. He swiftly changed into the provided uniform, neglecting the provided boots in favor of his own, and returned his clothing neatly folded into his locker.

He hadn't brought much with him, but then again he didn't retain many possessions, but those he had were brought for a reason. Pushing aside a small pile of papers, he withdrew a full faced gas mask, the one he was issued almost sixty years ago, still intact and functional. It wasn't so much the threat of airborne weapons that necessitated its use on this occasion, but the fact that it covered his face would allow him to retain his anonymity while he was required to use his powers at the behest of whoever was "employing" them at this point in time.

Affixing the mask to his face he returned to the main room, his German standard issue helmet cradled beneath his arm. He paused a moment to withdraw a set of dog tags from the helm before throwing them about his neck and placing the helmet on his head. He looked over at the group, walking past them towards the stairs their host had directed them too previously. Turning towards the others before heading down he swept his arm out in a questioning gesture, addressing the group. His voice, distorted by the mask, had an oddly inhuman tinge to it, the kind robots had in old movies in the 70's.

"Vat is it ve're vaiting for?
Not waiting for a response, he turned away from the group and began heading down to their transport vehicle. For that brief moment he had been facing them however, anyone who looked could easily have made out the tiny words inscribed into his tags...Projekt Blitzkrieg, Thema 11.

(OOC: I ate supper half way through...it was delicious.)

Sapa slung the black leather uniform over her right shoulder and walked into her room to change. She removed clothing and jewelry, tossing her discarded clothing aside and placing her jewelry lovingly into a hide bag. Each ring, necklace, bracelet held a story and a memory. She held onto little sentiment anymore, but her jewelry was all she had left of family, friends, and lovers. Such was the way of things for her. It pained her to leave it behind.

Sighing she slipped into the costume, finding the material molded itself to her form and hugging every curve of her body. Running her hands along the sleek leather she sighed, then quickly turned and returned to the common room. The others were making themselves ready for this, their first trial together. Standing off to the side for a moment, she watched them and waited. The german was the first to depart the headquarters. Sapa hung back a moment before following him, little use in delaying what was any further.

"Today is a good day to die," she whispered the words of the prayer softly to herself as she made her way to the elevator. She stepped in, holding the door open, strange silver eyes staring back into the room. So it was to begin.