So, mike thought, the infamous Mondragon Labs. Not a speck of dirt on it's record, or at least, nothing anyone with any brains would mention. If my contact was wrong about this one, I am going to kill her, sexy curves or no. Mike was perched in a tree near the perimiter of the Mondragon Lab grounds, peering through binoculars in an attempt to catch a peek at any of the residents, and one in particular. His two bumbling 'monkey' friends where in similar, although larger, hiding places at strategic spots around the lab. If Hunter took a single foot out of that building, Mike would get a nice picture. From there, it was cake to arrange a meeting. It always good to get a feel of your competition. Even though Hunter wasn't strictly in the assassin trade, he did have quite a few nasties at his beck and call, and that would not do. Not at all.

Just then, Mike caught a flicker of movement from a corner of the grounds, just barely within his sight range, pressing the button on his wireless headset, he whispered "Carmichael, we have movement at 12 o'clock, it looks to be right next to you."

In response, Mike got "Sorry, Imp, sir, it was me."

"Dammit Carmichael! Get your head in the game!" Mike shook his head. You just didn't get quality henchmen anymore. Back in my day, skilled, dedicated, intellegent henchmen where a dime a dozen! Well, back then a dime could buy you half of Africa, but that doesn't matter.

((ooc: The Boss Man is getting chewed on by college in RL right now, I fear. Do you mind a loyal-esk lackey crashing your thread, instead? I's can get cha hooked up with Kabal membership, I's can.

And gratuitous apologies for the length.))

So, Chimera thought, I... have no clue what that is.

It was small, like Katrina the illusionist. It was as bald as Garret the painmancer. Red and leathery as Ayesac the dragon man. But comparisons to other mutants failed, when it came to that tail. Monkey and cat tails, he had seen; dragon tails and wolf tails, sure. Scorpion tails? File that one under 'new'.

All together, Chimera found it safe to say that he had not met the impish creature before. Unless it really was Katrina. But the thirteen year old was probably the only one outside of the Kabal who would be allowed to freely walk into the Mondragon Labs complex; there was no reason for her to be sitting in trees, whispering unintelligibly into a headset as she peered through binoculars. Binoculars. How quaint.

Never underestimate Lab security. Cameras, infrared sensors, microphones, and more, all operated by a trained on-site militia. The Boss Man didn't mess around.

Never underestimate the presence of two bumbling monkeys to point towards a smarter mind. Testing security? Trying to lure someone in particular out? The motives were unknown, but as soon as the two intruders were spotted--which was, one can rest assured, quite soon--the hunt for the brain had begun. Inside of the Labs, a team of information junkies was searching electronic information from across the world and from very close to home, trying to locate likely candidates. Several options came up immediately. Syn, the young leader of the Order, though stumbling around at the fringes of a stage just wasn't her style. Sebastian the immortal goody-two-shoes was another option; since his guest visit at the Labs, tabs had been kept on him, but any man who was older than Hunter Antonescu himself was liable to have a few ticks up his sleeve that could go unnoticed by his keepers.

This thing wasn't on any of the lists, though, last that Chimera had heard. The electronic information hording was interesting, and he'd have to learn it eventually. But like Isabel and innocence, that just wasn't his style. Chimera, one of the founding members of the Kabal, had joined the manhunt out on the grounds. Where there were bumbling lackeys, there may be more skilled ones. The bumblers were being left to their own devices, so long as they stayed benign; if they tried anything, that dart system Hunter had installed to aid his abilities was ready and set to be used in firing some hefty tranquilizers. From there, it would be a short trip down to the Pain Chair in Doc Jimmy's Laboratory of Pleasantries. Chimera knew that chair. He'd helped to 'refine' it himself. Once the subtle sweep of the Lab grounds and buildings was complete, those lackeys were going to pay the Good Doctor a visit. Little Red here was, too.

Little Red, though, didn't have the stance of a lackey. Maybe a Boss. Most likely not The Boss; that would be rather foolish. But then, a lot of people just couldn't gather enough information on Mondragon Labs to really realize the harm in coming here.

Never underestimate the Kabal.

There was a black crow roosting in a tree several yards behind the red thing's own perch, amidst a crackling murder of its kinsmen. Crows flocked together, in winter. One more joining that was hardly cause for concern. This one, though, raised its head out from under its wing, and turned its head to fix a merry black eye on the red creature. Its beak opened, and what came out startled the rest of the crows into flight.

"You should probably know," it spoke, its voice harsh over the avian vocal chords, but still intelligible; "that there's a sniper just for you, if you make any false moves."

"Now," it paused to pluck a bent feather out from under one wing, then tilted its head to the other side, still appraising the creature, "in this order: who are you? What are you doing here? Were you sent by someone, or did you come here on your own initiative?"

The questions bore a certain resonance to his own recruitment to the Kabal, so long ago. He may have been breaking into the Boss Man's apartment at the time. It may have been an unwise decision, or the start of something quite fun. There was only one line that was missing:

"I don't know who sent you," the crow cawed softly, as if to itself; "but they just lost their monkey." Its beak stayed open after this statement, in what the impish creature might come to recognize as a crow's grin.

The black bird may have been bluffing about the sniper. Really, there were several unwise ways to find out, but only one outcome, no matter how you looked at it.

Maybe I should have come here with a bit more stealth. Everything I had heard about Hunter had indicated that he took no chances, nor prisoners... Mike thought to himself, readjusting his loincloth and putting away the binoculars. Time for a thermal sweep of the grounds. Taking out a bulky pair of goggles from the small bag on the tree next to him, Mike put them on and did a full 360 degree check of the immediate area.

Two bumbling baboons, check.

Birds on roof, check.

Crows in tree behind him, check.

Wait, there was something calling to Mike, that strange sixth sense you get when there's someone watching you. Then the crow talked.

"You should probably know," it spoke, its voice harsh over the avian vocal chords, but still intelligible; "that there's a sniper just for you, if you make any false moves."[/b][/u]

Well, since he was obviosly already discovered, it couldn't hurt to talk a bit. So, Mike laughed, laughed hard enough that he had to grab the trunk of the tree to avoid falling off. He also used that movement to subtly press a small button taped to the inside of his left thumb. A button connected to a wireless transmitter, which automatically sent a signal to a reciever about a hundred feet away, where hurried orders where being whispered to snipers on rooftops all around the front of the building. Best to keep him talking until they're all set up.

"Ha, ha. Whoo, that's a good one, boy. A sniper you say? Just the one? I'm insulted! Honestly, with my reputation," Mike clicked his tongue twice, "Since you're obviously a bit new to the game, I'll give you a nickel's worth of advice, free of charge. When facing an adversary that can dodge a sniper bullet and have you lying on the ground with enough poison to kill a bull elephant before you can blink, it's best to retreat." Mike nodded. This crow surely was one of Hunter's nasties, and it didn't do to brag to much on a first meeting. Well, it's not bragging if it's true, but whatever.

"Now," it paused to pluck a bent feather out from under one wing, then tilted its head to the other side, still appraising the creature, "in this order: who are you? What are you doing here? Were you sent by someone, or did you come here on your own initiative?"[/b][/u]

"Hmm, I suppose it couldn't hurt too much if Hunter knows my name. I'm surprised he doesn't already. I am Micheal Everto Malum Iuguolo Montierre, known in the underground as Imp, for obvious reasons." Mike chuckled. This guy was one of two things: a mutant shape-shifter, or a talking crow. Neither was of too much trouble, but it surprised him a bit that Hunter had taken in mutants. They did have many special uses, as he himself could attest, but they more than often came with a smart mouth and reluctance to be obedient.

"I have come here to scope out this Hunter fellow and assess his power base, and to make an offer. That can wait until we are in more comfortable settings, I suppose. I come here under only one person's orders, mine. That is one very important thing to know about me. I may consider suggestions from very close aquantances of mine, but I take no orders." A very subtle shifting of weight put Mike in a position to jump up to the next branch up, and he readied himself.

"I don't know who sent you," the crow cawed softly, as if to itself; "but they just lost their monkey." Its beak stayed open after this statement, in what Mike recognized as a crow's grin.[/b][/u]

Mike smiled languidly, almost cynically. A small red light shining on his bag alerted him that the snipers were in position. "And if you're not from Hunter, you're about to lose your life. If you could see your own back, you would notice several red dots aimed at various vital points. Thos are laser sights from sniper-rifles, and a false move will land you on my dinner plate tonight. However, come with me back to a secure location, and we may be able to discuss terms over a glass of champagne or two." Mike turned around, trusting in his loyal snipers to protect him. "Oh, and if you are a shifter, it would be polite to change back now. And I would like your name, please."

A black, unmarked van rolled into the street outside the Lab Grounds, and the sliding door opened automatically. Mike jumped to the wall, then to the street, and stepped inside, gesturing for the creature he had already decided to call Crow to join him.

(OOC: No problem to both. Hope you don't mind the length of my post.)

((ooc: No probs with the length.

And, just for the record, everything written about Mondragon Labs/the security therein in my posts has been established with nearly two years of IC RPing. Just so it doesn't seem like I'm pulling manpower out of thin air--it's been there almost as long as I have, and was approved by the Mods waaaaay back when for Kabal faction use. )

The creature began to laugh. So hard, that any sort of fighting stance it had begun with was obliterated. The crow tilted its head back to the right. Inexperienced, or overconfident.

>> "Ha, ha. Whoo, that's a good one, boy. A sniper you say? Just the one? I'm insulted! Honestly, with my reputation. Since you're obviously a bit new to the game, I'll give you a nickel's worth of advice, free of charge. When facing an adversary that can dodge a sniper bullet and have you lying on the ground with enough poison to kill a bull elephant before you can blink, it's best to retreat."

Every word, every little tongue-click and mannerism, pointed to 'overconfident', but did not rule out 'inexperienced'. Confidence like that was intriguing. To outrace a sniper bullet from an unknown angle, the creature would have at the have super speed on a par with Kaz. Not out of the question, but not common, even in the mutant world. The confidence did not seem faked, however. Nor did the tidbit about the poison. Given the tail, Chimera had no trouble believing it. Was it just the tail, or those nails, as well? How about teeth? Could the skin itself excrete the poison, like a dart frog? He kept his wings ready for flight or shift, in case the thing was more bite than bluster. And that bit about its reputation. It would be convenient if he could lure out a name to peg to this rather distinctive face, and see just what kind of reputation it had. The crow tilted its head, to the left, and down.

>> "Hmm, I suppose it couldn't hurt too much if Hunter knows my name. I'm surprised he doesn't already. I am Micheal Everto Malum Iuguolo Montierre, known in the underground as Imp, for obvious reasons."

How very informative. 'Inexperienced' gained a tick in the crow's mind; so did 'overconfident'. They were both still equally likely. The crow's head tilted a notch up.

>> "I have come here to scope out this Hunter fellow and assess his power base, and to make an offer. That can wait until we are in more comfortable settings, I suppose. I come here under only one person's orders, mine. That is one very important thing to know about me. I may consider suggestions from very close acquaintances of mine, but I take no orders."

That was very important thing to know, indeed. Given its overall demeanor, Chimera was willing to put some degree of belief into the idea that it was indeed 'The Boss' of this little operation, as it were. Interesting that he had come himself. Very. The crow's head tilted further up, the beak pointing up above the tree line in this little copse. These were the only trees to be found on Hunter's property; there really wasn't much of a need for them and their potentially concealing foliage elsewhere. This area, though, was where Shogun kept his warhorse; though the samurai had been off attending to his own affairs recently, the copse remained.

A smile on the red face. The crow readied itself for another wash of useful information.

>> "And if you're not from Hunter, you're about to lose your life. If you could see your own back, you would notice several red dots aimed at various vital points. Those are laser sights from sniper-rifles, and a false move will land you on my dinner plate tonight. However, come with me back to a secure location, and we may be able to discuss terms over a glass of champagne or two. Oh, and if you are a shifter, it would be polite to change back now. And I would like your name, please."

The creature turned its back, then. Chimera stopped trying to decide between 'inexperienced' and 'overconfident', and settled on a catch-all: 'lacking caution'. Clearly, the thing had confidence in these snipers of its.

Snipers. Chimera knew this area, from ground and sky. It was his place of employment, and his full-time home over the winter's Registration fiasco. There were many good sniping positions, quite a few of them intentional in construction, however accidental they might look in appearance. The black feathered head flicked left, right; up, down, left. Then, with a tail flick of decision, it stretched its wings, and fluttered innocuously to the ground. What landed was what could only be termed as a crow man. The black feathers had grown in proportion to its size; it was not wearing clothes anymore now than it had been a moment ago, but the feathers largely took care of that issue. From its face, spanning the places where a nose and mouth should be, jutted a short, sharp beak; its eyes were the same black, scaled up. Its fingers ended in talons, and the feathers of its legs gave way to rough scales and clawed feet of an inhuman bone structure. All that remained of its wings was a profusion of unnecessary feathers on the undersides of its arms.

"Forgive me," it said, its beak opening widely under its unreadable avian eyes; "I've clearly been rude. My name is Chimera." He glanced over his shoulder as he spoke, confirming the presence of the dots with one eye while the other kept a certain Imp in sight. One of the dots moved in a merry little circle over his back, where his heart tended to be kept; it was both unprofessional and entirely competent at the same time. It reminded him, in fact, of something an overconfident elfin archer would do, if this all was merely a game. A LARP, if you will.

The crow man showed no hesitation to follow its red host into the black van. It wasn't a matter of overconfidence. Chimera knew his abilities. It also wasn't a matter of trust. Again: he knew his abilities. He fully expected to leave that van alive, even if the source of a certain trust proved to be incorrect. As it pulled away from the curb, though, the moment of truth came: the driver turned to glance at them over his shoulder. At that moment Chimera's trust was confirmed, and the imp's... well, the lesson was a valuable one, and it bore repeating: never underestimate Lab security.

---

On a rooftop adjacent to the main grounds, a man occasionally known as Artemis was playing with his new toy: a sniper rifle. "These are nice," he commented, to the man behind him. "Think Mr Antonescu will mind if we keep them?"

Nigel Banks finished checking the former rifle owner's pulse. "Put it in the armory," he ordered; "After running it through a security check. The last thing we need is someone getting clever with bugs or explosives on the captured weapons." Across the rooftops and grounds, similar strikes were occurring against the imp's men, and had already occurred; if a sweep of the main complex with infrared goggles hadn't turned up anything out of the ordinary, that was only because the clean up teams had already swept up there. Except, of course, for those two bumbling lackeys. Speaking of which: Nigel readjusted his headset. "Put the niwatori to sleep," he ordered, using the Japanese for 'two chickens' as his code sign for the pair; "and put them in the brig cells with the rest."

---

Back in the van, Chimera felt the need to make introductions. "Micheal Everto Malum Iuguolo Montierre, this is Frank Newton." He grackled, waving a clawed hand at their driver. "Frank Newton, this is Micheal Everto Malum Iuguolo Montierre. Known as Imp in the underground, for obvious reasons." The unnecessary nomenclature was spoken more for the benefit of the people on the other side of Frank's headset than for Frank himself. Back in the Labs, the tech junkies got a name. "I like him. Do we have authorization for contract negotiations?"

The broad-shouldered man gave a stoic nod, as he began driving the captured van in a lazily loop around Mondragon Labs' property. Past the main grounds and complex, of course. Then into the warehouses and other buildings that flanked that nexus, for quite a distance on all sides. It would have been quite inconvenient for a man hosting a mutant resistance over the winter to have neighbors around to see anything fishy. Therefore: Hunter Antonescu was the owner of this entire area. The extra space was nice, for storage, and expansions to the lower security labs, and for use as barracks. More barracks space was always pleasant, for all soldiers concerned.

Frank continued past his nod about the contract authorizations, with this additional tidbit; "We also have an interest in purchasing your men from you, Mr Montierre." On the steering wheel, one of Frank's hands was beginning to swell to that angry red that told of broken fingers. Whoever the driver of the van had been, he or she had clearly put up a reasonable fight.They'd broken Frank Newton's pinkie and ringer finger. Frank Newton's. Yes, acquiring those men would be much less of a waste than the alternative, and guaranteed to put some pocket money in the imp's Swiss bank account of choice.

The crow man cracked its beak open at the red creature. "You were mentioning an offer earlier, Micheal Everto Malum Iuguolo Montierre. How interested would you be in what we have to offer you?"

(OOC: Lol, thanks. Honestly, the security and manpower of the Kabal is a plus for me, if I join, isn't it? I just want to say that I have a mission planned for Mike, a personal one, to eliminate the malfunctioning contact. You can find a way to butt in if you want, or I'll go with someone else, or alone. It's mainly for fleshing out Mike's personality IC a bit.)

After recognizing that the driver of the van was most definately not Mr. Hays, Mike took a quick scope of the van and the surrounding area. He probably could make it out the window and a good ways across the street before Crow even got to the van, but a hunch told Mike to stay put and see what played out. After nearly nine centuries of life, hunches had gotten Mike out of quite a few scrapes, and he was prepared to follow this one.

"Micheal Everto Malum Iuguolo Montierre, this is Frank Newton." Crow grackled, waving a clawed hand at their driver. "Frank Newton, this is Micheal Everto Malum Iuguolo Montierre. Known as Imp in the underground, for obvious reasons."[/b][/u]

Mike nodded politely to Frank, saying, "Hello, Mr. Newton. I see that you have, ah, incapacitated my driver. Can I ask if he is still alive? I put a deposit in, and you know how that goes."

"I like him. Do we have authorization for contract negotiations?"

It was becoming increasingly obvious that Crow was one of Hunter's lackeys. The amount of security had caught Mike completely off guard. I really will have to kill Heather this time. Bother, she had... possibilities. Heather had assured Mike that the amount of security at Mondragon Labs was negligable, and that he would have no trouble infiltrating the grounds. Obviously she was either misinformed, or lying. In any case, she was no longer a reliable contact, and therefor could not be allowed to become a liability.

Frank continued past his nod about the contract authorizations, with this additional tidbit; "We also have an interest in purchasing your men from you, Mr Montierre." On the steering wheel, one of Frank's hands was beginning to swell to that angry red that told of broken fingers.

Mike was intrigued at the offer to buy his men. The only person in the entire operation that day who was not under his direct command was the driver, who he had procured at the suggestion of Heather. He would have to tie up that loose end soon. "Hmm... I suppose that wouldn't be too bad, depending on how much you are willing to pay. Honestly, I'd almost rather you'd kill them. They did fail, after all, and quite spectacularly..." Mike shook his head, then muttered, more to himself than any of the other occupants of the van, "Honestly, ain't one good minion to be had nowadays, and expensive too. Contacts fibbin' about security levels, sniper teams getting knocked off on a crucial mission. Well, what can you do?"

The crow man cracked its beak open at the red creature. "You were mentioning an offer earlier, Micheal Everto Malum Iuguolo Montierre. How interested would you be in what we have to offer you?"[/u]

Mike smiled. "It's just Mike, or Mr. Montierre, if you please. I have a feeling that your offer and mine are of very similar content, no?"

((ooc: Mission for contactly death == A-okay. Here in the Kabal, you can murder all the informants you want on the side, as long as you come when we call. We can hook you up with a partner for that if you wish, or you can run it solo--your preference.))

Frank nodded back to the imp's polite greeting; his chin dipped a half inch down, then back up. That was pretty expressive, for Frank. "He'll live," was the answer to the red creature's question. Live. Yes. Frank failed to mention when the incapacitated driver would wake up, however.

>> "Hmm... I suppose that wouldn't be too bad, depending on how much you are willing to pay. Honestly, I'd almost rather you'd kill them. They did fail, after all, and quite spectacularly... Honestly, ain't one good minion to be had nowadays, and expensive too. Contacts fibbin' about security levels, sniper teams getting knocked off on a crucial mission. Well, what can you do?"

The self-muttering actually earned the imp bonus points with the crow man. Not because of the contents: just the very fact that he was muttering to himself. Idiosyncrasy was entertainment.

"That makes things easier," Chimera grackled; "since I doubt that we'd be wanting to recruit all of them, if you catch my drift. Naturally, we'll provide some compensation for those who were fatally injured in a most unfortunate matter while staying in our brig. For the others: how does ten percent off the top of each of their paychecks sound?" A decent enough offer, particularly since it was for life. People--especially of the lowly guard variety--didn't just enter the Kabal for a year or two. Oh no. There was a certain commitment involved. If Imp accepted, he'd be getting a rather steady flow of cash out of his former employees, the Kabal itself wouldn't have to spend a dime more than it normally would have, and the guards... well, the guards could be happy that they had such fine, lively employment. As opposed to the alternative, you understand.

>> "It's just Mike, or Mr. Montierre, if you please. I have a feeling that your offer and mine are of very similar content, no?"

At this, the crow's beak opened again. "Perhaps, Mr Mike, perhaps." Mr Mike: it sounded like a new soft drink. Stiff competition for Dr Pepper, no doubt. "We'd like to offer your fine self a fine place with other fine individuals of your own caliber, on our fine fine team. Naturally, your compensation will be quite a bit higher than those lovely grunt guards of yours will be getting. How am I doing so far? Are our contents still 'similar'?" The crow's black eyes fairly glittered with amusement, and perhaps a few other things.

"He'll live"

"Maybe, maybe. But maybe when I'm done with him he might wish he didn't... Damn Spaniards." Mike shook his head. He had a beef against spain and all of it's inhabitants.

"That makes things easier," Crow grackled; "since I doubt that we'd be wanting to recruit all of them, if you catch my drift. Naturally, we'll provide some compensation for those who were fatally injured in a most unfortunate matter while staying in our brig. For the others: how does ten percent off the top of each of their paychecks sound?"[/b][/u]

Mike nodded slowly, considering. "Maybe. How about twenty-five percent?" Mike shook his head again, thinking I'm not really in any position to be haggling with these people. Oh well, I never could resist money. Well, if you've got to have one flaw, it might as well be greed, eh? "Also, I have a few questions about the actual facilites of your employer. Facilities and manpower. I suppose that can wait, for now."

Crow's beak opened again. "Perhaps, Mr Mike, perhaps." Mr Mike. It had a certain ring to it, no? Maybe, Crow, Maybe...

"We'd like to offer your fine self a fine place with other fine individuals of your own caliber, on our fine fine team. Naturally, your compensation will be quite a bit higher than those lovely grunt guards of yours will be getting. How am I doing so far? Are our contents still 'similar'?" Crow's black eyes fairly glittered with amusement, and perhaps a few other things[/b]

"Congratulations, you just leveled up! Oh, what's this, Crow is evolving from similar to... Exactly identical! Hooray!"

>> "Maybe, maybe. But maybe when I'm done with him he might wish he didn't... Damn Spaniards."

The crow man was possessed with an overwhelming urge to make like Garfield against Nermal, and get out a cardboard box with holes; except instead of Abu Dhabi, the Imp would get a nice airmail delivery to Spain.

He repressed the urge.

Barely.

>> "Maybe. How about twenty-five percent? Also, I have a few questions about the actual facilities of your employer. Facilities and manpower. I suppose that can wait, for now."

Chimera's head turned; he stroked his beak against the feathers of his left shoulder, as it in thought. "Twenty-five percent... twenty-five percent. I suppose we can agree to that: twenty-five percent it is." Heh. Honestly, the little red guy could have gone for fifty, or a hundred percent: the newly acquired guard's real pay, after all, came in the form of them being still in a fit condition to be employed. Most men and women appreciated that. Most were willing to take a pay cut to make sure that condition remained intact. Having seventy-five percent of their paychecks left, though, was a good way to forestall having to remind them how easily their real pay could be revoked. "As for the facilities and manpower--you'll learn about those soon enough. Consider this whole event a small demonstration."

>> "Congratulations, you just leveled up! Oh, what's this, Crow is evolving from similar to... Exactly identical! Hooray!"

The crow man blinked his eyes. Then his beak tossed up into the air, and he grackled merrily. It took him a few long moments to pull himself back to the negotiating table, as it were. "Very nice, very nice. In that case: our terms. Our retention pay is a half a million for new mutant members. That's the money you get to sit on your rear. This ain't a nine-to-five job. You'll be provided with a communicator that you'll be expected to have with you at all times: the Doc is getting one ready for you right now, no doubt." Thanks to their good friend, Frank's headset, the Lab staff would be rather informed about this whole conversation. Noin Mortman was no doubt drawing up his employment contract at the front desk, as well. "When we call, you drop what you're doing, and you come. The rest of the time: do as you please. If you need Lab resources for that 'as you please'--vehicles, manpower, that sort of thing--then you only have to ask. We'll also fund your living space of choice, as long as it's relatively close to the city at the Labs. That home in the Alps comes out of your own money, I fear. If you don't have a secure bank account, we'll provide you with one--there's a rather nice place in Switzerland that I'm personally fond of, but you can choose from our providers. When we do call you for missions, you'll get a bonus check cut upon successful completion. The amount varies with the mission."

The crow's beak began to gape again. "Usually, the more surprised we are that you came back alive, the higher the payout. Do you have any questions, Mr Mike?"

Crow blinked his eyes. Then his beak tossed up into the air, and he grackled merrily. It took him a few long moments to pull himself back to the negotiating table, as it were. "Very nice, very nice. In that case: our terms. Our retention pay is a half a million for new mutant members. That's the money you get to sit on your rear. This ain't a nine-to-five job. You'll be provided with a communicator that you'll be expected to have with you at all times: the Doc is getting one ready for you right now, no doubt." Thanks to their good friend, Frank's headset, the Lab staff would be rather informed about this whole conversation. Noin Mortman was no doubt drawing up his employment contract at the front desk, as well. "When we call, you drop what you're doing, and you come. The rest of the time: do as you please. If you need Lab resources for that 'as you please'--vehicles, manpower, that sort of thing--then you only have to ask. We'll also fund your living space of choice, as long as it's relatively close to the city at the Labs. That home in the Alps comes out of your own money, I fear. If you don't have a secure bank account, we'll provide you with one--there's a rather nice place in Switzerland that I'm personally fond of, but you can choose from our providers. When we do call you for missions, you'll get a bonus check cut upon successful completion. The amount varies with the mission."

The crow's beak began to gape again. "Usually, the more surprised we are that you came back alive, the higher the payout. Do you have any questions, Mr Mike?"[/u]

"Aye. When do I start?" Mike laughed a little, and said "So, this 'as you please' business, would that include a couple hits on the side, or personal 'business' matters?" Mike had guessed that the answer to that would be yes, but it was better to be safe than sorry.

Mike noticed they were circling back to where he had been picked up, and asked "So, when're we gonna quit circlin' like birds and settle down for the feast, eh?"

>> "Aye. When do I start?"

Now that was a good attitude, particularly after just being told in a rather blatant manner that part of his job description was putting his life on the line. "You already have," the crow man cracked.

>> "So, this 'as you please' business, would that include a couple hits on the side, or personal 'business' matters?"

Chimera's beak began to gape again. "As you please," he clarified, "means as you please. By all means, get a little murdering and extra money off on the side. Just remember: we call, you come. You come, you complete the mission you're given. And don't go mentioning our team name around town unless otherwise ordered. We," his black eyes glittered, "are the Kabal."

The van had completed its loop of the main sub-grounds now; Frank was easing it up to the main Lab doors.

>> "So, when're we gonna quit circlin' like birds and settle down for the feast, eh?"

"Indeed," the crow man said, popping open his door before Frank had fully stopped; "shall we?" With light steps more awkward than a human's but with enough energy in them to leave most humans in the dust, the crow man skittered his way over to the door in a sort of round-about loop. He opened it for the imp, with a showy bow that flashed the longer feathers under his arms. "After you." After you, indeed. Politeness, jest, and the basic caution to not let someone he'd just met walk behind his back; after you.

Inside was a rather plain, non-evil aspiring reception area; after all, Mondragon Labs was subject to occasional inspections as an above-the-board research and development facility. As such, most of the Labs were squeaky clean with innocence, or could be made to look so at the drop of a hat. Having an employer who could mesmerize inspectors helped a bit, too.

Behind the wide reception desk sat a rather strictly disciplined looking woman. Behind one ear was sheathed a pencil; her nine fingers--minus one severed pinkie--set a few pieces of paperwork out on the desk with the polished air of a war veteran. This was Noin Mortman. She might not be as eternally cheerful as the Sanctuary's Receptionator Lisa, but she fought vampires. Even the basic staff here was well-versed in self-defense. Mondragon Labs: where the weak were killed and eaten. Coming from New Jersey, the crow man had already been familiar with living by that rule.

"If you could fill these out, please," Noin said, drawing her pencil and placing it with a steely click atop the paper work. "Under name, put whatever you want the bank to know you as. We just need to know who to wire the money to." The papers were disappointingly non-nefarious: they simply asked for things like 'Name', 'Date of Birth', 'Blood Type', 'Pre-existing Medical Conditions', 'Bank Account Number and Routing Number', and the like.

"It's not on the paperwork, but I'll also need a full description of your abilities and other skills, for matching you with missions and potential teammates. You can work with a teammate without killing him, her, or it intentionally, correct?" Noin's level stare made it clear that quips about that 'intentionally' part were not wise, unless the imp wanted an unfortunate mistype to send his first paycheck to a children's orphanage in Guam.

Noin Mortman was no Lisa. Noin Mortman was Lisa before the lobotomy, and after boot camp.

"As you please means as you please. By all means, get a little murdering and extra money off on the side. Just remember: we call, you come. You come, you complete the mission you're given. And don't go mentioning our team name around town unless otherwise ordered. We," Crow's black eyes glittered, "are the Kabal."[/b][/u]

"Kabal, eh?" Mike sighed. "I miss the old days. You know, when a secret, or not so secret, orginization of especially talented individuals would just pick something ominous, translate it into Latin, and be done with it. Honestly."

The van started slowing to a stop, and Crow opened his door, and stepped out, heading for the door with slightly faster-than-human speed. Mike, however, made it to the door a full three seconds before Crow, and he wasn't even running. It's not good policy to let someone you just met be leading the way, even if you didn't know exactly where you were going. There were too many nasty things to be done with traps nowadays.

As he stepped inside the doors Crow opened, he exhaled slowly, with a low whistle. "Impressive." It wasn't impressive because of any flashy evil devices prominately displayed, nor for some nefarious henchmen lumbering around, and not even for a color scheme of black and red. No, it was impressive because of the lack of such things. In fact, the reception area was so normal that it almost made Mike wonder if they had gone in the right door. Almost. Then he noticed the steely glint in the eyes of the receptionist, and the missing pinky finger, and he nodded.

"If you could fill these out, please," The receptionist said, drawing her pencil and placing it with a steely click atop the paper work. "Under name, put whatever you want the bank to know you as. We just need to know who to wire the money to." The papers were disappointingly non-nefarious: they simply asked for things like 'Name', 'Date of Birth', 'Blood Type', 'Pre-existing Medical Conditions', 'Bank Account Number and Routing Number', and the like. "It's not on the paperwork, but I'll also need a full description of your abilities and other skills, for matching you with missions and potential teammates. You can work with a teammate without killing him, her, or it intentionally, correct?"[/b][/u]

"Whatever you need, dol." Mike said, hopping up to the top of the desk so he could actually reach the papers and see the receptionist in the eye. As he was filling out the first parts of the papers, he asked nonchalantly "So, what name and adress do I send the box of chocolates to, hun?" It wasn't a pickup line. He made a point to keep the ladies of the underworld nice and happy. It paid off.

"Well, I suppose the gist of my mutation is quite obvious. Apart from my physical mutations, the barb on my tail is filled with enough poison to knock out around ten bull elephants, and I can zip from here to greenland faster than you can ask where I've gone. That's about it. But one question, one that's very important. Are there any cats around here?" That question was vital. Any cats within a mile radius seemed to seek Mike out and attack him. It was easy enough to dispatch of one or five at a time, but if more than that ganged up on him his diminutive size made it hard to cope.

>> "Kabal, eh? I miss the old days. You know, when a secret, or not so secret, organization of especially talented individuals would just pick something ominous, translate it into Latin, and be done with it. Honestly."

The crow man's beak continued to gape, at that. And that is when Chimera began to suspect that the imp didn't speak Hebrew. Kabal was derived from Kabbalah. Really, it was quite a fitting name: though Kabbalah referred to the Holy scriptures and the interpretations thereof, Kabal had come to mean a rather shady meeting between like-minded individuals not particularly out to fill the world with sunshine and fluffy bunnies. Really, Latin? So overused.

>> "Whatever you need, dol. So, what name and address do I send the box of chocolates to, hun?"

Noin seemed un-phased, both by the fact there was a scorpion-tailed red midget on her desk or the fact that it was sending her chocolates. "Send them to the front desk, addressed to Mortman. And don't forget to sign there," one finger nail tapped the bottom of a page. It was a well-kept fingernail; not manicured, but kept neatly trimmed at just the right length to both look good and be useful in close combat. That, ladies, took special care.

>> "Well, I suppose the gist of my mutation is quite obvious. Apart from my physical mutations, the barb on my tail is filled with enough poison to knock out around ten bull elephants, and I can zip from here to greenland faster than you can ask where I've gone. That's about it. But one question, one that's very important. Are there any cats around here?"

"Is that speed an exaggeration," Noin asked, "or a fact?" If it was a fact, the imp was several orders of magnitude faster than Kaz, the fastest mutant she had ever heard of. Mutants with even the slightest speed boost, though, in her experience, tended to exaggerate until they met a mutant who was a true speedster. It was more likely that he just had a speed boost above the human norm, not one that put him several notches above the mutant extreme. "Likewise, have you tested that dosing with your tail, or is that a rough estimate?"

As to his question: "Yes," Noin answered, taking back the paperwork he'd already completed. "We have four live-in cats, in addition to one that wanders." She took back her pencil as well, as soon as the imp was done, and re-sheathed it with a cold shick back behind her ear. "Is that a problem?"

That was a problem. How much of a problem that would be was already becoming obvious. A low hiss sounded from the closed door to the side of Lisa's desk; this was followed by a moment of cold blooded silence. An angry caterwaul filled the air; three other voices joined it. Then came the sound of clawing. The door was steel, and locked. That did not stop Sage, Target Practice, Sushi, and Jeeves from doing their very best to shred it. Chimera had brought the first three of those cats here himself last winter, as part of his own little training program. They'd been allowed to stay by the staff after he was done with them. Actually, he'd have had to fight the staff to get rid of them--they had quite the rat problem, in the vehicle bay, and the mechanics had fallen in love with not having to worry about beady black eyes darting around their abode. The fourth, Jeeves, had been brought by the Canteen's newest chef; quite the good pantry mouser, he'd heard.

Lisa gave the door a simple look, then turned back to the imp as the persistent clawing and wailing continued. "You are not allowed to kill them," she found it prudent to mention. Really, no one wanted the mechanics unhappy. Or, heaven forbid, the chef. Another topic seemed appropriate to raise: "We can provide you with a room at Mondragon Labs, or we will fund an apartment or house in New York City." Wail. Hiss. Claw. "Your choice." He could also decline to live in a Kabal-funded residence at all, but really, who didn't like free digs? Chimera had exploited his to get one of those ever-so-expensive Central Park view apartments.

(OOC: ACK!!! I don't know how things move so fast in the intertubes world. one minute I'm posting here, the next it's been two weeks! So sorry, mate. Also, I'll be startin' my Mission for Major Contactly Death in the vehicle bay today or tomorrow, if you'd like to join in or let someone know who would like to check it out.)

"Send them to the front desk, addressed to Mortman. And don't forget to sign there,"

Mike signed with a flourish, taking a small pleasure in noting that his name looked excactly like the old english font on microsoft word. Several people had remarked on that, and asked why he based his handwriting on a text-editor's font. His response was the same: I didn't base my handwriting off of their font, they based their font off of my handwriting!

"Is that speed an exaggeration," Noin asked, "or a fact? Likewise, have you tested that dosing with your tail, or is that a rough estimate?"[/b][/u]

"Of course the speed is an exagguration. All speedsters tend to exaggurate their prowess until they meet someone faster. I, myself, have met several people who are faster than me. It wasn't very humbling, actually. I killed them all. Good money though." Mike sighed "Actually, I bought a bull elephant a hundred and forty.... forty... forty three years ago, just to see, and unloaded a fourth of my poison into it. It died in a minute and a half, and my analysts said that eight and a half elephants would be the most accurate estimate. I have several vials of my poison that have been concentrated, back at my old place in venice, but I don't know if they're still there. You might want to get a hold of them."

As to his question: "Yes," Noin answered, taking back the paperwork he'd already completed. "We have four live-in cats, in addition to one that wanders." She took back her pencil as well, as soon as the imp was done, and re-sheathed it with a cold shick back behind her ear. "Is that a problem?[/b][/u]

Caterwauling resounded through the entrance chamber, a sound that always made the hair on the back of Mike's neck stand straight up, and that filled his blood with the fight-or-flight adrenaline. He turned to regard the door with a cold glare, and hissed under his breath, unconscously scratching the desk with his talon-like back feet as he adjusted his stance to one with a more battle-ready position.

"You are not allowed to kill them. We can provide you with a room at Mondragon Labs, or we will fund an apartment or house in New York City. Your choice."

"Are you sure I can't kill them? I mean, I understand that they might be someones pets, but they are annoying little buggers." Mike sighed. "Fine, fine, whatever. I have a place near the bridge, and one over by central park, and a permanently reserved floor of the empire state building. I don't usually live in any of these, though. Honestly, the sewers are so much more private. You just got to clean them out a bit. I've got a couple of people working on digging a new tunnel do divert the flow of waste so I can make use of the existing parts as a control center. If you don't mind, once that's finished I'll stay there when I'm sleeping in any one place." Mike sighed again. "Also, and this is vital, if you do plan on heading back to my old home in Venice, tell me. There are certain... things that you must know before entering that floating city, otherwise the escapade may prove deadly."

Noin nodded to his further explanations of his mutation, taking in all of his words with the same air of polite interest with which she spoke to her pencil supplier when she called in new orders. Notes were taken; data was entered. To be fair, though, her pencil supplier had quite the personality.

A soft grackle escaped the crow man's parted beak as Mister Elephant Bane started hissing at the door-blocked cats. He happened to be personally responsible for the presence of three of them, and he might or might not have been that 'one that wanders'; he'd have to look into who'd brought in that fourth, though. That was new. He really should spend a bit more time hanging out here, so he didn't lose touch with the locals.

>> "Are you sure I can't kill them? I mean, I understand that they might be someone's pets, but they are annoying little buggers."

Noin simply looked at him, her eyes blinking with deliberate slowness. Don't make me repeat myself, those lashes were signaling. The imp's sigh of resignation seemed to appease her.

>> "Fine, fine, whatever. I have a place near the bridge, and one over by central park, and a permanently reserved floor of the empire state building. I don't usually live in any of these, though. Honestly, the sewers are so much more private. You just got to clean them out a bit. I've got a couple of people working on digging a new tunnel do divert the flow of waste so I can make use of the existing parts as a control center. If you don't mind, once that's finished I'll stay there when I'm sleeping in any one place."

Noin nodded. "That will be no problem."

Chimera, for his part, sniffed in a trying-to-be-subtle manner. ...Nope, no smell of sewers. Not a strong one, anyway. You couldn't blame a crow for checking.

>> "Also, and this is vital, if you do plan on heading back to my old home in Venice, tell me. There are certain... things that you must know before entering that floating city, otherwise the escapade may prove deadly."

Again, the secretary gave a nod. "I'll put a note in our system about it. Thank you for the warning." It was unclear from either her tone or words whether the warning would be headed: if the Kabal hadn't thought of extending a hand into Venice before now, though, then at the very least, the idea had just been planted into certain feathered head. A little red guy can't just drop a gem like that and then not expect it to be followed up on. Not that Chimera was a troublemaker, mind you.

The phone on Noin's desk rang; she picked it up. "Good," she said after a moment; then, with a two-fold eye flick between the imp and the cat-besieged door, she replied to the person on the other end; "No, I think it would be wiser if you brought it here. Take the door through the garage, as well. The main door is... blocked. Thank you." She set down the phone.

Not long after, a white-coated lab tech came through a side door into the room carrying a small box. He paused a moment to blink at the small red demonling putting scrapes on Noin's desk, and the a sharp yowls splitting the air. Then, with a shrug that was nothing short of desensitized, he brought the box over, and--after glancing to Noin for a nodded confirmation--he took off the lid and offered the contents to the imp. Inside where several items: a watch, a necklace, a ring, a phone.

"These are the current communicator models," he explained, glancing somewhat nervously at the newest Kabal member's tail; coming from Canada, he didn't have much experience with--or a particular liking for--scorpions, "they each function as what they are, of course--the watch keeps time, the phone makes calls, the necklace and ring... are jewelry. Yeah... Umm, so take your pick. The watch is a new model--the Order started recognizing our old one. We'll be making them custom for each member from now on, to prevent that. Don't know why we didn't before, actually." He laughed shortly, dragging his eyes away from the imp's pleasant little stinger. "Just keep in mind that you have to have it with you at all times; if you don't want to wear a watch 24-7, then don't pick it. ...Yeah."

"I recommend anything but the necklace," the crow man commented off-handedly, leaning causally against the counter. "Personal preference, of course."

(OOC: Hopefully you guy's don't mind me posting:) here it goes)

IC:Kitra was rather bored and hadn't seen anyone around the labs lately. The one person that was likely to know of the whereabouts of the unseen members of the kabal would be the reciptionist. 'Hmm, I think her last name is Mortman, well here goes nothing,' Kitra thought as she made her way to the front of the labs.

After a good ten minutes of walking through the maze that was Mondragon Labs, she finally made it to the front. 'I really need to think about wearing more slitted skirts, they make doing things easier', Kitra thought. She then opened one of the many doors leading to the lobby only to discover small red creature, with a scorpion tail?! on the recipitionist's desk. 'Well, I guess we have a new member, best to introduce myself,' Kitra thought as she made her way over to the desk. She had noticed a man that seemed to be past crow, or maybe mostly crow, as well, but as the red creature was the one doing paperwork, he had to be the new member.

Reaching the desk, Kitra smiled "Hello, you must be our newest member, welcome to the Kabal. My name is Kitra and what might yours be?"