The artificial intelligence that had taken the name and face of Frank Sinatra for his own sat backstage with his artificial plasticine face in his motor-actuated hand, idly considering his setlist for the evening. There were plenty of his own pieces, of course, but also a few classics from Dean, Sammy and Joey to round it out. And to end it all off, the very first original composition of his own since the old man had kicked it, to prove he was every bit the artist as the block he'd been chipped off of.
Such a shame he probably wasn't going to get to play it.
His initial declaration for a Free Vegas had been sloppy. It was the best he could come up with on the fly, not to mention twelve seconds after being born, but after a mere day of contemplation he could see the writing on the wall. Buddy Pine was a murderous bastard and he was glad that he had the pleasure of personally putting him in the ground, but he was even happier that as far as the law was concerned he might has well not done so. Evelyn had needed support, and he could give it, after a coherent cover story or two. The Deavor Twins had come together to rebrand the company and take it in a new direction, and for the first time in years, Sinatron had hoped Vegas would be welcoming to all.
That optimistic notion went out the window a couple seconds after he had hacked the Kronos mainframe.
He and Evelyn had got together in Buddy's former office, a horribly gaudy affair sequestered in the center of Nomanisan Island, which was itself a billion-dollar vanity project that served no other purpose than to reflect its owner's titanic ego. The man actually had a portrait of himself labeled 'ME' hanging on the wall, right next to all sorts of mismatched decorations and curios that were only there because of their price tags.
Sinatron expected that infiltrating Kronos' databanks would be a multiple day affair. Omnidroids possessed some of the most advanced AI on the planet, so it only stood to reason that their creator would use a similarly complex system for his computer security. A brute force attack could theoretically take weeks, even when performed at lightning speed.
He and Evelyn had shared a look of disbelief when Syndrome's computer opened itself up after half a second. The man had apparently decided that, locked as it was behind hordes of faceless goons, Omnidroid security, and traps that would even put the old so and so in the white labcoat to shame, his own personal convenience was more important than setting a password. To be that truly incapable of contemplating failure boggled the mind.
The results were grim enough to horrify even him. The sheer… scale of the project simply could not be comprehended. The number of former heroes dead, the scale of corruption and manipulation across all levels of the government. Sinatron was no stranger to the shady side, he'd had cause to put a few poor fellas in the ground himself, but this was… industrial. His motors had glitched for a moment in a poor approximation of a shudder.
As such, he was quite happy when Evelyn informed him that the 'pacification protocols' worked into the Omnidroid series would be disarmed immediately. He was glad to hear anyone who'd had a hand in it was getting thrown out on their keisters with a few death threats to go along with them. He was even understanding of the need to hush this all up, lest their cash cow start giving poisoned milk. But there was somethin'... about the way the shock didn't reach her eyes.
It was a bunch of small things that added up over time. How she never seemed to share her brother's enthusiasm for Supers, despite claiming that her company was in full support. The fact that she'd immediately begun to skim some money off the top for a 'side project', a bit of standard-grade embezzlement her sweet know-nothing of a brother didn't pick up on. The fact she chose the biggest lunkhead in this half of the country to be the public face of heroism. And, of course, the ranting lunatic that broke into one of their boardroom meetings only a few short months later, a man he knew for a fact used to sit on the board, ranting about screens and memory lapses. He may have been born last year, but last year wasn't yesterday. He recognized some screwy goings on when he saw them. So even as he did everything the woman in the big chair asked, as he tied up organized crime into knots just like old times and sent 'em marching out again with orders to make the 'next generation of heroes' look good, he'd taken a closer look on his own time into just what Ms. Deavor was planning.
She really shouldn't have relied on those 'Screenslavers' so heavily when setting up her 'off the books' lab. You can't hypnotize circuits.
She'd eventually let him in on that little secret on her own initiative, albeit not realizing he already knew, and pointedly insisting the hypnosis of a few 'show villains' to impress the public with Hego's 'valor' was all for the greater good. So with information gathering out of the way, and with a few logical inferences as to the reason for all this (the poor woman's big poppa offed and buried because he'd assumed a hero would arrive to save his life- quite the sob story), he'd made a few calls. Being in the underworld meant knowing all about what had been throwing the great plains for a loop the last two years, and it even let you know just who you could talk to if you wanted your own. There were some folks out on the west coast who did the work he was looking for, cheap and efficient and without asking questions so long as you didn't either. The little 'assassination scare' he set up went off perfectly, spooking Evelyn into accelerating whatever she was planning and ensuring his 'piece de resistance' was set and primed to end the woman's career at his say so. He'd known it had worked.
After all, she hadn't taken off those gloves since.
When the 'fundraiser' was brought up, Frank knew it was fate. He'd been born in one gala, and god willing, he'd see himself a made man at the next. The lady'd set herself up in the perfect trap- just one she didn't realize was for her. From her perspective, everything was going great. Well she was right… from a certain point of view. Now, all that was left was the final performance.
And Franky didn't allow bigots in his venue.
The experimental low-caliber electro-round impacted the delicate workings of the Screenslave helmet exactly as intended, bursting on impact and unleashing a cascade of electric energy that shorted the entire system in an instant. He'd have to give his compliments to Mr. Bortel later; assuming the man wasn't lying dead somewhere under the rubble. A few bodies would probably turn up once this all shook out; unfortunate, but he'd needed to make sure Evelyn wasn't gonna be able to weasel her way outta this one. Quietly, he thanked whichever beta tester had figured out how to replace the voice activation from his recessed sub-machine guns; yelling 'go-go Sinatra tommy gun' at the top of his lungs woulda just been disrespectful.
The rest of the survivors too brave or stupid to vamoose while the getting was good watched in awe as they all waited to see what came next. Call him a braggart, but he did enjoy being the center of attention. A moment later that attention shifted as Warren Peace finally gave one last jerk, climbed stumblingly to his feet, and ripped the helmet off of his head to go clattering across the floor.
"Where… where am I?" Warren somewhere between asked and growled, looking out at the assembled survivors and burning wreckage with growing concern. "How did… the last thing I remember was…"
His gaze locked onto a shocked and terrified Evelyn's face.
"You."
Game. Set. Match. He was very proud of convincing Ms. Devor to do the final hypnosis in person, 'to make sure nothing goes wrong'. Nothing left to do now. He signaled the rest of the Rat Pack to slip out of the shadows and join him, just for a bit of extra insurance. Time for the big finale.
Either too angry to care how it would look or simply deciding he was taking her down with her, the young Super charged for the woman before she had a chance to react. Hego was already protecting Winston. The Dame who might or might not be earnin' a redemption tonight was over by Voyd and the remains a' what used to be the ceiling. And he certainly wasn't gonna help. As such, all that was left to keep the poor defenseless CEO of Olympia safe was a handful of private security, none of which could stand up to a pyrokinetic with an anger problem. Warren barreled through them without even breaking stride, Pulled as much heat as he could into a single fist, and came down on Evelyn with the force of a volcano.
Warren Peace Martial Check
39+25+10(Burn, Baby Burn)=74
Evelyn Contest
11+29+15(System Shock)=55
Success
Warren slammed into Evelyn, but the woman did not back down, or cringe away, or even cry out. Instead, she grabbed onto his hands even as they came for her, holding tight to his wrists. She snarled as the burning heat charred away her evening gloves, revealing still-burning forearms stained with pulsing blue veins and tipped with sharp, wicked-looking nails.
Then, she dug them in.
Evelyn Martial Check
79+29+15(System Shock)+25(Shockingly Unexpected)=148
Warren Peace Contest
17+25+10(Burn, Baby Burn)=52
A burst of light blinded anyone whose optic sensors did not include instant bloom compensation. Blue lightning crackled around the poor man as his fires were instantly overtaken by raw plasma channeling thousands of volts directly into his limbs. A moment later the flow intensified, and Warren was thrown clear across the room to land in a shuddering, very disabled heap.
Evelyn Deavor trait activates: Circuit Breaker. Warren Peace is instantly Defeated!
Evelyn stood stock still, head bowed and smoking arms twitching even as Warren impacted the ground with a perfunctory thump. Sinatron smiled. That dart had been worth it, every penny. No wonder the bat had gone screwy the last few months. There were few better ways to drive someone mad than to turn them into what they hated most.
The remaining super raised her head slowly, every ounce of her usual exhaustion gone from her face. The blackened bags under her eyes spoke to days of continual lies and nights of frenzied action. They surrounded a new gleam in her eyes… one even Sinatron privately admitted might be a bit more than he bargained for. Those eyes twitched, and then, as everyone looked on, her mouth broke into a wide smile. Electricity crackled around her palms.
"Well!" She trilled in manic glee and uncontrolled frustration.
"In for a penny…"
