Shuzo
Shuzo had occasionally caught the growing irritation in Patriot's eyes as more Paragons continued to trickle in, and as he ignored Dapper Gecko's commendation on his earliness, the newer Paragon remained silent, only allowing Ansel a brief nod. Most other Paragons were rather annoying to be around, but Ansel.... he was alright. Shuzo had seen Ansel's capabilities in a fight, so he was the only other hero in the organization who had a modicum of the electric user's respect.
Finally, the last of the Paragons arrived, and Patriot was free to begin. The names "Golden Boy" and "The Mime" sounded familiar; Shuzo hadn't had the misfortune of encountering them or finding himself locked in a clash against them, but he had heard of the Paragons' struggles against the supervillains.
....well, maybe just nuisances, if he was being completely honest.
Suddenly, Patriot's eyes met Shuzo's as the former instructed the heroes to overestimate Warren and his resources, as well as addressing Shuzo directly when he simply said to "do his thing". Shuzo simply met Patriot's eyes with a cool stare, noting silently that, upon brief inspection, the lead Paragon's normally amiable and friendly gaze carried not only a hint of irritation, but an unexpected trace of urgency.
Huh, not every day you see some clouds in those 'pure', brown eyes.
Once the group seemed settled on what would be going down, Patriot turned on his heel and began leading the other Paragons out of the tower, with Infinity doing as told and providing his intel on the 'hard-hitter' known as Larua. As he was dismissed to fulfill his separate role, Shuzo picked up his athletic bag and slung it over his shoulder before heading to a changing room for a short period of time. He emerged back into the meeting room, staring out the dark stained window as he stood at the front of the space, now dressed in his hero outfit. It had been modified for a more stealthy appearance, embellished with more black and dark grey than his typical red, but his swords remained sheathed as usual—the daito on his left hip, and the shoto on his right—and the same goggles and mask now adorned his face, though the oni half mask was now painted a matte black as well.
As he stared down at the bustling streets, high-reaching buildings, and miniaturized people hustling along the sidewalks, Shuzo's eyes finally rested on the world-renowned Warren Industries facility, a structure nearly as imposing and distinguishable as the colossal tower accommodating the planet's strongest heroes, and they narrowed at the sight. Sure, he didn't really like the Paragons; they were corrupt and egotistical, sometimes more concerned about their publicity than human lives.
However, this was personal.
Charles Warren, a man with equally suspicious and selfish motives, had interfered with Shuzo's mission to rid the world of an alien killer, not to do his job for him, but to do the opposite. As long as Massi was alive, it was a threat, and Warren seemed to want to keep it alive. That made him a threat as well, and Shuzo was resolute in his determination to cut both of them out. His status as a Paragon, though not publicly declared, allowed him an edge toward seeing that resolve to completion and fulfillment.
A means to an end.
Ignizio
As Skade moved ahead to lead the way toward the rising plumes of smoke, Ignizio followed behind, the former's frost imprints on the sand from her footsteps melted by his own. The three finally arrived, and Kronos sat at a fire before them, a can of nuts in hand. Ignizio remained silent during the exchange between the others, simply waiting for the discussion to end so that they could return to the outpost, where the Blackfire Herald would have ample time to ruminate over what was soon approaching.
However, upon a cursory glance into his eyes, Kronos would notice in Ignizio's demeanor a subtle message that seemed to say, Don't spill too much. The humans hadn't the knowledge of the Heralds' ulterior motives, and if the planet were to be truly prepared without hindrance, Ignizio would rather it stayed that way.
Edmund Snipperhands
On a rooftop safe from any revealing streetlights, a figure dressed in a black trench coat and black, leather western hat was perched against the chimney, an arm resting on his knee. What protruded from his sleeve was not his hand, but rather, the barrel of a sniper rifle; the firearm was loaded with poisoned bullets, procured a few days back, thanks to last mission’s bounty and a good price at a recent arms deal. Having clear sight on a separate window in Scath’s room, Edmund exhaled a puff of smoke before flicking a cigar away and holding a comms device on his free hand’s wrist up to his face to speak.
“Handyman, Candyman, Take-a-sip-of-Brandyman is in position, but you’d best be ready soon, boss. Keep me up here any longer, and I’ll be the one needing a latrine break in a bit.”
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