First Player/Sixty Feet Tall

Yesterday

"The man on the screen before you is Miles Benedict." Her silky voice filled the room with an unexpected authority. She pressed a button on the tiny remote in her hand and the image on the screen changed from a candid front-on shot of a dark-skinned young man to another picture of the same person, this time in profile.

"Mr. Benedict is the mind behind the "Slice" smartphone, a mobile device which, if released, will cost us..." She paused to squint at a piece of paper and laughed quietly, "Our financial analysts love to toss numbers around... millions, they're projecting. We've attempted to acquire the design specifications on multiple occasions, but our results have been... less than satisfactory."

The woman speaking was sitting behind a desk, and paused when an elegant, well-manicured hand fell softly on her shoulder. She took the hand in her own, kissed it lingeringly, and returned it to her shoulder. "So we'd like him... removed. And the designs to be removed with him."

"The price we discussed..." a second female voice began from elsewhere in the darkened room.

"We will pay it," the first woman replied. She hit another button on the remote, turning off the projector and bringing the lights up. Turning, she placed her arms on the desktop, her long blond hair falling down over her shoulders as she leaned forward. Behind her was a tall, older man of similar features. It was his hand that still rested on her shoulder.

"And, of course," the man added, "if we are happy with your performance, we would consider putting you on retainer."

Across the finely appointed office, a young Native-American woman lounged in a leather chair, cleaning her fingernails with the head of a long red-shafted arrow. "I'm happy to hear that," she sneered. "I always like to keep my eye on the future, after all."

The blond man's hand tightened on his companion's shoulder, but the blond woman ignored their guest's impertinence. "We would like the removal to occur tomorrow. Mr. Benedict is speaking at a convention in Paragon City." The woman handed her a small slip of paper, "Here is the building number."

"Do you want the witnesses "removed" as well?" the Native-American woman mocked.

"No" the woman answered, without reacting. "Do it as publicly as you can without risk of being caught."

"And when the mission's accomplished?"

The man was the one to speak up this time: "Report back here and we'll have your fee for you, Ms...?"

"Longbow," the woman replied, leaning into the light. "Abigail and Howard Mercer... you just bought yourself an assassin."

Now

The butterflies in Miles' stomach hadn't calmed down in the past hour like Roger said they would, as he paced back and forth in his cramped dressing room within the Atlas Park Convention Center.

"You risk your life on a bi-daily basis yet public speaking terrifies you?" the robotic drone on the the far side of the room questioned. Miles was busy taking large breaths.

"Judge me and I'll scrap you into a toaster, laserbrain." he cautioned, waving a finger in his direction.

"There's no need for name-calling." Roger replied. Miles always assumed his public speaking anxieties would fade over time, like his fear of heights had, though that might have been attributed to the inordinate amount of time he spent flying. He made a mental note to practice speaking publicly more often.

Every year, he attended the Young Engineers Society expo as a guest, though this was the first time he'd been asked to actually speak. The assembly portion was only the beginning of the expo, what followed would be a modest exhibition of technological innovations developed by the some of the state's most brilliant young minds.

The sparse room which Miles had initially assumed was a dressing room might have just been a storage room as he took a second look around. Lots of sound equipment and cases sat off in the corners of the room. Miles wrung his hands as a stage tech entered. "Five minutes." he advised. Miles nodded, wiping his hands on a towel before following him out of the small room, leaving Roger behind. They traveled down a long hallway until they reached the curtains near the stage in the auditorium. Miles peered out into the sea of faces, many of whose were still in their early teens.

"And now, three-time winner of the Mendoza National Award for Excellence In Science and Technology, Mr. Miles Benedict!" the man on the stage announced. Miles took a big breath before he hurried up the side stairs and out onto the stage, smiling widely and waving, despite his anxiousness to leave. The man slid the microphone into its holster on the podium and shook Miles' hand as he passed him and took his place at the center of the stage. The applause died down and Miles fiddled with his "Guest Speaker" name tag.

"Hey guys." He started casually. "I'm not great at speeches so I'll keep it brief." He clapped his hands lightly and bumped his nose on the microphone, which brought a small amount of quiet laughter from the crowd.

"Heh. Usually I'm sitting where you guys are now... And it's only been a few years since my first time here. I was a kid, still am judging on who you ask around here." Miles gripped the podium as the audience laughed. ”And I heard this is the biggest turnout this expo's ever gotten. And even now I see what all the fuss is about. I took a walk around the floor earlier today and some of the stuff you guys have put together... it's really impressive."

He was surprised to find that his hands had stopped shaking by now as he grew more comfortable.

"It's amazing how far you guys have come. And don't stop now. Or let anyone try and stop you. You guys really are the future. So the next time you get bullied at school or called a nerd, just remember. Nerds rule the world. And don't let anybody tell you differently." He waved and took a step back from the podium as a round of applause followed. He paused to take one last look around the audience before he saw it. His enhanced vision caught sight of a shadow in the rafters. At first he thought it was a bird that had gotten trapped inside, but...

Perched in the rafters crouched a young woman, bow-and-arrow drawn as she took aim. When she saw Miles had spotted her she hastily released.

The world seemed to snap into slow motion as the arrow sped through the air toward his chest. It happened in seconds, but he had time to marvel at how straight and true the shaft flew, and to note that it was blood red.

Now

Before he could react he was pushed aside. The man who'd brought him on stage had saved his life, ducking and tackling him out of the arrow's path. Miles mouthed a quick 'thank you' before picking himself up and taking off behind stage. He’d thank him properly after everything was settled. As he sprinted back towards his dressing room he heard the panicked crowd quickly scattering.

Miles burst into the small room to find Roger floating about carelessly. "Where's my bag?!" he panted.

"Under the table." Roger answered. "Is something wrong?"

"There's an assassin trying to kill me, but other than that, no." Miles fumbled through the black duffel bag under the table. It wasn't his. "Ahhh!" He shouted. "Never let anyone handle your bags!" He groaned as he rushed over to another bag and unzipped it. "Thank god." he praised.

Miles peeled off his clothes until he was clad in nothing but the thin powersuit he always wore. He pulled his jet boots out of the bag, clamping them around his ankles before following suit with his gloves. He slid on his visor and headset and in seconds was on his feet and out the door, Roger in tow behind him.

From her hiding place in the rafters, she spied First Player duck out of the hallway. Longbow was not happy. The old man and his daughter hadn't told her that her prey had been a superhero. They would regret that in the future.

Before she could take aim, the spotlights around her overloaded, temporarily blinding her as a shower of sparks rained over her. She fell from the ceiling, but twisted in midair, flipping and landing on her feet as her enhanced reflexes saved her.

Undaunted, she pulled another arrow from the quiver on her back and took aim at First Player from across the wide auditorium.

She would later kick herself for not retreating at that exact moment to plan out her next move.

Miles brought down his would-be assassin from the ceiling using his newfound abilities. She dropped into the rustling crowd somewhere across the room.

"Any reason why Pocahontas is trying to kill me, Roger?" Miles spoke up, the wireless bud in his ear amplifying his vocal tone.

"Negative." Roger reported as he hovered high above the crowd. "I am unable to accurately identify her. Reprocessing..."

"At least paint my target first!" Miles shouted as he waded through the crowd. He had to act fast or someone innocent was going to get hurt. A half-second later, the Native-American assassin was outlined in red on his heads-up display, the x-ray capability of his visor allowed him to monitor her through the crowd. She moved fluidly past fleeing teenagers and it was clear to Miles that she was only aiming for him. Literally.

The woman was closing in on Miles but the crowd prevented her from getting a shot off. Miles scanned his immediate surroundings, his mind calculating hundreds of probabilities in seconds, before he snatched a discarded leather briefcase from the ground. He hoped it wasn't too expensive.

As the woman broke free of the crowd she fired off three arrows in rapid succession. Miles lifted the briefcase and all three arrows thunked into it instead of into him. He rolled to the side as she charged him, tripping her. She was sent tumbling across the hardwood floor and into a few metal fold-out chairs. But she recovered quickly, flipping back up onto her feet and rushing back towards Miles.

"This is a horrible way of introducing yourself!" he said, ducking a high kick and blocking a punch to his ribs. "Shooting arrows at someone is so middle ages."

The woman didn't reply, she only ducked away to grab her fallen bow, swinging it at Miles like a bat. He dodged by jumping backwards. The assassin wrenched an arrow from the quiver at her back, nocked, and fired, all in a single motion that was almost faster than Miles' eyes could follow. Almost. His reaction time enhanced by the nanobots working in his brain allowed him to snatch the arrow out of the air before it struck him.

"Hah!" He laughed triumphantly at the woman yards away. "Eat your heart out, Karate Kid."

Just then the head of the intercepted arrow erupted in Miles' face. A black glob of something that looked like tar sprayed upwards into his face, splattering his visor and clouding his vision. "Oh, for the love of..." he sighed, stumbling backwards and falling over an upturned chair. "Roger!"

From high in the air, the robotic drone fired a laser that sizzled the liquid covering his visor until it melted away. But by the time his vision was clear, the assassin had already escaped.

Under normal circumstances, she would have drawn a lot of stares -- 6 feet tall, built like an Amazon, with long, braided black hair and stunning narrow features that marked her Native American ancestry, but the only company Abigail and Howard Mercer had were their black-suited security guards, all of whom drew their weapons when the assassin stalked into their personal gymnasium. The father/daughter pair were in the middle of a heated racquetball match

"You neglected to tell me my target was a costumed vigilante." Longbow said through clenched teeth.

Abigail paused to take a breath, and one of her bodyguards rushed over to hold her racket as she turned towards the woman. "We wanted to see how you'd adapt to the situation." The blonde heiress smiled sweetly. "And it seems you have."

It took every ounce of willpower she had not to dismantle the woman before her. "The deal is off." She replied angrily before turning to leave.

"Your fee is doubled now." Howard shouted from the far end of the gym. Longbow paused, and Abigail smiled inwardly. "We take great pains to assure our employees are well trained and fully capable. Are you... fully capable?" Abigail asked, interlacing her fingers.

"Always." Longbow answered as she reconsidered.

Abigail smiled again and clapped her hands together. "Good! Now. How familiar are you with ThinkTank Incorporated?"

Hank Anderson hurried out of the police precinct with nothing on his mind except getting home in time to catch Survivor before hitting the sack. After working the street as a patrolman for so many years, he'd thought being desk sergeant for the precinct would be cake, a slacker job, just slightly more useful than being a traffic cop. He couldn't have guessed all the aggravations, the verbal abuse from prisoners and fellow officers alike, the endless load of other people's paperwork. He went home every night more exhausted than he'd ever been when he'd been on the street.

That exhaustion didn't stop him from pausing when he saw the briefcase sitting on the stoop of the precinct house. An unattended briefcase could mean a bomb, and Hank surely would have gone back inside to alert someone if not for the 3 long shafts sticking out of the black leather case. The shafts drew his attention to a note pasted to the side. Hank crouched down and read:

Please help me find my owner. I belong to a businessman who was attending the Young Engineer Society expo that was evacuated after an assassination attempt, this afternoon. In return, you can have these arrows from the woman who tried to kill one of the speakers.

Thanks

P.S. There is no bomb inside. Promise.

While Hank scratched his head in befuddlement, Miles sat on his hoverboard, floating high above the rooftop across the street. Time to do some detective work.

Now

"What about Mr. Sphinx?”

Miles sat before a row of enormous computer banks, his feet lazily perched on top of the console. The vast computer array before him displayed streaming data of all sorts, ranging from news stories to weather conditions to news stories. Currently, the room was a bit dim, lit only by the many flickering console lights, glowing panels and screens.

"Mr. Sphinx has been incarcerated ever since his attempt to brainwash the entire student body of Paragon University." Roger answered. Miles sank back into his chair. He always liked playing Batman. Even if it was Roger who did most of the detective work.

"He doesn't seem like the type who'd hire an assassin anyways." Miles mumbled as his mind scrolled through possible suspects like songs in an iTunes playlist. "Alright, maybe I'm going about this the wrong way..." he thought aloud. "Maybe it's not who I've pissed off, but what I've done."

"Miles?"

"Pull up every company who stands to lose profits once the Slice hits the market."

In an instant, the list appeared on the screen. Miles felt a hint of pride at the number of names on the list.

"Bingo." he pointed towards the monitor, singling one company out.

”MercerTech?” Roger questioned. Miles nodded as he flicked his wrist and the company website expanded on the screen, profile photos of Abigail Mercer and her father Howard, the CEO, at the forefront of the site.

"This is classic Abby, I can't believe I didn't I see it to begin with."

"You call her Abby?"

Miles crossed his arms defensively. "Shut up."

"How do you know it wasn't her father who hired the assassin?"

Miles laughed. "Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned."

While Roger warned him against venturing forth into the "lion's den", Miles wasn't frightened in the least. Abigail Mercer was ruthless,but she was no fool. She wouldn't have him killed in her own building. MercerTech employed at least several hundred people. And that's only within their main office building. He strode past the check-in kiosk and rode the elevator up to the top floor. Miles knew where he was going.

Six months ago, Abigail personally met with and offered him a job within MercerTech. But it was well known MercerTech wasn't the most reputable of corporations. And Miles did his research. Shady things were definitely going on behind the scenes. He guessed the Mercer family had taken his refusal personally. The added potential loss of millions of dollars when he unveiled the Slice prototype probably didn't help either.

When he reached her office, her personal assistant tried waving him away. "Wha- Who are- Can I help you?" she stammered.

"Is she in?" he asked as he approached, pointing past her towards the doors.

"Ms. Mercer's in the middle of a meeting. You have to schedule an appointment." She countered, moving back towards her desk outside the office. "I'll be happy to-"

"She'll want to see me now." Miles interrupted her. He touched the intercom on her desk, breathing a spark of power into it as he leaned over the desk to speak. "I hope you're presentable, Ms. Mercer."

He turned and the secretary tried blocking him, but he brushed past her and pushed open the heavy oak doors. Abigail was seated behind her desk, typing away at her computer while an older man, in his mid-fifties maybe, sat in front of her. "I'd apologize for interrupting, but I'm not really that sorry." Miles announced as he entered. He turned to look at the man and thumbed towards the doorway, "Can I get a minute?"

"My apologies, Mr. Bishop." Abigail sighed. The man looked towards Abigail as if asking permission to leave. She nodded and waved a hand, gesturing him out. "She tried to have me killed, you know how that goes." Miles cupped his hand around his mouth and whispered to the man as he passed. Abigail rolled her eyes as he exited and closed the doors behind him. Miles turned his attention towards Abigail and feigned a look of embarrassment. "Yikes. I hope that wasn't a potential investor."

"Are you enjoying yourself?" She smirked, but Miles detected a hint of annoyance.

"A little bit." he retorted. "You, on the other hand, look a little too confident. I bet you feel sixty feet tall, huh? Does that assassin you hired have anything to do with it?"

Abigail set her elbows on the table and interlaced her fingers. "I have-"

"No idea what I'm talking about, yeah yeah yeah." Miles nodded as he finished her sentence. "We can play this game all day but frankly..." He paused to sigh. "...I'm a busy guy. And I know you've got things to do, managing this place and whatnot, meeting with potential suitors. Which, by the way, what was that guy - pushing sixty?" Miles smirked, nodding his head back towards the doors.

She rolled her eyes again. "I'm shocked to hear you were almost killed, yet grateful that you're still alive. Perhaps your near death experience has made you reconsider my offer now?"

"You really are delusional, aren't you Abby?"

"Ms. Mercer." She corrected him. "I don't like being Well Well called Abby."

"I don't like being threatened!" Miles shouted, pounding a fist on her desk. Gray-black static washed over her computer monitor for a moment before it returned to normal. "So the next time you think about sending someone after me, I want you to think about this. In less than two hours after Osama Bin Laden's death, four thousand articles concerning him were published on the web. Forty-thousand blog mentions within twelve hours."

"Your point being?" Abigail asked as she leaned back in her leather chair.

"My point is, we live in a world where information is power. And because of the internet, information spreads ridiculously fast. Imagine how fast news of MercerTech's under-the-table dealings would spread if records were somehow leaked. I wonder who Daddy would blame." He answered. If looks could kill, he would've been dead where he stood. Abigail swallowed anger and Miles knew he had her where he wanted her.

"Or I could focus on you." He stopped and tapped her computer with a finger. Web browsers and personal documents opened, saved pictures and files flew across the screen. Her brow furrowed in confusion as her fingers moved along her keyboard, but it was no use. It was unresponsive. "How did you-"

Miles cut her off as he rose from his chair and leaned across her desk, lowering his voice.

"Every website you've ever visited. Every file you've ever downloaded. Every embarrassing photo spread across every single social media site in existence. Your extensive IP security protocols can't stop me. And I'm ten times smarter than your best tech-heads. Think about that before you try and get at me again. See what happens.“

His pocket started vibrating and Miles realized his phone was ringing. He regained his composure and straightened up, pulling the phone out and checking his messages.

ThinkTank Incorporated has been bombed. - ROGER

He ignored Abigail, who was still staring daggers at him, and looked towards the flatscreen television on the wall, mentally commanding it on and flipping past channels until he landed on the news. A reporter was shouting something Miles couldn't make out as a helicopter view of the burning office building panned forward. He looked back at Abigail who was expressionless.

"What a tragedy." She noted hollowly as she watched the television. She turned to look at Miles and smiled. "But I'll think about what you said."

By the time Miles arrived on the scene, four heroes were already helping evacuate employees trapped inside. A speedster was zipping in and out of the building, carrying people on his back on every trip out. Miles surveyed the damage before him. Flames licked the top of the windowsills from a third floor office. The brownstone around the windows was already scorched black. The billowing black cloud of smoke was sweeping dramatically to the sky. But thankfully, the destruction had only reached the first few floors.

From above Miles, Roger spun in the air, scanning three-hundred and sixty degrees of the building. "The face of the building is rapidly disintegrating. The impact will cause structural damage to The Steel Canyon Journal building, as well as destroy at least three motor vehicles."

"Okay, first we need …" Miles began, before Roger interrupted him.

"Miles, there is another matter. I am detecting life further within the building. From one of the sublevels."

Miles cursed under his breath as he looked around. The few heroes on the scene were tending to the wounded. He was sure back-up would arrive soon. But would it be soon enough?

He wasn't about to wait and find out. Miles wasted no time as he sprinted across the street. There were no cars to dodge thanks to those who had screeched to a stop as the speedster cordoned off the area with hazard tape. Miles covered his face as he leapt through the frame of a window, coughing through the smoke as felt the heat of the flames all around him. His heads-up display was going crazy. Blinking red and beeping loudly, alerting him of the extreme temperatures around him.

"Shut up, I know!" Miles shouted. The alarms ceased. He navigated through the main lobby until he reached the elevators and pried open the sliding doors to find one hanging five floors above him. He looked down the elevator shaft and then back at Roger.

"How many floors down are the other survivors?"

"Three."

"Alright. Head outside and keep me posted on what's happening."

Roger dipped in the air then spun and hovered away. Miles went to jump but hesitated. What happened if the elevator cable snapped? 'Crushed by an elevator' wasn't exactly the way he wanted to go out. But then a fire extinguisher exploded behind him, snapping him out of his daze and forcing him back into action. He dove head first down into the elevator shaft and fell two floors. He felt the heat wash over his body as he flew against it. But the gyroscopic stabilizers in his boots righted him in the air as he approached the third floor down, the anti-gravity generators granting flight as he pulled the steel doors apart.

Greeted by a science lab engulfed by flames, Miles caught sight of a pair of arms waving frantically from the far side of the room.

"We're over here!" a man yelled. Miles dropped to the ground and set into a run, rolling and hopping over fallen lab equipment and overturned tables until he reached the back of the room. Two men in lab coats were crouched behind a counter, one of them was pinned under a metal beam that had fallen. In half-a-second, his HUD surveyed them, hacking into ThinkTank personnel files and identifying them as Andy Wilson and Dwight Toms.

"Is anything broken?" Miles asked Dwight, the trapped man, as he bent over, gripping the edges of the beam.

"I don't think so." He rasped. The smoke in the room was getting more thick by the second. "I just can't move."

With strength slightly enhanced by the powersuit he wore, Miles pulled the beam a few inches up off the man's leg as his partner Andy quickly pulled him from under it. A loud clang rang out as Miles dropped it.

"Look out!" the now safe Dwight yelled, jabbing a finger behind Miles. Before he could turn around, he was kicked from behind, a foot planted right at the side of his head. He fell forward, tripping over the fallen beam as he clutched his head. He'd definitely feel that in the morning. Assuming he survived the day.

Dazed, he looked up from his spot on he ground, vision blurred not by smoke and fire, but by pain, to see the assassin Longbow towering over him. Sans bow-and-arrow this time around, she was wearing a form-fitting, tactical black jumpsuit and combat boots.

"Back for a second bite at the apple, huh?" Miles groaned as he rolled away from her.

"You came here." She countered. "Just like they said you would."

The two scientists helped Miles to his feet. "This'll only take a second guys." he assured them as he charged forward toward his attacker. Still woozy from the blow to his head, he stumbled slightly, and Longbow used that to her advantage, sidestepping his attack and elbowing him under the arm. He fell forward again and rubbed his side. He'd be surprised if his rib wasn't broken.

"Okay, maybe more like a minute!" he croaked out as he rolled over on his back. The assassin stalked towards his fallen form and bent over to grab him, but Miles thrust his hands upwards, his gloved-fingers spread wide.

"Computer - Sequence: Flash-Bang!"

Immediately, the palms of his gloves ignited, massive arcs of white light flashed out nearly 180 degrees, coating Longbow in almost pure white radiance. Polarized barriers in his visor protected his own eyesight, but his foe wasn't as lucky. She howled as her hands covered her eyes. She wasn't hurt - only disoriented.

Now comes the hurt part.

Miles rose to his feet, clapping her on the temples with both hands. Usually he'd have reservations about hitting a woman, but he felt the six foot Amazonian assassin in front of him could take it. And she kind of deserved it.

Dazed, she staggered backwards and Miles seized the opportunity to fire off an ion beam. It caught her in the midsection, knocking her back off her feet and into the air. Miles pumped a fist victoriously as she landed on the ground. "Game over!" he shouted in celebration, until he realized he was still trapped underground, in a burning laboratory, surrounded by various flammable chemicals, with three people to rescue. Signaling it was safe, Miles waved Dwight and Andy over to him.

"Is there another way out other than the elevator? What about the stairs?" he shouted over the fire.

Andy waved smoke away from his face before he answered."No! The door's blocked by debris. The elevator's the only way up."

"Somehow I knew you were going to say that..." Miles sighed inwardly. He was going to have to make two trips. He wasn't sure if he could carry two people at once, let alone three.

"Alright. You two, over here." Miles commanded as he led them towards the elevator doors. "Hold tight." he ordered, lifting off into the air. Thanks to their added weight, the ascent up the elevator shaft was slow, but they made it. The two scientists sprinted out of the main lobby and into the street as Miles took another look down the elevator shaft. Of course there was that small part of his brain that told him to leave the assassin to die. But then he thought what would Batman do? And then another voice reasoned that he did leave Ra's Al Ghul to die. And then a fourth part of his brain told him Superman would've been a more applicable comparison. Then he realized he'd gotten lost in his head again.

He smacked himself in the face before he dove down the shaft once more and flew into the laboratory, only to discover Longbow wasn't where she'd fallen. He slowly scanned the burning room. Thermal imaging was useless thanks to the fire. He had to rely on his own sight. He heard a guttural scream and some rustling behind him before a glass container was smashed over the back of his head.

"Aw, come on!" He shouted as he fell forward. "I get that you're an assassin, and sneaking up from behind is kind of your thing, but it's getting old now!"

Miles caught himself, leaning against a counter to maintain his balance as he eyed his opponent. Her hair had come unbraided and she sported a nasty bruise underneath her eye. Yet she kept coming.

"Points for persistence, though." Miles praised. She screamed again and rushed him. But her rage was her downfall. His heads-up display tracked her movements and Miles could predict her attacks before she made them. He blocked kicks and punches as she threw everything she had at him, eschewing any form of training she possessed for pure violence. Miles let her wear herself out, draining her energy before he countered, knocking her out with a blow to the side of the head.

"You'll thank me for this later." he mumbled as he pulled her towards the elevator. He hefted her over his shoulder and lifted off into the air. And not a moment too soon. Flames engulfed the lab as an explosion rocked the sublevel of the building. Miles felt the heat around him as he kicked it up a notch, his boot jets thrusting him up and out of the shaft. He dropped to the ground and ran out of the building with the unconscious assassin on his back. A weather-manipulating heroine had conjured a storm outside, casting the rain against the burning face of the building to put out the flames. An eight-foot-tall bruiser was holding fallen support beams within the lobby while a light-controlling hero welded them together again. Back-up had arrived.

The ice pack pressed against the side of his face helped dull the pain, but it didn't push it out of his head completely. He groaned and sat back, cradling a cracked rib as he reclined his leather chair. On one of the massive screens in front of him, Tom chased Jerry soundlessly as Miles muted the television without touching the remote control. "A little mood music, maestro..." Miles sighed as he closed his eyes. Roger beeped in response as Death Cab For Cutie's 'A Lack Of Color' played through the speakers on the walls of the underground bunker he called home. Miles smiled "Perfect." 

Longbow had planted the bomb within ThinkTank labs in an attempt to destroy the building, literally burying the Slice's designs. Apparently she'd never heard of "back-up files". But now that she was in police custody, Miles was sure she'd have more than enough time to add that to the long list of the mistakes she'd made.

Then his mind drifted to Abigail Mercer and her arrogant smile. He was going to bring MercerTech down. Maybe not today, maybe not the next day but someday soon.

"And it is going to be so much fun..." he mused.