First Player/Limelight

Miles Benedict stepped out of the elevator to the top floor of the Landon Building where the charity benefit was being held, and he was immediately greeted by the chorus of fancy violins and classical music. The event was a fundraiser for a new museum being built in Faultline. Hosted by some very wealthy people Miles couldn't remember the names of, the benefit was almost exactly how he'd expected it to look. A small orchestra played Beethoven over in the far corner of the room. Waiters ferried what looked like very expensive silver trays aloft and across the ballroom, no doubt carrying champagne, crab rolls, and other assorted finger food. The rich and famous sure did like their cliches. Four feet ahead of the elevator was a security checkpoint closed off by velvet ropes. It consisted of pretty women in a dress seated at a table, but Miles noticed the few rather large gentlemen scattered around the table, probably to ensure only those personally invited gained entry. Miles wasn't personally invited. Not legitimately, anyways. But it's amazing what advanced digital photo-editing software and a healthy amount of initiative can do. Why sneak into a posh fundraiser at all, you wonder? Why to rub elbows with the elegant bigwigs of the city, of course. And because he could use the downtime.

Okay, that last part was a lie. In truth, he'd heard some chatter over intercepted radio signals a few nights ago. A party was to take place and a few rather unscrupulous individuals might plan on crashing it. Which is really why Miles was here, on the top floor of this skyscraper, dressed to the nines, eyes open and ready for anything. The backpack he was hefting contained his gear, just in case. The gorillas in black and white stopped him soon after he showed the receptionist his "invitation".

"Open your bag please, sir." One with a particularly large forehead instructed. Miles did as he was told. The bag itself contained his gear and weapons, yes, but the half that did was concealed by a layer of polyester. The top half contained various pieces of camera equipment. "Hoping to get some good shots for the Paragon Daily." Miles grinned as the security guard inspected the equipment. "Be careful with those too, please. They're very expensive."

The guard nodded and ceased his search. He placed the equipment back into Miles' bag. "Very well. Enjoy the party, sir."

Miles smiled that fake smile he was accustomed to using during situations such as these. "Will do." He lazily saluted.

Once inside he just sort of wandered around, scanning the crowd. Most of the folks assembled in the room were rich blue-hairs come to socialize and mingle at a charity event. No one looked out of place. No distinguishing scars or gang tattoos and no shifty movements or behavior (beside his own). Speaking of which, the guard who'd checked over his camera equipment was currently watching him. "Better play my role before he suspects something." Miles reasoned. He headed over to an expensive table lined with an equally expensive tablecloth, set his bag down. Almost as soon as he removed a camera, a middle-aged woman rushed over to him.

"A photographer!" She exclaimed. "James, James!" She called out, turning away and gesturing to another man, who appeared to be her husband. She turned back to Miles as her husband made his way over. "Would you mind? It's been ages since we last had our picture taken." She continued, joining arms with her husband. "Uhm.. well sure." He stammered. He hadn't prepared for this. Hell, there wasn't even any film in his camera. And he certainly wasn't a trained photographer.

Which is why he thanked the universe when the criminals burst through the balcony windows and took over the party.

There is a reason why the bad guys always loose. They're stupid. It's as simple as that. They spend millions of dollars on equipment and technology to carry out heists and schemes that only net a few thousand just to show the world that they're smarter than everyone else.

These thugs were prime examples. Five goons in military fatigues, fitted in high-tech triple weave kevlar, top of the range weapons and flying what must've been a million dollar stealth helicopter... All to rob a charity benefit.

Stupid, stupid bad guys.

Stupid bad guys with guns.

It's never a good thing.

Their leader was a different story altogether. Miles recognized him. Captain Wraith and his gang of mischief makers. He had never tangled with him, but he knew him by reputation. A large man, Wraith stood just over six feet tall and was built like a linebacker. He and his squad of ex-marines were basically high-tech pirates and thieves. This was just his type of job, too. It looked like they landed on the helipad outside. The orchestral sounds masked the low hum of the helicopter. His minions, packing high powered assault rifles, fired bursts of rounds into the glass windows near the balcony. Everyone screamed and scattered. Wraith (who led the pack) fired off a single shot as the invaders followed him, stomping through the window panes, glass crunching beneath their heavy jack boots. "Everyone quiet down!" he boomed. Everyone did. Miles however, had already ducked behind an abandoned bar the minute he noticed trouble. Wraith 's guys disarmed the security guards before they could even point their pistols at them. This was not the type of security breach they planned for.

"Now. We would appreciate it if everyone would be kind enough to remove their jewelry, empty their pockets, and lie face down." Wraith stated calmly.

Miles peeled off his tuxedo. He'd worn his lightweight combat suit underneath just in case. Always better to have it and not need it than to need it and not have it. Along with his visor, he slipped his boots and gloves on and peeked over the top of the bar. The Captain strode around confidently as his hired help collected every patron's personal belongings.

"To be completely honest with you folks, we're not here for your gaudy jewelry and pocket change. I mean we'll take it..." He chuckled. "But no. We're here for one person and one person only. We're here for you, Ian Wolfe."

Miles arched a brow. Ian 'The Wolfman' Wolfe happened to be the lead singer of Lazy Reality, a pretty popular punk rock band, whose latest stop on their nation wide tour (unfortunately) happened to be Paragon City. Miles glanced around. What was he doing at a posh, high society party like this? About a minute past before Wraith rolled his eyes and pulled a middle-aged lady to her feet and jabbed the muzzle of his rifle at her throat. "Ian Wolfe. One minute until you're responsible for this woman's death."

Almost instantly, the slim frame of Ian Wolfe appeared from behind a decorative plant. Picture any typical punk rock hipster and that's pretty much what Wolfe looked like. Miles hadn't noticed him before his suit hid the vast amount of tattoos spread across his torso and arms and he'd taken all of his piercings out. And Miles really wasn't that big of a Lazy Reality fan to begin with.

Ian held up his hands and slowly walked towards Captain Wraith. One of Wraith's thugs roughly escorted him. The Captain released the woman he threatened, opening his arms. "Ah, there you are. That wasn't so hard now, was it."

"Wha- What d'you want with me, man?" Ian questioned.

Miles tapped a button on his visor, instantly contacting R.O.G.E.R, his artificially intelligent robotic drone, via a wireless connection. "Psst. Roger, you there?" he whispered.

There were a few electronic beeps before Roger replied. "Yessir. Are you enjoying the party, Miles?"

"You could say that." Miles answered, ducking back behind the counter.

"Your father's a very wealthy man, isn't he, Ian?" Wraith said, casually settling a hand on Ian's shoulder. He didn't have to answer. His eyes did. "Yes, I thought so." Wraith responded.

So Ian Wolfe was just another spoiled brat playing edgy and misunderstood. Interesting. "Roger, pull me up everything on Ian Wolfe's father."

Almost instantly, Roger replied. "Ian Wolfe - son of Californian shipping magnate Wyatt-"

"That's all I need, thanks." Miles interrupted. "Going in now," He added, adjusting one of his wrist. "Keeping the comm open too."

"Very well, Miles. Good luck!"

When he peeked over the bar, Miles did a quick head count, scanning every hostage in the crowd and each of Wraith's thugs, waiting for the optimal attack pattern. It was now or never.

Miles launched into attack mode, sliding out from behind the bar, crouching low as he hurried across the room. it was a few seconds before anyone noticed him, but seconds were all he needed. The gasps from the surprised hostages alerted Wraith and his crew to Miles' presence. Wraith immediately signaled for two of his rifle-fondling goons to escort Ian to the chopper while the other three dealt with Miles, who was currently ducking and rolling back and forth behind the thick marble columns in the room. God bless the rich and their taste for ornate architecture.

Miles heard the clips of two rifles running out and he sprung out from behind his column, rushing forward across the room and blasting two of the thugs with repulsor beams from his each of palms. They were thrown backwards as the ionic energy hissed and crackled. Instead of firing at him, the last lummox charged towards him, hostages frantically crawling out of his path. Miles sprinted forward as well, sliding across the slick marble floor, straight into the gorilla's legs, sending him head over heels and face first into the ground. The only thing that stood between Miles and rescuing Ian Wolfe was Captain Wraith, who fired shot after shot in his direction. The bullets whizzed past Miles as he zigzagged towards Wraith, finally shoulder-checking him. Miles hadn't accounted for his own size however and he practically bounced off of him. "I don't know who you are, but you picked the wrong heist to foil, hero." He sneered, pointing his rifle down at Miles. He spun onto his side quickly, kicking the gun out of Wraith's hands and rolled backwards. Wraith was off balance and taken by surprise. Miles used this as he ran towards him again, this time leaping into the air and drop-kicking Wraith who stumbled backwards. Miles tapped a few buttons on his gloved wrist, using the precious few seconds he'd gained to charge up an Omni-Net - A neural-networking pulse of energy that essentially tightened its target's muscles until they contracted to the point where the victim couldn't move at all. The technology, which was light-years beyond Miles scope of ingenuity, was apparently from a parallel dimension, salvaged from one of it's invaders. Captain Wraith didn't know what hit him as he slumped to the ground, eyes wide and wriggling like a worm.

Now with four of the six threats eliminated, Miles looked towards the balcony to the helicopter, whose rotors were now spinning rapidly. The last two goons had tie-wrapped Ian's hands behind his back and thrown him into the chopper. However they weren't exactly eager to take off without their head honcho, so they were basically idling until Miles was brought down. Imagine their surprise when they saw Miles sprinting towards the bay of the helicopter. They trained their rifles on Miles as he closed in on the copter. He had to time this just right. At the last second as they started firing, he launched himself in the air, diving into the bay of the helicopter and grabbing Ian in tow. What he hadn't calculated was the momentum he carried and the speed at which he was running, nor the unfortunately short distance between the helicopter and the edge of the balcony. Miles flew through the helicopter and out the other side, Ian Wolfe in his arms as they both tumbled over the balcony, plummeting several hundred feet towards the pavement below.

Now that their captors were dispatched, the bodyguards who had been disarmed picked themselves up. They proceeded to secure Wraith and his men while the rest of the party's patrons rose to their feet and rushed over to the balcony. Their gasps were almost audible from the floor beneath them as they watched their rescuer rise rather than fall, straddling a high-tech silver hoverboard. Ian Wolfe dangled from the side, fingers gripping the edge as Miles pulled him upwards. The two floated over the heads of the crowd until they set down on the floor, both sighing an extremely large sigh of relief.

"Roger, you're a lifesaver." Miles coughed through his comm-link as he caught his breath. "I try." His electronic sidekick chirped in response. "Don't make a habit of diving off rooftops however. I won't always be there to catch you." He added cheekily. The crowd all gathered around Miles and a very startled Ian, cheering and clapping them on the back. After his near-death experience however, Miles however was eager to leave. He stepped back onto his hoverboard, which he'd unoriginally dubbed 'The Mcfly', and waved to the crowd. "Everyone stay safe!" He called out as he rose into the air. "And next time, hold the party on the ground floor!" He added, hamming it up by flashing a cheesy grin. He could tell this was the type of audience that ate that kind of stuff up. They laughed and cheered as he flew away.

Had Miles decided to stick around for the rest of the party, however, he might have remembered to retrieve his duffel bag, in which case Ellie Cline wouldn't be left clutching it to her chest for the rest of the evening.