here i sit in the belly of this iron beast, in a welded shut cockpit stuck between the furnace of its engine & a cauldron seething with ammunition for its wide array of weapons. this steam-punk mecha shakes behemoth-like across the field, but it isn't enough to turn the tide of the battle. most of the team's heavy hitters are off on a wild goose chase- having invincible rasputin or the deranged gilles de rais would be a piton in the rock face, but several whole teams were tricked into responding to a black sovereign class sighting. one bluebeard or mad monk would be all it'd take to turn the tide here. but its mostly just me & some minions, slugging it out against outrageous numbers. heroes always attack in packs- they call it "teamwork" but i prefer to think of it as "four against one." lesson 573 of the mordicai sutra- heroes are cowards.