You get barraged with mockery, but an idea is planted in your mind that's hard to ignore... Decision time!

You glare at him, keeping your fist poised, but don't strike.

"So, let's get our cards on the table, sweetheart." Mr. Magopolis says. "I know you know that I signed a deal with that goofy teammate of yours with the static-charged balloons on her chest. A little contest where I tweak causality to throw scandals your way until your team gets whittled down to one. Like, say, getting some tomahawk-chucking Indian princess out west to lawyer up and go on the warpath against you for stealing her name. I mean, ya shoulda stuck with what that classy lady Mort suggested. A 'thunderbox' is a real meteorological phenomenon ya know. She wasn't JUST makin' fun of you for being such an easy lay."

You glare. The imp clearly wants to provoke you so he keeps talking. "...or, for that matter, seeing to it that Goldie Glider from earlier was able to pass on the details about that catchy little song you broadcast over the city with Gloomy Sunday to a heroine who's taken a reputational hit as a result. I mean, I don't even see what the big deal is. You third-dimensional beings getting all up in eachother's biology is pretty unsanitary to begin with, why get bent out of shape just because one two sets of DNA bumpin' up against each other are slightly more similar than another? And sometimes not even that. I mean, the fact that it wouldn't be scandalous at all if you'd celebrated your college admission five years ago by going out and doing the nasty with any other random predatory pervert than the one you did is honestly hilarious to me..."

He snaps his fingers to materialize a cigar and lights it. You glance back down the hall where Snowflake is blocking an electric arc from Depth Charge, causing it to fizzle out with a dense spray of (small s) snowflakes, while laying out the guy in the ice-cream uniform with a snap kick as he tries to outflank her. Whatever her personality problems or odd views, you have to admit, she's outstanding in a fight.

"I should really go help my teammate..." you say.

"Should you? Really?" the tiny floating man in front of you says with a sneer. "C'mon. You know she wants you off the team. She resents everybody who looks like you. Trust me, I know racism when I see it. I'm very, very racist against you third-dimensional lifeforms." He floats around you in a circle. "Except for Dr. Rainboobs, everyone on that team of yours wants to give you the ax, even that snooty, alcoholic, vertically challenged physicist who tossed you together."

"Setting aside the fact that you of all people are insulting someone's height, why should I listen to you, then?" You demand with a sneer.

"Oh, but that's the beauty. I don't want you to trust ME. I want you to trust your eyes and ears. See, I want to put on a good show, and frankly? You're not cutting it. You're getting strung along with so little effort and fumbling so blindly that I feel I got **** but to throw you a lifeline just to keep things interesting." he smirks. "...and the fact that I resent being used as somebody else's tool might have something to do with it."

You glance back to see if Snowflake has cooled off yet. Nope. She's in a clinch with Neon Knight. She can't outfight power armor, but he can't stop her from using her snow abilities so the scrum continues. You roll your eyes and return to Magopolis. "Let's see. I know Raven Woman had you bound in place with her magic. But Queen of Hearts and Hot-Cross Bunny were heading right for you when they ran into me and Mood Ring. Plus, Photobomber kicked off the whole thing." you say. "Since I can't reach the other two I'm going to go beat some answers out of Queen and Bunny. What else can I do at this point?"

"Oh jeezy Pete." His head turns into a cartoonish parody of yours and speaks in a mockery of your voice: "I'm doing the safe, predictable thing, Mr. Wise, Immortal Higher-Dimensional Being! How can that ever be a mistake?" His head warps back to normal. "You'd think a walking heap of molecules who owes its existence to the cosmic equivalent of a fart would be more grateful for- okay, okay, I don't need telepathy to know you're getting ready to punch me now."

He theatrically slaps his head with both hands. "Fine, I'll get basic on ya: What favor did you ask to keep Goldie Glider and her punks off of you and Green Streak's back so's you can bust out Rainbottom?" He says. "I'm not just bein' cute calling her that by the way, that's her name in the porno she's going to be shooting with Carpen-Terror in about..." he checks a pocketwatch. "...40 minutes. I wouldn't of thought hardwood would be good material for a strap-on, but hey! What do I know. As long as she sanded it enough right?"

You think. "Raven Woman... she said she'd help me by stopping whatever heroine was trying to investigate the, uh, ****-normalizing song by trying to question La Petite Mort under the pretense of auditioning for the Weather Watch..."

"The Weather Watch, oh yeah, hmm... and which team was it that was directly friggin' targeted by Photobomber again?" the imp shrills at you, sounding very pleased with himself.

"...yeah." you concede.

But the alien doesn't let you off that easy: "And the location where this little exchange that the Raven told you she would 'take care of' would be... in which superhero team headquarters building again? It's on the tip of my tongue..."

"Okay, I get it, you creep!" you pout. "But that would've taken place hours ago!"

"Hm. One sec, babe." Mr. Magopolis snaps his fingers and conjures up a tiny floating refrigerator. He then proceeds to slam his forehead into the refrigerator door loudly a half dozen times. Then he turns around to look at you and his voice, which manages to be shrill yet guttural at the same time, is positively dripping with contempt. "Yeah! Hours ago! I mean, it's not like there's a camera that can record stuff from the past approximately TEN FREAKIN' CUBITS FROM WHERE YOU'RE STANDING, or anything!!!"

You frown. "But... that is... that's highly restricted property with who knows what level of clearance! It's not like I can just go in there, beat 'Porno Castellan' ****, and **** the camera!"

Instead of a sneer, Mr. Magopolis's face shifts to a tiny, subtle smirk that somehow manages to be far more smug than any of his previous exaggerated expression. "Actually... I think it's a lot like that. considerin' there's already a convenient 'fall-persyn' causing a ruckus right here."

He checks his watch again. "And that is officially all I got time for! I gotta go help Red Blimps put the finishing touches on her plot to ruin you and the Abominable Buzzkill's lives." he jerks a thumb towards where the male heroes are finally gaining the upper hand on Snowflake, having backed her up against the wall and loudly demanding she leave Ben/Bulletman alone. "See you in the final round, birdbrain!" He poofs into a cloud of smoke.

Damn it... in among all the insults... why did he have to make sense? But you can't just do what that freak suggested! It HAS to be a trick or a trap. You should just go help stop the fight with Snowflake... shouldn't you?